He woke up screaming.
Again.
The same white light. The same crushing silence. The same suffocating cold. It never changed. Not truly. The world just pressed in like a vice, squeezing his sanity drop by Little by little
The hallucinations came next. Death after death. Pain after pain.
But now... he knew.
He remembered.
Everything.
The suffocation. The fire. The stabbings. The endless deaths. Each time he clawed his way through, only to wake up here again. There was no kindness in this return—just repetition. Worse, clarity. He saw it all as a sick pattern now. An invisible hand was resetting the board, over and over again, and he was the only piece aware of the game.
The others were still trapped. Lysandra curled in the corner, mumbling. The boy muttering nonsense. The girl scratching her face and gouging her eyes. Puppets in their own hells.
And him?
He was the only puppet that screamed.
He stood this time.
Or at least, tried.
His legs wobbled like a corpse forced to stand. His breath rasped from a throat torn by invisible nooses. His body remembered all the ways it had died. It wasn't fair. Not just the pain—but the knowledge. The knowledge that he was alone. Completely.
He scanned the darkness.
He could feel it again.
The monster.
It was here, same as before. The mask. The dagger. The shadow that wasn't shadow. It always arrived after his lowest moment—drawn like a predator to prey. But now… he wanted it to come.
Because this time, he would fight.
And maybe…even win?
No. He shook the thought off. Victory was impossible. He had no powers. No weapons. No strength. But still, something inside him stirred. Something sharp. Something desperate.
If nothing else, he could make it hurt.
Maybe that would be enough.
Maybe.
---
The first time he tried, he sprinted at the monster the second it emerged. He grabbed a chunk of broken stone from the ground and hurled it with everything he had.
The monster didn't flinch.
It moved faster than thought.
The next moment, Alex's world was spinning. His jaw shattered. Blood pooled in his mouth. Then the dagger split his chest open.
Death was fast that time.
But not painless.
---
He woke up. Again.
The light.
The cold.
He screamed.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't funny.
He stood slower this time. Waited. Counted the seconds. Timed the hallucinations. Watched as the others dissolved into madness.
Then the monster came.
Alex didn't run this time. He stood his ground. When the thing stepped forward, he twisted, ducked, and drove his elbow into where its ribs should've been.
It connected.
A soft crack.
The monster hissed.
And then Alex's throat opened in a red line. His body hit the ground. Twitched. Bled.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
He woke up.
Again.
By now, his breaths came ragged with panic. He'd died dozens of times. Maybe hundreds. He'd lost count. The memories overlapped. He could taste his own blood even before the monster arrived.
His hands shook. His legs barely worked. The resets didn't heal his mind. Only his body. And the mind was beginning to crumble.
Was this what insanity felt like?
He couldn't tell anymore.
He didn't cry this time.
Didn't laugh.
He just... moved.
Mechanical.
Like a machine stuck in a loop.
When the hallucinations surged forward, he bit his lip until it bled. The pain grounded him. Reminded him he was still here.
When the monster came, he smiled.
"Come on, you freak."
This time, he feinted.
Dodged the blade.
Punched the mask.
It cracked.
The thing recoiled—just for a heartbeat. Long enough for Alex to drive a sharp splinter into its side.
A scream—real, high-pitched, unearthly—ripped through the air.
He did it.
He hurt it.
His hands trembled with adrenaline. His chest heaved. A strange feeling bloomed in his gut.
Hope.
Maybe he could actually beat this monster.
He never saw what came next.
The others.
Lysandra's body convulsed. Then stopped. Her head turned sharply. Too sharply. Her eyes were wide—but not human. Glossy. Hollow.
The others moved the same way.
Simultaneously.
They rose.
Turned.
Faced him.
Every single one of them.
Dozens.
Eyes empty.
Like puppets.
The monster didn't speak. But it didn't have to. The command rippled out like a pulse. Alex felt it in his bones.
Kill him.
They rushed.
He turned to run.
Too late.
They hit him like a wave—arms grabbing, nails digging into flesh. Hands tore his clothes. Teeth clamped onto his shoulder.
He screamed.
Not from fear.
From betrayal.
Lysandra was the closest. Her mouth opened, but no sound came—just a gurgling moan as her fingers clawed his chest open. Her eyes showed no mercy. No kindness. Nothing.
She was gone.
They all were.
The monster watched. Silent. Content.
Alex felt his ribs break. His skin peel. His throat collapse under pressure. Blood flooded his vision.
And yet… he didn't black out.
Not at first.
He stayed awake.
Forced to feel everything.
Their hands dug into his stomach. Tore something loose.
His scream didn't stop.
It became a single, endless thread of agony.
And then—
Darkness.
---
He woke up.
Gasping.
Choking.
Crying.
His body was whole again.
But not his mind.
Never his mind.
---
He lay there for hours.
Or maybe minutes.
Time was broken here.
He didn't move.
Didn't scream.
Didn't try.
What was the point?
Even when he fought with everything he had, all he got was betrayal.
A scratch on the monster.
And then death by the hands of those he once hoped to save.
Was this how heroes died?
Not in fire. Not in glory.
But torn apart by the people they tried to protect?
He didn't know.
He didn't care.
Not anymore.
And yet.
He rose.
Because the loop didn't care if he gave up.
It would drag him back again.
And again.
And again.
Until something broke.
And maybe…
This time, it would be him.
To be continued....