Loopbreaker

Gritting his teeth, Francis blocked the dagger aimed at his head and dodged left, only getting a slight cut in his thigh in return.

This was the sixth time he had faced this enemy, and only now was he beginning to learn what she was capable of.

He had determined the beast was a she because none of the other tiger-kins had breasts and he saw how the others around her reacted as he got close.

She danced and weaved around the line of beastkin; each animal she hid behind took a swipe at Francis when he drew close.

There was chaos everywhere as men and beasts fought, yet Francis knew she was aiming only at him. Occasionally, she threw a dagger to injure or kill another warrior who got close to her. Twice, she had killed a man, allowing the beastkin the warrior had been fighting to focus on Francis.

With every blade she threw, Francis’ smile grew. He was counting. Each dagger she sent flying meant she would soon be out of them.

Finally, both belts around her waist were empty.

She’d used thirty-six so far—if he was right, she only had eight more.

He slashed at a wolf-kin near him, cutting its hamstring and helping the warrior fighting it.

“Slow down!” Michael called out.

He hated that his brother was being left behind, but a part of Francis knew this was the greatest chance he had to get stronger.

Each death had brought improvement, and the last time he had fought this beast, he had almost reached her.

Another blade was thrown at him, and Francis blocked it, barely seeing a set of claws that came for him as he committed his shield to the incoming dagger.

His blade arced forward, slicing through the bone and cutting off the outstretched fingers as the tiger-kin that had attacked pulled back an injured hand.

Pain came in his lower leg—when he looked down, he saw that right above his knee was a dagger, the metal tip striking his bone.

Grunting, Francis pushed through, feeling his muscles tear and cut against the sharp edge. He didn’t want to give up this fight.

Death… It’s going to come one way or another, but I’m going to get her! I

His mind went through this fight every day until it began. So many times, Michael had asked what he was thinking about.

Each time, he had told the truth.

The battle.

The battle between him and a bitch of a tiger-kin.

Checking over the lip of his shield, he saw her reaching for another dagger and quickly bent down, yanking the weapon free, ignoring the blood that poured out.

Somehow, over the noise of the battle, he could hear what sounded like laughter coming from the beast.

A mouth full of sharp teeth looked to be smiling as she whipped her hand forward.

He reacted, yet no sound came, since no blade struck his shield—he cursed, realizing she had faked a throw.

Two blades struck his shinbones, the pain overwhelming.

Bright light tried to fill his vision, yet Francis fought against it. There was no time to black out or not be aware of what was around him.

Michael!

The image of his brother lying dead that first time filled his mind, and he pushed through it.

[ New Skill Gained ]

[ Pain Resistance ( Uncommon ) - 1 Novice ]

As the notification appeared, the sensation that had threatened to blind him just a second ago seemed almost to vanish. Gone were the bright lights, and Francis reacted just in time as the beastkin whose hand he’d severed tried to bite down on his face.

Francis’ blade came upward, tip driving into the open maw and piercing through its throat, severing the spinal cord in its neck.

Somewhere, a roar came, and the battle shifted around him.

Beasts moved away slightly, no more coming toward him. The one he had been facing for so long stopped running away, coming at him with two daggers far longer than her previous ones.

Unsure where she had pulled them from, Francis tried to block and parry the strike, finally understanding what Kels had been talking about for so long; the shield was great, yet it limited his vision. He had to choose between hiding behind it and losing sight of his opponent when something came at his head, or not blocking an attack.

He swung his sword downward, expecting a low cut, only to find a blade piercing his right shoulder.

As pain radiated from the new wound, Francis’ sword arm went limp. The beast grabbed his shield and forced it down.

Saliva dripped off her teeth, which were coming at his face.

Dropping to the ground, Francis tried a move he had only seen once. He pushed with all the strength in his left arm, bracing the shield against the beastkin. Francis used the momentum to roll onto his back. Once there, he shoved his injured leg into the tiger-kin’s stomach and pushed upward as he went backward.

A yelp of some sort came as she flew over him, her one dagger still lodged in his shoulder.

He tried to roll over and stand, but his body wouldn’t respond.

It was like his limbs ignored what he wanted, and Francis’ vision was starting to blur.

Blood loss?

Before Francis could consider any other things that might be causing his body not to respond, a clawed hand gripped his throat. An angry tiger-kin face appeared above his head from behind.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She squeezed, forcing her deadly nails into his skin and began to pull.

As she did, a growl drowned out the sound of his flesh ripping.

***

The sound of the morning bell jarred Francis from his bed.

“It’s earlier than usual,” he muttered, beating his brother to the punch.

“Hey, I was thinking the same thing,” Michael said. “Never a dull moment for us, is there?”

Grunting, Francis shook his head and sat up.

Blood loss? Poison? Something made moving harder. Just when I thought I had her, she–

“Hey, why do you look like you just sucked on a lemon?”

Glancing at his brother, he saw Michael staring at him. “Oh, just wondering what kind of pain we’re in for today. I’ll bet you a silver we’ll probably run more than usual.”

His brother raised a single eyebrow. “A silver? What are we, nobles? I mean, we are, but not rich nobles. Besides, how are we really going to measure if we run more than usual? You’re not going to do something stupid that makes us all run, are you?”

“No,” Francis said with a grin. “I’m not going to do anything like that. Still, what do you have to lose if we bet? If by the end of the day it’s obvious we’ve run a whole lot more, you owe me a silver. If not, I owe you one.”

Michael laughed as he began putting on his boots. “Sure… I’ll just add it to the list of things you owe me for keeping you alive all these years.”

As his brother moved toward the door, Francis wanted to see what his new skill offered.

[ Pain Resistance ( Uncommon ) - This skill mitigates the sensation of pain its user experiences. Strong enough levels of Resistance can allow the user to push to avoid passing out or succumbing to pain that would immobilize most individuals. The skill does not stop injuries. It only aids in moving as if they were not present. ]

Not succumbing to pain… this should be fun.

***

Sweat threatened to blind him as he moved sideways.

He could hear men shouting, yet none of it mattered.

Across from him was the tiger-kin--it felt like the whole army was waiting for this moment to end.

She feinted right, yet Francis didn’t take the bait. He had learned of her tricks and stayed in the slightly lowered position he needed to be in to be safe.

Bodies littered the ground around them, each having to maneuver around the obstacles.

This was the seventeenth time he faced her.

Right now, a slight cut on her arm was the first time he had landed a strike.

What Francis now knew to be her poison did little—five deaths prior, he had acquired a rare skill: Poison Resistance. It had done wonders, and each fight had caused its ranks to slowly increase. Now, the cuts did little beyond burn and barely hinder his movements.

He knew how she would attack if what he remembered from the last time happened.

Seeing the body near his feet out of the corner of his eye, Francis lifted his foot, preparing to step over the almost-detached arm of a fallen man.

As she had before, the tiger-kin dashed forward, both daggers coming at him.

Francis flung his shield at her, her two eyes going wide as it did.

He pulled out a dagger from behind his back with his left hand and charged the beast in return.

There was no doubt that his ability to use two weapons would not be able to match hers—he’d learned that two deaths ago —but part of him wondered how to train the skill. Regardless of however many deaths it took, this bitch would eventually die.

The blood flowing from where his blade had scored a hit proved he could eventually win.

She blocked the shield with her left arm, the right one moving to stop his sword. As she did, he sliced with all the talent of an unskilled knife fighter. The move was sloppy, but it got Francis in close.

Even as she twisted, pressure came as the blade found skin and cut, the pain of her weapon cutting, ignored. Her left hand came down, driving the blade into his shoulder and yanking him toward her open mouth.

Francis didn’t fight it. He let her pull him close. She had killed him twice like this.

As her teeth pierced his skin, puncturing his jugular and preparing to rip off a chunk of flesh, Francis made his move.

The tiger-kin’s body jerked as his dagger plunged into the fur beneath her jaw.

As she tore the flesh from his neck, he sliced open her throat.

Blood gushed everywhere. Both of them stood where they were, eyes locked upon the other as she grabbed her throat.

[ Pain Resistance Skill Increased - 7 Novice ]

Every part of him hurt, yet Francis didn’t wait another second.

He had dreamed of this moment.

His sword moved forward, and she wasn’t able to dodge his attack.

It pierced her chest, sliding between bones and struck true.

One clawed hand held her throat, the other moved to grab the sword in her chest as both of them fell to their knees, darkness finally taking over.

***

The sound of the morning bell jarred Francis from his bed, causing him to shout as he woke up. “Hell yeah!”

“What is wrong with you?!” Michael exclaimed, bolting out from under his sheets.

Francis didn’t care that he had probably been louder than the damn bell Phillip rang every morning.

“I…” His words failed—a sense of pride like never before was overwhelming him. Every day of his life, he had been nothing, yet in this moment, Francis felt like he had done the impossible. He hadn’t been sure if there would be a limited number of deaths, but his Undying Skill never changed. So, Francis decided to go all out, and by doing so, he was able to succeed. Sure, he knew that the only reason any of this had happened was because of some random fate of the gods, but he had earned this.

Every time Francis died, it came from enduring an immense amount of pain. Still, he had pressed forward, not giving up when any sane person would have.

Across the dimly lit room, his brother stared at him in confusion.

“I… had a dream and… well, I won,” Francis said.

“That must have been one hell of a dream,” Michael replied, cracking his neck before grabbing his boots. “I mean, was she at least pretty?”

Groaning, Francis gave his brother the middle finger before grabbing his boots. “No… if she had been, I would have known it was a dream and woken up long ago.”

Both of them started laughing as they got dressed. They often joked about the odds of either of them being with a beautiful woman. He knew it was basically an impossibility for someone of their birth position. A memory tugged at Francis’ mind, but he couldn’t recall it. Somewhere it tugged in his chest.

“Do you remember a pretty girl once thinking you were worth dating?” Francis asked.

“Uh, yeah… lots of them,” Michael replied. “Is there a specific one?”

Francis frowned. He knew there had been something… a memory of some kind… but he couldn’t remember it. All he could sense was that another memory had been stolen. So he just shrugged.

His brother frowned at that response. “What?”

“We both know none of them were that pretty,” Francis stated.

“What?! You’re telling me that the baker's daughter in our hometown, Luetta, wasn’t pretty? Her eyes were like sapphires, and that smile was redder than any cherry that ever topped a desert. And we both know she had the biggest buns and…”

Francis felt a memory that was missing start to form. He could almost smell the baked goods, see Luetta and Michael. The more his brother spoke, images bloomed in his mind until suddenly Francis remembered the baker’s wife catching Michael and Luetta doing things behind the cooling shack. As the memory returned, Francis felt other memories at the edges of his mind.

“But as I was saying, maybe you could send her my way,” Michael said, standing up. “All I keep having are nightmares about Phillip sending me out to battle with a stitch of clothing. I mean, I know I’ve got two swords, but only one of them was made for fighting.”

Groaning, Francis shook his head and pointed at the door. “Let’s get out there. Something tells me it’s going to be a good day.”

***

Panting, Francis pulled his sword from the tiger-kin’s chest, kicking her body to the side.

Shouts came from all the men around him, and he spun, spotting movement out of the corner of his eye.

A wolf-kin and tiger-kin were both charging him--whatever lack of interference that had been given for that fight was gone.

Unfortunately for them, neither had a clue he wasn’t the same warrior who had started this battle thirty-eight deaths ago.

He had been bloodied, poisoned, lost an arm, and had his throat ripped out more times than he wanted to remember. And through that, Francis had grown far stronger and gained more skilled in each of those moments.

[ Swordsmanship Skill Increased - 41 Advanced ]

[ Active Skill Acquired ]

[ Power Strike ( Rare ) - 1 Novice ]

The notifications were proof of how Francis had won. Everything had shifted now that his Swordsmanship skill had reached level 41 and he acquired the Power Strike skill.

Every swing of his weapon hit harder and struck truer just because of the skill rank, but it was more than that. His body had put on muscle, filling out from each of these fights as his strength grew. The shirt he had owned back at the training grounds barely fit his physique. Combined with his new, increased understanding of swordplay, the skill doubled the amount of power he struck with. Francis’ first use of it had hacked the beastkin’s arm off.

Everything he had ever heard about those who achieved such ranks was true. He was different because most deaths brought him back stronger, faster, and better skilled.

To these beasts before him, they were about to find out just how truly different he was.