Loopbreaker

Francis willed his body to fight against the magical thread.

As the lightning coursed through him, causing his muscles to tense, Francis pushed back, clenching everything even tighter. His teeth ground against each other as he fought with all he had.

He could feel it, see and sense the thread having to work harder to exert its destructive magic. Every second was a battle, and Francis was finally starting to see a chance at victory.

Dozens of attempts since the talk he and Trina had passed, and yet, for the first time, Francis believed this was the path.

Oidrun had no advice to give. The manuals that were kept locked away weren’t going to be shared for one of his birth rank. Those who spoke of secrets or techniques had no answers about how one gained these skills other than rumors of enduring training like this. Every defensive or resistance skill, it seemed, required some form of pain. Acquiring one required an individual to stand up and endure whatever it was they sought to overcome.

Pain Resistance had come from all the abuse he had faced against those beasts.

Strong bones had been earned by allowing himself to endure the crushing blows of Cutter’s fists.

Even the Poison Resistance had been won through enduring being stabbed repeatedly by a poisoned blade..

Francis had overcome each of them without knowing what was possible. This time was different.

Another spell barrage came and then another. Francis felt the magic doing less damage. It might not be physically noticeable on the outside, but he could feel that it was not able to penetrate as deep as the earlier spells. It was almost as if his body rejected the magic.

Francis’ mind formed a wall, pushed out from his core, and into his muscles and bones. It was like learning to block Cutter’s fists with his arms, enduring the pain, knowing what would happen and that he needed to learn to endure it.

“HEAL!” Oidrun called out.

Francis wanted to beg them not to stop, to let the pain and suffering continue. He was close and he knew it.

“We’re almost done!” Oidrun shouted. “Five, maybe six heals left!”

Those words felt cheap. They felt hollow.

“I gained another point,” Trina called out.

It was like someone stuck a knife in his gut. She was so close.

Two more and she’ll be free to choose whatever she wants to do…

Applause and cheers rang out and Francis turned, clapping himself and smiling at her.

She didn’t cringe like the others who saw him. The four mages who followed like ducklings barely glanced at him. Francis believed all they saw was a crazy man. A ninth son who wasn’t worthy of being here other than to provide skill gains for his sister. Francis felt they considered him trash, and each would end his life if his value to Trina ended. Especially the newest one. Something about her was off. Her hair was cut short, unlike the others who often kept it long.

She felt different. She felt dangerous. Those black eyes of hers watched him with a predatory gaze.

It reminded him of a night he and Michael had been camping between towns, lying near their fire when a scream sounded out in the woods. Both of them had bolted up, grabbing a stick and igniting it.

From the darkness emerged a puma, eyes reflecting the flames. It had screamed dozens of times, trying to force them to run. To flee the safety of the fire. All night it had stalked them, and both were exhausted the next morning when it finally took off.

All the beast had needed was a moment it felt it could attack.

Her eyes were just like that.

“Add three seconds!” Francis shouted.

“No!” Oidrun exclaimed, moving toward him. “It’s too much! Francis, you don’t understand the risk–”

“I do.” His voice was firm.

One eye locked with his, and they stood there, separated by the burnt, frozen, wet slush of his body that had been torn free.

“I understand the risk,” Francis said. “Every day, I know what I am risking. Look around us. Each healer and my sister knows it. They come because they risk something to be here as well. Just like you do. I know you risked a great deal to let me do this. So don’t tell me I don’t understand.” Francis stood there, still feeling power inside him as the strength given from Deaths Dance faded away.

“You risk permanent damage,” Oidrun said. “Things that cannot be healed, like your mind. Another day and you could–”

“Another day may not come,” Francis stated, moving to the edge of the carnage, looking up at the towering man. “You can see the ones amongst us who wish for me to fail. Those who wish for me to die. It’s obvious to those who know what to look for, and we both know you do.”

Oidrun gave the tiniest bob of his head. “Which is why you should tread carefully. A small push could… kill you.”

Francis spoke the truest words he knew beyond the love for his brother. “I do not fear dying.”

Oidrun’s one eye blinked a few times, and the man who had encouraged this training started to smile. His massive hand reached out and touched Francis’s bloody shoulder and squeezed. “I know. You are a true warrior. Four more. Three seconds longer. I cannot promise the healers will be able to do it a fifth time.”

Francis gave a simple nod and turned, letting the hand slide off his slick skin.

“Three more seconds, Trina,” Francis said. “Don’t hold back.”

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“Francis…”

Her voice faltered, and for the first time he could remember, there was a sense of tightness in it. He paused and turned, looking at her face, seeing her jaw muscles clenching and relaxing.

“I love you,” she said.

So many times in his life, Francis had been struck by weapons. He had been beaten to death, killed by his father. Pain was a constant thing. Yet the blow that struck his chest in that moment hit with more force than any of them.

His legs felt weak and strong at the same time. And then he felt it.

Not a single tear had fallen through all this pain and suffering. Now, however, a tear formed, rolling down his cheek. “I know. I love you too. We’ll accomplish this together.”

Her lips flinched, and she nodded. The rest of the courtyard was silent as they looked at each other for a second before he turned.

“Three more seconds. Use lightning on all these,” Francis said.

No reply came, but he knew she would do as he asked.

Francis moved to the spot where he had been standing. There was a blank space on the stone compared to everywhere else. Some blood had seeped into where he had always stood, but this was his spot. This was his place.

This was his crucible.

Closing his eyes, Francis focused and held up his thumb. “Ready.”

It came.

The thread attacked, tiny strands started to splinter right before it struck him. He willed every part of him to resist. It was there, and for a second, he thought he had it, thought it would stop, but the threads ran around the barrier he made in his mind and body. It wormed its way through holes in his defenses. Each strand attack and Francis focused on the ones he could, blocking their path, cutting them off.

It was agony and yet there was no pain.

His body felt alive as his skill sent strength through him.

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

It allowed him to fight harder and cut off more strands. Each second was a boon as his body roared with the gift of fighting back. Dozens of tiny threads were stopped; more weren’t allowed in.

“HEAL! NOW!” Oidrun’s voice echoed off the stone walls.

Francis wanted to shout and roar, but his voice wouldn’t work even though he felt like he could climb a mountain. Relief washed over him like a spring shower, taking with it the blessing he felt.

[ Deaths Dance Increased - 5 ]

His body returned to normal, and Francis panted, breathing hard, feeling the truth of how close that had come.

“Francis…” his trainer said.

“No. Again.”

Oidrun grunted but didn’t argue.

Steadying himself, Francis prepared and gave the thumbs up. “Ready.”

He pounced on the thread; his body seemed to understand how it would attack. Francis was learning the pattern like parrying jabs, uppercuts, and standard punches from Cutter. He could see and feel how it worked. Even through the chaos of magic, it had a pattern.

Threads always moved and twisted, yet they were connected. He was an idiot.

Trying to stop a hundred tiny strands was impossible. For one to do that seemed like trying to kill every beast in an army on their own. The truth was you needed to cut off the head of the army. Then the rest would fall.

So Francis attacked the source. Choosing to let the tiny threads damage him, Francis assaulted the main one with his will. His skin served as the tool that fought back against the thread, bashing into the thick strand that splintered.

Francis felt the sensation of doing what needed to be done. Trina had been right. He had to fight his way out.

So, he swung with his willpower, punching and kicking against the magic that tried to electrocute his body. Every part of him roared to life when his skill became active and the flow felt as if it had reached a tipping point. The convulsions lessened, and fewer tiny threads existed. Now it was just one strand fighting against Francis, sending out the smaller ones to try and get past his attack.

It still hurt, but the spell lost some of its power.

[ Magic Resistance Gained - Rare ]

[ Magic Resistance - 8 ]

Francis’ mind faltered a moment, and the offense he was creating lagged. The thread assaulted him with renewed vigor, but even as it struck, all the tiny threads piercing into his body, the damage they did was less. His flesh had learned to fight against it.

“HEAL!” Oidrun called out.

Francis stood there, panting, overjoyed and dumbfounded.

Coolness came and his breathing got easier.

“Francis.” He turned and saw Trina looking at him.

When did she move there?

She was standing at the spot where they always spoke.

Without waiting, he joined her, feeling the threads wash over him as she cast her bubble of silence.

“What were you doing? Just then?” Trina asked.

“Uh… what do you mean?”

“My magic. It felt… like you were,” she paused, tapping her chin and frowning. “I could feel it. Inside me. Like feedback or unraveling. There are lessons taught on how combat works against another mage, and what you did was similar to that and yet different. Do you think you can do it again?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed.

“Good,” Trina said. “And congrats on acquiring Magic Resistance.”

His head snapped back and his jaw dropped as he stared at his sister, her face a blank slate as always.

“How… how did you know?” Francis asked.

“I could tell. I’ve used the same spell on you hundreds of times. It changed near the end. Not just in what I felt, but how it affected you. Besides, you weren’t injured as much as you were before. That alone is proof you resisted a good bit of damage.”

He wanted to hug her, wanted to reach out across the few feet and wrap her in his bloody arms, yet he didn’t. Instead, he bowed.

“I am grateful for you, Trina Lancaster. You are the noblest of nobles within your house.”

“It is true,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Now let’s finish this up. I have studying to do.”

She turned and walked away, leaving him bent over slightly and looking like a fool.

“Two more!” Oidrun announced as Francis made his way back, shaking his head, smiling to himself.

[ Magic Resistance ( Rare ) - This skill mitigates the magical damage the user takes from any magical attack. Strong enough levels of Resistance can allow the user to nullify all magical damage. The skill decreases the speed of damage done via magical methods. The current rank of the magical skill & power of the offensive spell assaulting the user will also determine if Magical Resistance has any chance of decreasing the damage done. ]

Another round passed and Francis fought back harder than before, now understanding some of what he was doing and how it worked best.

[ Pain Resistance Increased - 35 ]

[ Magic Resistance Increased - 12 ]

“HEAL!”

Francis felt alive. His body tingled but not from the lightning that had been coursing through it. He had gained twelve points in two spells. Every death, every injury, each loop was for a purpose, and this one felt sweeter in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Boy! Did you get what I think you did?” Oidrun’s question had the whole place go silent as the healer did their job, standing in the viscera around him.

“Perhaps,” Francis called out.

“Well done! Well, fucking done! Finally, we can stop this and–”

“No! One more!” Francis shouted. “You said it yourself. The healers are here and I can see if I can squeeze out another point. Besides, I want Trina to use the original starting power. I want to see if I can feel a difference.”

Laughter echoed over the applause of the healers and Oidrun nodded his head.

“Foolish and headstrong. I love it. One more! Let’s get Mr. Lancaster another point!”

Francis turned, smiling as he set his feet and prepared for one last go. “Ready!”

The lightning came. The thread was thicker, and Francis fought against it with all his might. He slammed his will, his entire being, against the strand. Smaller threads came, each of them also thicker, and Francis endured the pain of it all, lashing out at the spell.

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

Resistance or not, the extra mana or power Trina poured into it was increasing the damage the spell did, but Francis’ new strength helped him fight even harder. Once again, he reached a stalemate, holding it back as he felt the balance tipping slightly.

And then he sensed another thread of magic. It was four times the size of the one he was currently fighting, dark and twisted.

His mind ignored the lightning, slamming everything he had into it.

Pain blossomed in a different way as his bones seemed to melt.

Deaths Dance roared with power as his body and life reached their absolute limits.

Taking all that power, he directed it back at the spell that sought to kill him.

A scream came as his life flickered out. It wasn’t his. It had sounded feminine.

A single notification appeared before the world went dark.