Loopbreaker

Francis felt reborn. It was unbelievable how a single act had stripped away all of the frustration that had built up over three thousand deaths. Now he roared with fury every second he took the battlefield.

Sometimes Francis wore a blindfold, other times he simply closed his eyes. There were loops he stuffed his ears and nose, relying only on his eyes. Death came, that damn bell rang, and Francis each time moved with purpose.

He mixed things up, not starting at the same spot on the battlefield, finding different paths and clearing through the army that never seemed to run out. Like the sea, each death brought a fresh wave, ready to crash against the sand.

Yet Francis was a stone wall, an immovable object that stopped its advance. Death was harder to come by sometimes. That was until one of the creatures that could kill Stenson would appear. Today, he ran into a new one.

Its fur was pure black, and its yellow eyes reflected the dim light of the sky.

Every beast nearby had moved away as it roared, apparently claiming Francis as a chew toy it would enjoy. The lack of light hid much of the impressive physique this beast had. Muscles filled its ten-foot-tall body in a way that almost seemed impossible. Its legs were as thick as Francis’ chest and the claws looked more dangerous than the two curved blades it carried.

“Who are you?” it spoke. “I smell something… familiar.” Its voice pierced the distance between them, a shout from fifty yards away that carried a weight of power.

“Just a man who is tired of your kind and the death you bring,” Francis replied. “Tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine.”

It laughed, or it appeared that it did, leaning its head back, body shaking, but what came from it was a high-pitched scream. It sounded like children in pain.

“You would know my name? Softskin, you’re not worthy of knowing my name.”

“And yet, you want to know mine,” Francis replied. “Seems unfair, especially since I’ve lost count of how many of your kind I have killed.”

Francis’ night vision struggled to see anything beyond the large shape, but the hair on his neck stood as Francis felt anger coming from the beast.

“You have earned the right to die by my blades. Know I shall save part of you to feed my children so that they may grow stronger off your bones.”

Francis didn’t reply. There was no time as the beast moved faster than he could believe.

One moment it had been before fifty yards away and before him, the next it was on Francis’ left, two massive blades coming at him.

[ Shield Wall ]

A crack came from the secondary blade he held; only the one Baxter had gifted Stenson survived the initial clash.

That curved blade swept across his body, grinding against the bones of his chest, unable to break them, yet the blow sent him rolling through the dirt.

“Impressive,” it snarled.

On his feet the moment he could stand, Francis heard those words and sensed the beasts' approach.

It was quiet, impossibly quiet. No sound came from where it touched the ground. The black fur seemed to absorb light, making it harder to follow with his eyes. But there was a smell. An overpowering smell of musk.

Wherever it moved, the scent was stronger, overwhelming, and Francis used the only sense he could to track the beast.

It struck with single sword attacks, toying with Francis, not killing him when an opening in his defenses was present. Francis could see that it wore what had to be a smile. Multiple teeth displayed, lips curled upward, and the sound of screaming children occasionally came as Francis tried to parry and dodge the blows.

Francis thought he saw an opening and went for it, knowing this thing was toying with him.

[ Power Strike ]

[ Flurry ]

[ Quick Attack ]

His weapon flashed, the speed of them increasing to a point they blurred. The beastkin’s weapons clashed with his single blade, but one strike made it through, nicking the midnight-black skin.

The beast hissed, and the game of cat and mouse was over.

Two blades came at him, faster than Francis could track.

[ Shield Wall ]

His attempts at minimizing the damage that came were pointless. A sword strike took off his left arm at the shoulder, and another removed his right leg.

[ Death’s Dance Activated ]

With an arm and a leg missing, Francis should have been a twitching piece of flesh on the ground, but he didn’t allow that to take place. Francis shouted, the power of his ability and the will to go down fighting combined. In his mind, this fight wasn’t over. Not until the darkness claimed him would he give in.

And so Francis attacked.

[ Power Strike ]

[ Flurry ]

[ Quick Attack ]

Two strikes struck the beast, cutting deeper than the first one had. His opponent backed up, pulling its weapons into a defensive position, but Francis didn’t let it escape so easily.

Lunging off his only leg, ignoring the torrent of blood that came from both his wounds, Francis felt the power of Death’s Dance reaching a culmination. He was going to die in less than three heartbeats no matter what. But all that meant was he grew stronger until that very last breath.

So he attacked again.

And again.

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And again.

Over and over those three abilities were used, and he ignored the fatigue that wanted him to stop. The beast struck back, both blades coming together, at Francis’ midsection, cleaving his body in two. Yet Francis wasn’t done.

As his torso fell toward the ground, he willed everything he had, thrusting once more with his blade, using his three skills.

Though Francis didn’t have legs to push off for momentum or power, his will made a way. A single blade strike struck true, slicing up the beast's thigh and into its groin.

A wail, far higher than any other one the beastkin had made, came and Francis smiled.

Death should have come.

But it didn’t.

Something flashed before him, a notification but he didn’t care.

All Francis wanted to do was hurt this opponent like never before.

Chunks of flesh were stripped off its lower leg and ankle as Francis hacked at the beast's leg while he fell. And then Francis felt a force pin him to the ground.

“Die already!” it screamed.

Finally, darkness came as pressure pressed against his skull.

***

Francis sat in the woods, needing a moment to comprehend what was before him.

It had taken effort to answer his brother, ignoring the questions that always came now.

“How are you so big? What happened? Why don’t you share?”

Phillip hadn’t argued once when he told him where they would meet later today. He could see the fear in his trainer’s eyes, and it was far stronger than the questions he might want answered.

But all Francis wanted to do was stare at that notification.

[ Skill Evolution - Death’s Dance (Epic)has Evolved into Warrior’s Resolve (Legendary) ]

[ Warrior’s Resolve - 5 ]

[ Warrior’s Resolve ( Legendary ) - Few will ever know what true resolve is. Those who do understand that death isn’t the end. Anytime you are injured a bonus to speed and strength will be granted, increasing the closer to death you become. Far greater is the power to push past death itself for ten seconds. Only the destruction of your mind will prevent or end this ability. ]

This ability felt earned. Far more than the others. Francis was closing in on five thousand deaths, having pushed himself over and over to become what he must. Every other time he faced one of those monsters that appeared, Francis had been cut down quickly. This time had been different. He had pushed past the moment of death.

Smiling, Francis stood and started jogging. He would beat Phillip to town, and he would keep another promise he had made.

***

“You seem awfully happy,” Stenson said. “Are you always this… excited?”

Francis roared with laughter and shook his head, having not yet told the final part of the last death.

“No, usually I’m all business but this time… well, let’s just say I’ve kept a few promises and it feels good.”

An eyebrow raised on the older man’s face and he nodded slowly. “So, you fought a new beast, one just as strong as the one you say kills me, yet managed to hack its balls off. I would find that to make me excited as well. Even though this whole situation is new to me, I can read when someone is holding back and that smile you’re wearing tells me I’m right.”

“It’s.. I… one of my skills evolved,” Francis finally blurted out.

Stenson leaned forward so fast, Francis was almost certain the older man would lunge at him. At the same time, Stenson’s eyes widened, and he waited like a dog wanting a treat. “Well, tell me, boy! Don’t just tease me!”

“Death’s Dance evolved,” Francis replied. “It became Warrior’s Resolve.”

“No… that’s not possible. Warrior’s Resolve is a…” The general stopped talking, his eyes darting back and forth as they always did when he was thinking. “What does it do?” he asked, almost whispering at how faint his voice was.

“Well, now when I take any damage, my speed and strength are increased, no longer having to wait until my life force is over half.”

“Yes… that does seem… wait,” Stenson’s gaze narrowed, his lips forming a frown. “There’s more… You’re still holding something back.”

Accusing eyes glared at him, and Francis grinned, having been unable to keep a straight face. “Yes. So even if it took an injury that should kill me or suffered enough that I would die, I won’t for ten seconds. Unless of course they chop off my head or destroy it in an attack.”

“Jaegar’s balls,” Stenson muttered. “The legends… they were true.”

“What did the legends say?” Francis asked.

“They’ve changed so much over five thousand years,” Stenson replied slowly. “Tiny pieces of paper, broken stone tablets. Things that are remnants of time long ago. Across the four kingdoms are… stories… we call them legends, of heroes who defied death. Some that even rose to become gods. None of us believes them because that is foolishness. No grandmaster I know of has ever grown strong enough to claim such power and the rare sage was so old they are said to have died from burning out their life force and not an injury.

“But… a few stories from all four kingdoms speak of something,” the general continued. “The Kingdom of Tules is known for having the strongest warriors one can imagine. Where they live breeds men and women who are much tougher than in any of the other kingdoms. Every day is a fight and they make our way of training look like pampered nobles that consume potions and elixirs to grow stronger. Sure, they are rare as the ingredients required to make them are not traded that often, but to be one of the greatest in Tules is a sign of true physical and mental fortitude.

“That is where the legend of the skill, Warrior’s Resolve, is mentioned. Legend says a war chief there could push past injuries far beyond what should have been allowed and with each moment he became stronger, dealing out punishment none could withstand.”

“But if he could do that, how did he live?” Francis asked.

Stenson slowly smiled, his lips curling upward and for a second looked almost evil. “That is the rub, isn’t it? How would a man survive such wounds and still manage to live? How could he lose an arm and a leg and still be the war chief even if he survived? That would make him a target and you and I both know a smart fighter would turn the fight to their advantage. Someone might fight in a way where the chief couldn’t catch their opponent.”

“So he heals? Like… from healing magic or what?”

The general shrugged, still smiling as he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. The legend changes based on who tells it. I have read a few scrolls from the last three or four hundred years with different variations of the chief’s power. Even his name changes. The only reason I know the name of the skill you now have and what he supposedly had is because I traded knowledge for knowledge a few hundred years ago.”

“You did what?” Francis asked. “Like got together with other old men and swapped stories over a drink?”

“Not exactly, but something like that,” Stenson replied, chuckling. “You don’t know everything about me, I’m certain. My family, our history, or our ties to the throne. Or do you?”

Francis shook his head. “No, I can’t even get you to tell me the name of your attack skill. Sometimes I get so tired of the games you play but then crap like this happens and I pick up something that’s a legend. It’s hard to argue with results. I guess that’s where that damn Trainer Oidrun gets his crazy method of teaching from.”

“You are correct,” Stenson replied. “Still… I sat down one day… well a month actually, with one person from each kingdom. You’d be surprised who shows up to a meeting like that. If I hadn’t been married…” The general cleared his throat and shook his head. “Another time perhaps for that one, try not to make me suffer if you mention it. I’m a little embarrassed to admit she had such a sway over me, but I later learned it was magic.”

Francis felt his eyes widening and the older man held a hand up before he could ask any questions.

“Still, we traded secrets,” Stenson stated. “Things most don’t share because we were interested in learning what might be possible. We were the ones willing to return home and attempt the impossible.”

“Can you stop reminiscing and just tell me what you’re holding back before I grow old like you?” Francis groaned.

“Patience!” snapped Stenson. “Still, you’re right. I’d hate for you to endure another hour or two in peace when you could be out there killing more creatures. Regardless… it was believed… or is believed there are abilities which allow you to heal faster… regenerate if you will. A few variations, some stronger and some weaker. Part of me is surprised you haven’t acquired one yet but then again, you fight till you die. Not the best way to accrue a skill that lets you heal.”

“So, what?” Francis replied. “I need to get cut and beat up and then stand around and wait?”

“There are those who would say yes. But then ask yourself, how many are willing to endure a thousand cuts every day or can afford to have someone heal them from those cuts?”

“Well, crap, now I have to fight and stop to rest,” Francis muttered. “I guess I’m going to be fighting naked till I am old like you.”

Stenson cleared his throat before shaking his head. “Possibly. But, I think in the next ten or twenty thousand death’s you’ll be strong enough to win.”

Francis coughed and gave the general a one-finger salute.

Twenty thousand more deaths… could I mentally survive that?

Considering that question, Francis looked at his current stats and knew the answer was an easy one.

Yes… yes he could.