After the disaster with Raven, I canceled training for the rest of the day. Everyone needed time to process what had happened.
I needed time to process that I'd had a friend on Earth who I'd completely forgotten existed.
Classes continued regardless. The academy didn't care about existential crises.
Advanced Magical Theory with Professor Artemis was its usual mix of plagiarized research and condescending lectures. I sat in the back with Sarah, half-listening while thinking about Raven's curse and the loops and—
"The Divine Covenant," Artemis was saying, "established three hundred years ago, recognizes certain individuals who have achieved such power and influence that they function as divine authorities within their territories."
I perked up slightly. This was actually interesting.
"These so-called gods," he continued, "maintain order, provide protection, and receive worship in exchange. They are bound by the Covenant to respect each other's territories and not interfere in mortal governance beyond their ecclesiastical duties."
A student raised her hand. "But Professor, are they actually gods? Or just very powerful people?"
Artemis smiled thinly. "An excellent question. The truth is... complicated. Most of these deities began as humans who achieved SS-rank power through cultivation and ascension. Whether that makes them truly divine or simply very powerful is a matter of theological debate."
I kept my expression neutral, but inside I was cataloging information.
Because I'd met three of these "gods" across different loops.
And killed them.
Not something I was about to announce in class, obviously. Revealing that kind of information would be spectacularly stupid—the Churches would hunt me down, other "gods" would see me as a threat, and I'd spend the entire loop dealing with assassination attempts from multiple divine-adjacent organizations.
No thank you.
But the memories were there:
Loop 34. Solaris the Sun God. Killed him after he tried to conscript me into his church's holy army. Turns out even "divine" fire can be countered if you know the right techniques. The Church of the Sacred Flame spent three months hunting me afterward. Very tedious.
Loop 67. Typhania the Storm Queen. She'd been attacking coastal cities, calling it "divine judgment." I'd disagreed. Violently. Weather manipulation was impressive but ultimately just advanced air and water magic. She died like anyone else.
Loop 89. Mordrek the Death Lord. That one was self-defense. After I'd destroyed half of Valenhall in my grief-rage spiral, he'd come to "claim my soul for his domain." We fought. He lost. I added "deicide" to my list of crimes that loop.
The thing that all three had in common? They'd scattered like roaches when Azkaros attacked in Loop 96. These so-called gods, these beings people worshipped and prayed to, had abandoned millions of followers the moment a real threat appeared.
That's when I'd learned the truth: divinity was just power plus good marketing.
But sharing that truth? In a classroom full of witnesses? With professors who probably had Church connections?
That would be suicidally stupid.
So I kept my mouth shut and took notes like a good student.
"The gods in different nations," Artemis continued, "each have their own domains and specialties. Nordholm's Iron Father oversees craftsmanship and war. Solvaris's Serpent Goddess governs trade and fortune. Our own Solaris in Valtera represents light, fire, and justice."
"What happens if someone challenges a god?" another student asked.
"They die," Artemis said flatly. "The gods are untouchable. Attempting to harm them is not only impossible but blasphemous. The Church executes heretics who even suggest such things."
I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.
Untouchable. Right.
"Of course," Artemis added, "there are theories that these gods are simply extremely powerful mages who've cultivated worship as a power source. That faith itself can be weaponized through complex mana-sharing contracts. But such theories are..." He glanced around. "Let's say they're not encouraged by the ecclesiastical authorities."
At least he was being honest about the corruption. Small mercies.
The lecture continued. I stopped paying attention, thinking instead about the bigger picture.
If Azkaros was coming back in seven years, ahead of schedule, the gods would run again. Like they always did. They'd abandon their followers, hide behind whatever power they'd accumulated, and let regular people die while they preserved themselves.
Because that's what powerful people did. God or not.
The entity that had given me the choice when I died on Earth—that had been different. That presence had been genuinely omniscient, omnipresent, beyond mortal comprehension. That was what actual divinity felt like.
These local "gods" were just people who'd gotten strong and decided to charge admission to their power.
But proving that? Exposing them?
Not my problem. Not this loop. I had enough enemies without adding every Church in three continents to the list.
Let them have their frauds. Let people believe in divine intervention.
I had more immediate concerns—like whoever was watching me, like Azkaros gathering forces, like keeping my growing collection of traumatized teenagers alive.
The gods could sort themselves out.
Or not.
Either way, it wasn't my business unless they made it my business.
The bell rang. Class ended.
Sarah leaned over as we packed up. "You looked very interested in that lecture. Planning something?"
"Planning to avoid religious authorities while they pretend their gods aren't just powerful con artists."
"Wise."
"I have my moments."
We headed for lunch, and I felt those watching eyes again. Still there. Still patient.
Whoever they were, they were smarter than the Church.
Which meant they were more dangerous.
"Trouble?" Sarah murmured.
"Always. But manageable trouble. The kind that requires planning instead of immediate violence."
"Your life has such distinct categories of trouble."
"You develop a system after 127 loops. It's all about organization."
She laughed, taking my hand as we walked. "At least you're consistent."
"Consistently troubled, yes."
We reached the dining hall where Celeste, Luna, and Raven waited.
And somewhere behind us, someone watched.
Someone who knew things they shouldn't.
Someone who was waiting for the right moment.
But not today.
Today, I'd just eat lunch with people who somehow tolerated my existence.
And try not to think about gods, frauds, or the seven years until everything went to hell.
Again.
---
That evening, I found myself alone in my room, reviewing notes.
Not class notes. Combat notes. Strategies for dealing with Azkaros. Patterns from previous loops. Weaknesses I'd exploited before.
A knock interrupted.
"It's open."
Raven entered, carrying her notebook and looking tired but determined.
"I analyzed the soul fragment more," she said without preamble. "The curse anchor. It's not just external—it's actively maintaining your regression loop."
"I knew that."
"But did you know it's also preventing you from dying permanently?" She sat on my desk. "The curse doesn't just reset you to sixteen. It literally won't let you stay dead. Even if someone destroyed your soul completely, the anchor would reconstruct you. That's why you keep coming back."
"So I'm functionally immortal."
"Within the loop, yes. But—" She flipped through her notes. "The anchor is weakening. Each regression damages it slightly. Eventually, it'll break. And when it does..."
"I die for real."
"Or you break free of the regression entirely. Could go either way."
"How many loops left?"
"Hard to say. Twenty? Thirty? The degradation isn't linear." She looked at me seriously. "Marcus, you need to break this curse before it breaks you. Because if you hit the limit and regress one more time, there might not be enough of you left to come back."
"Noted."
"That's it? Just 'noted'? I just told you you're on a cosmic timer—"
"Raven. I've known I was dying slowly for forty loops. This isn't new information. It's just more specific." I closed my notes. "I'm working on it. The key Luna mentioned, the trial of truth, breaking the curse anchor—all of it is on my list. Right between 'stop Azkaros' and 'keep everyone alive.'"
"Your list is terrible."
"My life is terrible. The list reflects that."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm sorry. For watching all those loops and not being able to help. For being forced to just... observe while you suffered."
"Not your fault. Curse contract, remember? You didn't choose that any more than I chose regression."
"Still. It feels—" She stopped. "It feels like I failed you. On Earth and here. Marc and Marcus. Both versions."
"You didn't fail anyone. You survived your own curse long enough to break the observation clause. That's more than most people could do." I stood, walking over to her. "Besides, now you can actually help instead of just watching. That's progress."
"Is it? Or am I just going to watch you die in higher definition?"
"Guess we'll find out." I offered a small smile. "But hey, at least this time you can take notes with commentary instead of just clinical observation. That's something."
She laughed—broken but real. "You're an idiot."
"Comes with the territory."
She stood, heading for the door. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we need to discuss the curse-breaking ritual. It's complicated and will probably hurt."
"Everything hurts. I'm used to it."
"That's deeply sad."
"Welcome to my existence."
She left, and I was alone again.
Just me, my notes, and the growing certainty that Loop 128 was accelerating toward something big.
Something that would either break the curse or break me.
Possibly both.
But for now, I had time.
Seven years until Azkaros.
Twenty to thirty loops until my soul shattered.
One night until training started again at 4 AM.
Priorities.
I went to bed, knowing Sarah would probably show up around midnight to keep watch.
Knowing that somewhere, someone was planning my death.
Knowing that the gods everyone worshipped were frauds who'd run when tested.
Knowing all of it, and continuing anyway.
Because that's what you did when you'd died 127 times.
You kept going.
Until you couldn't anymore.