Caelan's sword broke.
The cracked metal gave way with a sharp sound, and half the blade spun through the air before disappearing among the ruins.
The impact ran through his arms into his shoulders.
It hurt.
But pain no longer mattered.
In front of him, the creature had not even moved.
The King of Desolation watched him from the top of a hill of corpses. His figure was enormous, covered in black armor that seemed forged from bone and hardened shadows. Twisted spines emerged from his back, and the sword he held was larger than a man's body.
Around them, the world was dead.
The capital's walls had fallen days ago. Towers were broken like rotten teeth. The sky was red, covered by a layer of smoke and ash that never faded.
Caelan breathed with difficulty.
The air tasted like blood.
He had fought for three days.
Three days without sleep.
Three days trying to delay the inevitable.
He knew it was useless.
It always was.
The King of Desolation lowered his gaze to the broken sword in Caelan's hands.
Then he spoke.
"Persistent."
His voice was not a monstrous roar.
It was calm.
Almost curious.
"Humans are always like this at the end," the creature continued. "Even when everything is already over."
Caelan spat blood.
He tried to laugh, but only a rough sound came out.
"Not… all of them."
The King tilted his head slightly.
"You already know, don't you?"
Caelan did not answer.
He didn't need to.
The monster knew.
There was something different about him.
It always knew.
Caelan looked around.
Corpses.
Thousands of them.
Knights.
Mages.
Soldiers.
Heroes.
All dead.
Ninety-nine times.
Ninety-nine lives.
Ninety-nine endings exactly the same.
Sometimes the world had lasted longer.
Sometimes less.
In one life they had endured for twenty years.
In another, barely five.
But it always ended the same way.
Always.
The King of Desolation slowly raised his sword.
"You have fought more times than I can count," he said. "That is… interesting."
Caelan let the broken sword fall.
His hands no longer had the strength to hold it.
"I can count them."
The monster watched him in silence.
"Ninety-nine," Caelan whispered.
The wind dragged ash across the corpses.
For a moment, the King of Desolation did not speak.
Then he took a step forward.
The ground trembled.
"Then this is the last one."
Caelan lifted his gaze toward the red sky.
He almost looked peaceful.
"I hope so."
In his previous lives he had tried everything.
He had been a hero.
He had led armies.
He had united kingdoms.
He had betrayed allies.
He had destroyed cities to delay invasions.
He had done things no human should ever do.
Nothing worked.
Humanity always died.
The King of Desolation raised his sword.
"You are… interesting, human."
Caelan closed his eyes.
He was tired.
Very tired.
"I know."
The sword fell.
The world went black.
The air smelled of damp earth.
The sound of chickens filled the outside.
Caelan opened his eyes.
For several seconds, he did not move.
The wooden ceiling was right above him.
Crooked beams.
Stains of moisture.
The small hole where morning light slipped through.
He knew it.
He had seen it before.
Ninety-nine times.
His chest rose and fell slowly.
He could hear his own heart.
It beat calmly.
Too calmly.
He turned his head toward the window.
Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden boards.
Outside, voices could be heard.
People talking.
A cart rolling along the dirt road.
Life.
Caelan slowly sat up in bed.
His hands were intact.
No scars.
No blood.
He looked at his fingers.
Thin.
Young.
He breathed deeply.
The air was clean.
It did not smell like ash.
It did not smell like death.
For a long moment he did nothing.
He only listened.
The sounds of the village.
A dog barking.
A hammer striking wood.
Someone arguing in the street.
Normality.
Finally, Caelan let out a sigh.
"Again."
He got out of bed.
The floor creaked under his feet.
The room was small.
A bed.
A table.
A chair.
Nothing else.
The same miserable house where he had awakened every time.
The same day.
The same beginning.
He walked to the window and opened it.
The village was there.
Small.
Poor.
Crooked wooden houses.
Dry fields.
People already working.
All alive.
For now.
Caelan looked toward the horizon.
The distant mountains stood beneath the blue sky.
Quiet.
Silent.
Soon…
everything would begin again.
In his previous lives he had tried to change this day.
He had tried to warn people.
He had tried to run.
He had tried to prepare.
Nothing worked.
Events changed.
But the ending was always the same.
The world died.
Caelan rested his forehead against the window frame.
"Ninety-nine times…"
He had saved cities.
He had killed monsters.
He had built armies.
He had sacrificed everything.
Nothing was enough.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in many lives…
he felt no urgency.
No desperation.
Only exhaustion.
A deep exhaustion.
When he opened his eyes again, something in his gaze had changed.
"Alright."
The word came out calmly.
Accepted.
He looked at the village.
People walking.
Laughing.
Arguing.
They knew nothing.
In a few years…
many of them would die.
In a few years…
the whole world.
Caelan stepped away from the window.
"Ninety-nine times I tried to save them."
He picked up an old shirt from the chair.
"Ninety-nine times I failed."
He put it on slowly.
This time…
he would not do the same.
He paused for a moment.
Thinking.
Remembering.
In his previous lives he had tried many things.
But he had always followed one rule.
Protect.
Save.
Resist.
That rule had led him to death…
ninety-nine times.
Caelan finished buttoning the shirt.
"Then let's do something different."
He stepped outside the house.
The morning sun illuminated the dirt road.
A man greeted him as he passed.
"Hey, kid!"
Caelan raised a hand in response.
The normality of the world almost seemed absurd.
No one knew.
No one imagined what was coming.
Caelan walked slowly through the village.
Observing.
Remembering.
Every corner felt familiar.
Every street.
Every face.
He had lived this day too many times.
But this time…
he would not repeat it the same way.
He stopped at the edge of the road.
Looking at the dark forest that stretched beyond the fields.
There were secrets there.
Dangers.
Power.
In his other lives it had taken him years to find them.
This time…
he knew exactly where they were.
A small smile appeared on his face.
Cold.
"This time…"
He looked at the blue sky.
"I won't save anyone."
The wind moved the leaves of the forest.
Caelan began walking toward the trees.
"This time…"
His voice was barely a whisper.
"I'm only going to survive."
And to survive…
he knew exactly what he had to do.
The world was going to fall.
That could not be changed.
But he could change.
This time…
he would not be a hero.
He would not be a savior.
Not even a monster.
Only one thing.
A survivor.
And when the world ended again…
Caelan intended to still be alive.
End of Chapter 1