Chapter 6: Again
Part 1: The Smile That Wasn't Real
Kaito stood in silence.
The air felt thicker here—heavier, like it carried the weight of unseen eyes. The forest behind him stretched endlessly in every direction, a tangled mass of trees that seemed to shift and lean when he wasn't looking. Gnarled roots twisted like skeletal hands across the ground, and the leaves above were so dense they choked the sunlight, letting only sickly beams of pale gold drip through.
His feet sank into damp earth with a quiet squelch, the sound swallowed instantly by the suffocating stillness around him. No birdsong. No wind through the branches. Only the faint creaking of ancient wood and the distant, rhythmic drip… drip… drip of water falling from high above to some unseen pool below.
The wind—when it came—was not gentle. It scraped across his bruised skin like sandpaper, like the whispering claws of every moment he had lived and lost. Each gust seemed to tug at him, as if trying to peel back the layers of who he used to be.
His shoulders were slouched. His clothes hung in tatters—threads soaked with sweat, blood, and grime. His hoodie, once gray, was now a crusted smear of color, torn at the sleeves and clinging to him like regret. The familiar weight of the sword on his back—a thing that once made him feel strong, grounded—felt more like a shackle now.
Not now.
Not after everything.
He had died again.
Again and again and again.
The thought echoed through his mind like footsteps in an empty hallway. Each death wasn't just a defeat; it was a peeling away of something deeper. A sliver of memory. A piece of warmth. A name. A laugh. A feeling.
Each time more brutal than the last, each time more painful. But not the physical kind—not anymore.
That pain had long become numb. Routine. A part of him now, like breathing, like blinking. The ache in his ribs, the phantom bruises, the cut on his cheek—all background noise. What hurt more was the weight—the suffocating, crushing weight—of what he was giving up just to keep going.
The sky above bled orange and red as the sun slipped behind some unseen ridge, casting long, crooked shadows across the forest floor. The trees seemed taller now, looming like watchers. Accusers. Prison bars.
He looked up at the fading sky, his face expressionless.
He wasn't crying.
He wasn't screaming.
He wasn't breaking.
He was smiling.
It wasn't a smile of joy or hope. No.
It was empty.
A hollow, worn-out smile, like the curve of someone's lips when they've forgotten what real emotions feel like. Like someone who's forgotten what it means to be alive. A smile made of grief that had nowhere else to go.
The kind of smile that lives only in nightmares.
He sat against a jagged rock slick with moss and something darker. The stone pressed cold and wet through his clothes. He didn't care. His legs ached with exhaustion, his hands hung limp at his sides. He ran his fingers through his dirt-crusted hair, dragging across his scalp in a slow, tired motion.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. Quiet. Uneven.
It was the kind of sound that didn't belong in the living world. A sound scraped from the throat of someone whose sanity had begun to slip sideways. More terrifying than any scream. A chuckle born of madness, of numb acceptance, of being trapped in a game that refused to end.
Of being alive when everything in him had already died.
He spoke to no one. To the air. To the shadows. To the world that refused to let him die properly.
> "I don't even know why I'm smiling," he said, voice hoarse and thin. "I think I forgot how to do anything else."
The words drifted away, swallowed whole by the forest.
He had cried when he died the first time. A desperate, gut-wrenching cry that left him curled into himself like a child.
The second time, too.
The third, the fourth.
But after that, the tears stopped. Not because the pain vanished—because the soul within him dulled so much it couldn't find the strength to mourn.
He tried to remember how it felt to cry like that. To feel anything so deeply. But the memory was as distant as a childhood dream. Something half-remembered, half-invented.
A rustle in the distance made him glance up. Something moved just beyond the trees—too fast to see clearly. He didn't flinch. Didn't reach for the sword. Just watched.
He knew whatever it was would kill him eventually. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
But soon.
And when it did, he'd come back.
He stood, eventually, because what else was there to do?
The joints in his knees cracked. His legs felt hollow. His feet scraped across the underbrush with a dull shff-shff as he moved forward, each step heavy with the weight of memory and loss.
He couldn't stop.
He wouldn't stop.
Even if it meant offering more of himself to the fire.
Even if he forgot every single reason why he started walking in the first place.
Part 2: The Cost of Moving Forward
The statue awaited him.
Unmoving. Unfeeling.
Its silhouette rose from the center of the clearing like a wound carved into the forest itself—black stone slick with rain, or perhaps blood, glistening under the dying light. Moss clung to its base in uneven patches, and deep cracks ran through its surface like veins. At its center, a hollow chamber pulsed with an otherworldly fire—an ember the size of a heart, floating in suspension, flickering with impossible colors. Reds too deep, blues too cold, and violets that hurt the eyes.
The flame didn't burn the way fire should. It shimmered. Whispered.
It watched.
Kaito stood at the edge of the clearing, his breath rattling in his throat. It felt like inhaling through a straw full of ash. The statue had not moved, not once—but it always felt like it knew he was coming.
Knew what it would take from him next.
The silence here was different. The forest behind him had been full of dead sounds—drips, cracks, the shuffle of unseen creatures. But this place? This place was wrongly silent. A vacuum of noise that made his ears ring.
It wanted something again.
It always did.
The pressure built behind his eyes. His fingers twitched at his sides, not from fear, but from something more primal—rage, maybe. Or sorrow. Or both.
This time, it wanted a memory.
Not just any memory—something precious. Something vital.
He had learned by now that the statue wouldn't let him pass without payment. And the payments always came with a price he couldn't measure until it was too late.
He stepped closer. The air grew colder. Denser. His breath fogged faintly before vanishing into the chill.
He took a deep breath, and it trembled in his lungs. His voice cracked as he spoke—not from weakness, but from how rarely he allowed himself to speak anymore.
> "I give… the warmth in my father's voice… when he told me he was proud of me."
The flame pulsed once. Soft. Gentle. And then—
Like breath on a mirror—gone too quickly.
There was silence. A harsh, deafening silence.
Then, like a thread being snipped inside his skull, the memory vanished.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And suddenly—he couldn't even remember the tone anymore. Couldn't recall if his father had spoken slowly or quickly. Deeply or softly. His father's voice had once felt like sunlight—distant, but warm. Now, it was… nothing. A name without a sound. A shape without a soul.
Just emptiness.
His knees nearly buckled. But he didn't let them.
That hurt more than any wound.
He turned away from the statue. The wind blew again, curling around his arms like smoke. It was colder now.
Or maybe it was just the space left behind in his mind.
He walked.
His footsteps crunched over dead leaves and broken twigs, the sound sharp in the silence. The forest wrapped tighter around him now—branches leaning in closer, roots coiling beneath his path like traps. The trees whispered in voices that didn't belong to trees. Every few steps, he swore he heard his name—Kaito—echo faintly behind him, but when he turned, there was only the sway of limbs and the rustle of leaves.
Thicker woods.
The shadows darker than before.
The shapes twisted.
They whispered in broken tongues.
The air buzzed faintly, like static pressing against the inside of his skull.
Then—it came.
That crawling thing.
With too many arms and no face.
Its body was a sick blend of insect and sinew, dragging itself forward with twitching limbs that ended in jagged claws. Flesh shimmered like wet leather. Black, but oily, as if dipped in something corrosive. From its blank face extended tendrils—long, boneless whips that moved with terrible grace.
Tendrils snapping through the fog.
The sound they made was like tearing silk soaked in mucus. Sharp, wet, unnatural.
Kaito didn't hesitate.
Steel sang as it left the sheath—a hiss through the air, familiar and brutal.
He ducked under the first lashing tendril. Rolled. Slashed.
The creature screamed—not from a mouth, but from every inch of its skin. A rising, wet screech that clawed at the inside of his ears.
One tentacle caught his leg.
He stumbled. Gritted his teeth.
Another gripped his side.
Pain exploded in his ribs. He cried out—but it was more of a snarl now. An animal sound. Feral. Cornered.
The thing moved faster. Stronger.
It yanked him off his feet. Slammed him to the earth.
CRACK.
His head hit a root. Stars danced behind his eyes.
And then it wrapped around his throat.
The pressure was immediate. Crushing.
He clawed at it. Kicked. Twisted.
But the world was fading.
The forest dimmed. The fire of the statue burned behind his eyes like an afterimage.
His last thought was a name he couldn't remember.
Then—darkness.
>
[Death Recorded]
[Stats Reset – Strength: 0 | Endurance: 0 | Agility: 0]
Part 3: The Price of Memory
He woke up in the same stone room.
Again.
The same dull light poured from the high, unreachable ceiling, cold and unmoving. It bathed the chamber in a sterile gray glow, like moonlight filtered through ash. The walls were smooth but imperfect, like they had been worn down by centuries of silent suffering. No doors. No windows. Just the hum.
That cursed hum.
It throbbed through the floor and into his bones, a constant drone that felt like a heartbeat—but not his own. It wasn't loud. In fact, it was almost quiet. But it never stopped. And the longer he listened to it, the more it sounded like something alive. Breathing. Watching.
Kaito sat up slowly.
His muscles ached with the memory of pain, even though his body had reset. No scars. No wounds. But the phantom agony clung to him like a fever dream. The pressure around his throat still lingered—ghost hands where the monster had crushed the breath from him.
He exhaled.
His breath made no sound.
He stood, movements mechanical, and stared at his hands. Clean. Too clean. The blood was gone, but he could still feel the wetness on his palms. Still smell it.
Then his gaze drifted upward.
The statue waited.
Exactly where it always was—just beyond the chamber, past the long corridor of stone columns that framed it like an altar.
He walked.
The sound of his footsteps echoed dully, mismatched and slightly delayed, like the room was mocking his presence. Every step was familiar. Too familiar. He knew how many there were. Knew the exact moment the air would shift. The exact temperature. The exact flavor of dread rising in his mouth like bile.
He didn't hesitate this time. Not even a pause.
> "I give… the feeling of my sister holding my hand in the hospital. The last time she said she loved me."
The words spilled out flat, lifeless.
But inside, something screamed.
It burned.
Not on the skin—but inside. In the part of him that remembered who he was. Who he had once been. The memory twisted like a knife as it was pulled from him. Not quickly. Not cleanly. But torn loose.
A sudden, biting pressure in his chest. Behind his eyes. Like someone had reached into his soul and scooped out a piece of it with cold fingers.
And then—
Gone.
He knew he had a sister.
But…
He couldn't remember her face.
Or her voice.
Not even her name.
The realization hit like a collapse.
He knew she had existed. She had been there, at his side. Had meant everything. He could feel the hollow shape of the memory, the outline of something vital. But it was blank now. Like a burned photograph—edges intact, center scorched.
He staggered back a step.
He felt nothing.
That's what terrified him the most.
Not sorrow. Not longing.
Nothing.
He didn't even feel the loss anymore.
The forest returned.
Not suddenly, not with a blink—but like falling back into a nightmare you thought you'd escaped. The light flickered and shifted. The cold stone floor became damp soil again. Trees emerged like sentinels from mist. Branches hung low, dripping with dew and decay. The air stank of rot and copper. Wet bark creaked. Fungal growths throbbed on the trunks like breathing wounds.
Every sound felt too close—like the forest was breathing down his neck.
His feet squelched in the mud with each step. Not quietly, but with sticky, reluctant shhlk sounds that made his skin crawl. Leaves rustled above him, though there was no wind. Somewhere in the distance, an animal cried—a sound halfway between a sob and a snarl.
But he didn't flinch.
Not anymore.
The weight of what he'd lost pulled at his spine. Bent him slightly forward.
Like carrying a coffin on his back.
But he kept walking.
Because the only way out was forward.
Part 4: The Beasts and the Mirror
The forest again.
Different now.
Thicker. Wilder. Alive.
The trees loomed higher, their trunks contorted like they were writhing in slow agony. Bark peeled in strips that looked like flayed skin. Some trees bled—dark sap oozing like coagulated blood, sticking to everything it touched. Thorned vines coiled like serpents across branches, twitching as Kaito passed, as if scenting him.
The canopy above was dense—light filtered through in fractured slashes, gold splintered with green and shadow, never quite touching the forest floor. Mist crawled along the ground, clinging to his ankles, pulsing softly with an inner glow like it was breathing in time with his heart.
No birdsong. No insects. Just the distant groan of wood shifting, like the trees were speaking in a language meant only for themselves.
More monsters.
The air grew colder, heavier. Every breath Kaito took came with the faintest taste of rust and fungus. He gripped the hilt of his sword reflexively—not because he was afraid, but because he had learned.
He knew what came next.
The faceless beast returned.
It burst through the undergrowth with a shriek that had no mouth to form it—soundless yet deafening. A spasm of too many limbs—jagged elbows, sinew wrapped in pale skin stretched too thin. Its body was long and bent in impossible places, like it had been assembled by someone with no concept of anatomy.
But this time… he knew its pattern.
Its gait. Its angles.
He danced with it—not as a man desperate to survive, but as a killer who had bled enough to memorize death itself.
Steel sang as it left the sheath, slicing through the thick air with a keen metallic whisper. Kaito's boots slammed into the mud as he rolled, narrowly avoiding a swipe of jagged claws. A breath. Then a pivot. Then a slash.
Thwack.
He carved into one of its arms. The limb dropped with a wet thud and dissolved into ash before it hit the ground.
The beast shrieked again—its eyeless face somehow still brimming with rage. It lunged, faster this time.
Another roll. Another counter.
The sword clashed against bone with a sound like screaming metal.
The creature fell.
Its body twitched violently on the forest floor before evaporating into nothing, leaving behind only a smear of wet darkness on the moss.
But then—another horror.
Worse.
A floating creature of mouths and wings. It descended from the trees above with wings that were not feathered or leathery but scaled, and each scale opened like a small, whispering mouth. It didn't flap—just hovered, as though the forest itself held it aloft.
It shrieked silently.
A sound that didn't exist in the air but in the skull—burrowing directly into his thoughts like an insect.
Kaito staggered, vision warping. The trees twisted sideways. The world tilted. His nose bled instantly.
It dove.
He dodged, barely—stumbling to one knee. The creature passed overhead, the mouths all screaming different fragments of language: sobs, laughter, screams, lullabies. It circled again.
He tried to stand. Sword raised.
But then it screamed again.
His head exploded in pain. Like glass shattering behind his eyes.
Then darkness.
>
---
The next time, he gave more.
No hesitation.
No question.
Just that same broken walk to the statue. Same cold breath. Same numb voice.
> "I give… my favorite song."
The music vanished from his soul like water evaporating from stone. He could recall once humming something. Something beautiful. But now, not even a rhythm. Just silence.
> "I give… the scent of my childhood home."
Gone. That warm, sweet smell of wood polish, incense, and the old worn pages of his father's books.
Gone.
All gone.
The forest again.
The monsters again.
But this time… something different.
The mirror.
It emerged not from the trees—but from him. Like a shadow tearing loose from his heels.
A creature that was him.
Same sword.
Same stance.
Same cold eyes.
But its presence was wrong. Tainted. Like a cracked reflection—just enough off to make your stomach turn.
It stepped forward in perfect rhythm with him.
Then attacked.
The sound of their blades meeting echoed across the forest like thunder in a canyon. Sparks flew. Leaves scattered. Each strike a mirror of his own, anticipated before it began.
Kaito snarled, spun, tried to feint.
It was already there.
Blocking.
Countering.
Cutting.
He bled. First his shoulder, then his thigh.
He tried to push it back—tried to think unpredictably. But how do you outthink yourself?
Every weakness it exploited, he already knew.
And then—it whispered.
"You gave everything."
It was his voice.
"There's nothing left to protect."
His own words, but hollow, twisted.
"You keep dying to remember who you are… but all you're doing is erasing it."
He screamed. Charged. Desperation in every movement.
But it was too late.
One final strike.
A blade through the chest.
His blade.
The world turned black again.
>
Part 5: The Girl in the Forest
The next time he awoke, something was different.
Not in the world—but in him.
There was a heavy weight in his chest, a knot of dread wrapped around something deeper than pain. Not the usual fear of the beasts. Not the exhaustion of endless death. It was memory.
A name he never knew.
A face he couldn't forget.
Her.
The girl.
The one with dark, distant eyes. The one he tried to save.
The one who stabbed him right after he did.
His chest ached with something colder than betrayal. It wasn't the blade that had hurt the most—it was the look on her face. Calm. Inevitable. Like his death had been part of some plan he was never meant to understand.
He rose slowly, shoulders heavy, heart heavier. The familiar thrum of the forest pulsed through the earth, the air thick and damp with the scent of decaying leaves and moss. The wind stirred the canopy above, sending shadows sliding across the ground like a thousand crawling insects.
It was still the same forest—yet it felt different. It felt like a trap. The trees leaned closer, the branches hanging down like claws reaching for him. And somewhere deeper in the woods, there was something—watching. A whisper in the wind. A feeling in his bones.
Kaito hesitated. He could feel the pulse of dread creeping up his spine, but there was no time to waste. Not when the last sliver of hope felt like it was slipping from his fingers. Not when he knew she was out there again.
The portal shimmered ahead, pulsing with pale blue light like a heartbeat too slow to be alive. The moment Kaito stepped through, the atmosphere shifted—thicker, more oppressive. The air was damp against his skin, heavy with the smell of rotting wood and earth. The quiet was deafening, broken only by the distant chirp of unseen creatures. The forest embraced him once more.
But this time, it wasn't just the trees that filled his senses. It was her.
He could feel her presence long before he saw her—a sudden change in the wind, a soft rustle among the undergrowth. He froze, muscles tensing, every instinct telling him to retreat. He wasn't ready. Not yet. The girl—he had almost saved her last time, and she had nearly killed him in return.
But she was different now, wasn't she? She'd known his weakness, had known exactly how to pull him in.
And now…
She was waiting for him.
His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw it. Not yet.
And then, he saw her. A figure flickered between the trees. Dark eyes, distant, and impossibly calm. The moonlight filtered through the branches, casting silver light over her dark hair, which cascaded down her back like a river of ink. She was barely moving, but the presence of her felt like a storm gathering at the horizon.
He couldn't help himself.
"You."
The word fell from his lips like a curse. He couldn't tear his gaze away, even though he should have. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run—to flee before she could strike.
But she just stood there, staring at him. Waiting.
"You're back," she said softly, almost as if it were inevitable.
Kaito narrowed his eyes. Her voice was different from the last time—they weren't filled with coldness or hidden malice. It was almost… resigned. But that didn't matter. Not now.
He took a step back, hands trembling around the hilt of his sword. He could see it in her eyes, the way she tilted her head, almost as if she were studying him. Assessing him. She wasn't surprised to see him alive, wasn't shocked or confused. She knew. She knew he would come back again.
He had to be careful. He wasn't going to be fooled again.
"I remember you," he said, keeping his voice low. The words tasted like ash. "I know what you did."
She didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
"I had no choice," she replied, voice barely above a whisper. "If I hadn't…"
"You would have killed me," he interrupted, the words sharp, filled with the weight of a thousand deaths. "You stabbed me."
There it was. The hurt. The betrayal. He could feel it clawing at his chest. But there was more—there always was. A deeper fear. A coldness that wrapped around his ribs like a vice.
Her eyes softened, but only for a fraction of a second. Just long enough for him to see the flicker of something that looked almost like regret. Or was it pity?
"I didn't want to," she said. "But you didn't understand. You don't understand."
He took a step forward, and the soft rustle of leaves beneath his boots echoed through the forest like thunder in the silence. His heart hammered in his chest.
"Then explain it to me," he demanded, voice raw, cracking under the weight of his own frustration.
But she only looked away, back into the trees, and that was when Kaito saw it—the glint of a blade. The glint of another monster lurking just beyond the treeline.
The wind changed, and suddenly, the moment was over. She turned away without a word, disappearing into the shadows as if she had never been there.
Kaito's pulse thundered in his ears. Was she leaving him? Had she betrayed him again? Or was she simply testing him? Trying to see how far he would go this time?
He hesitated. And then, against every instinct, he followed.
The trees closed in around him, the branches twisting and writhing like serpents in the dark. The ground beneath his feet felt like it was shifting, changing, as if the forest itself was alive—alive and hungry. The air tasted of earth and fear. It clung to him, heavy and wet.
But still, he pushed forward, determined to keep pace with her, determined to learn the truth.
And then they fought.
The monsters came—claws that scraped like nails on stone, fangs that gleamed with hunger. A massive creature burst from the thicket, its eyes hollow and empty. It screeched, a sound that echoed in Kaito's skull like the ring of a bell. His sword was a blur of silver and steel, slashing through the air with a deadly rhythm. She was a blur beside him, moving in ways that seemed to defy nature itself. Her blade danced in the moonlight, cutting through the creatures with surgical precision.
It was over in a moment. The beasts lay in pieces around them, twitching and gurgling, the forest floor soaked with dark blood.
He turned to her, eyes narrowed, chest heaving. She stood there, watching him, as if waiting for him to speak.
But there were no words. No gratitude. No understanding.
"You keep dying, don't you?" she asked, her voice distant. Her eyes were empty.
He nodded, unable to do anything else.
"And you forget things too. Important things."
Her words sent a shiver down his spine. How could she know? How could she possibly understand?
"I don't remember what I've forgotten anymore," he whispered. The words felt like acid on his tongue. And as they left his lips, he realized something—he didn't care anymore.
She looked at him then—really looked. Her gaze softened for the briefest moment. Pity? Or something darker? He couldn't tell.
But then her expression hardened again, and she stepped away.
"Don't let it take everything," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rushing wind.
Before he could say anything—before he could even ask her name—she vanished. Just like that. As if she were never there at all. A ghost in the trees, swallowed by the mist, leaving nothing but the hollow echo of her voice.
Kaito stood frozen, the forest suddenly eerily silent. His chest tightened.
Was she gone for good?
The feeling of abandonment settled in his stomach like a stone. He wasn't sure whether it was the forest, the creatures, or her that terrified him more now. Because one thing was certain—nothing was ever truly gone in this place.
Not the monsters.
Not the memories.
And certainly not her.
Part 6: What's Left of Me
The monsters fell, but Kaito did not feel victory. He did not feel relief. The blood stained the ground, but it wasn't just the creatures' blood that soaked into the earth. It was his. Each battle, each death, was slowly eroding the person he had once been.
His breath came in shallow gasps as he stood over the broken corpses of the creatures. They had fallen easily, much too easily. His sword felt like an extension of his body now—a tool he had honed through death and desperation. Every swing, every thrust, was mechanical. The motions automatic. But there was nothing alive about it. There was no purpose to it. Only the cold, calculated movements of a man who had learned to survive, no matter the cost.
But even now, despite the crushing weight of his fatigue, despite the gnawing emptiness deep inside him, Kaito felt the flicker of something—something almost like hope. The forest ahead—he could see it. The edge of it. A space between the trees where the shadows broke, and the light spilled through. A path. The way out.
Could this be it?
Kaito stepped forward. His legs were heavy, and his feet felt like they were made of stone. The air tasted like rain, the scent of damp earth mixed with something else—something sweet and fleeting. For the first time in ages, he could smell the promise of something more. A life beyond the forest. A life beyond the endless cycle of death and forgetting.
But that wasn't the only thing that waited for him.
The sound of the wind, once a quiet whisper through the trees, now roared in his ears like a storm. It pushed against him, shoving him back with an almost angry force. He stumbled, his sword clanging against his leg, the noise startling in the stillness. The wind felt like it was trying to warn him, to keep him from moving forward. It was a pressure, a weight against his chest, tightening with every breath he took.
He stopped.
No... this can't be real.
The ground beneath his feet shifted. The trees seemed to sway unnaturally, bending toward him as if the forest itself were leaning in to listen, to watch. The shadows thickened, creeping along the trunks of the trees like dark fingers reaching for him. His breath caught in his throat.
"Is this it?" he muttered to himself, but his voice felt weak, empty. "Is this... the end?"
For a moment, the forest was quiet again. Too quiet. The hum in the air, the constant undercurrent of energy that pulsed through the ground, seemed to still, like everything was holding its breath.
Kaito felt it then—a presence.
He wasn't alone.
Something was there.
The darkness before him shifted. A shadow detached itself from the surrounding gloom, growing larger with every step it took toward him. It was a creature—something twisted and unnatural. Its form was indistinct at first, only an outline, a mass of dark shapes shifting like smoke. But as it drew nearer, the features became clearer—if only in glimpses. It had a twisted form, limbs long and spindly, like branches of a tree that had been broken and reassembled into something wrong. Its eyes—or what could have been eyes—glowed a pale yellow, a sickly light that pierced the darkness like a beacon.
The air grew colder, sharper, as the creature's presence pressed in on him, suffocating him with a palpable sense of dread. His body tensed, instincts screaming at him to move, to fight, to flee. But his legs felt like they were frozen to the spot, the weight of everything he had been through pressing down on him.
The creature let out a low, guttural growl. It sounded like the wind itself had come alive, carrying with it the voices of every death Kaito had suffered. Every scream. Every moment of agony. And then, to Kaito's horror, the ground beneath his feet began to tremble, the vibrations running up his spine like an electric shock.
The screams were everywhere.
Kaito's grip tightened on his sword, the cold metal biting into his skin. But the blade felt useless now. He had fought through countless horrors. He had battled beasts, monsters, reflections of himself. But none of it had prepared him for this—this creature, this force of darkness that seemed to be the very embodiment of his endless suffering.
The thing moved closer, its limbs scraping against the earth like rusted nails, dragging itself through the underbrush. The stench of rot filled the air, mingling with the musty scent of the forest. Every step it took seemed to warp the space around it, twisting the reality of the woods into something alien. Kaito's mind screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to obey.
Then it spoke.
Its voice was not a sound. It was a feeling. It resonated in Kaito's chest, vibrating through his bones, through the core of his very being.
"You will forget. You will lose. Everything you are. Everything you were."
The voice was cold, unfeeling, like a sentence delivered from beyond the grave.
Kaito's heart raced. His mind reeled. The weight of the creature's words hit him like a physical blow. The hopelessness—the truth of it. The endless deaths. The endless cycle of losing and forgetting. He was losing himself. Piece by piece. Memory by memory.
"Why?" Kaito croaked. His voice sounded so foreign, so weak, like it didn't belong to him. "Why... can't I just end it?"
The creature's eyes glowed brighter, its smile widening into something twisted and malevolent.
"Because you can't. You are nothing now. Just like everything that came before you. You will fight. You will die. And you will forget. Over and over and over again."
Kaito staggered back, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His sword felt heavier in his hands, like it was dragging him down. Like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality.
No...
He wasn't ready to let go. He couldn't.
But there was nothing left. No strength. No memory. No fight.
He let out a quiet, broken laugh, the sound of it shaking with the weight of everything he had lost. "Then what's the point?" he whispered. "What's the point of it all?"
The creature only grinned wider, its face contorting into something grotesque.
"The point is," it said slowly, "that there is no point."
And with that, the world around him seemed to dissolve. The trees, the shadows, the creatures—they all melted away into nothingness, leaving Kaito alone in the black void.
The silence was deafening.
He fell to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp, the cold ground pressing into his skin.
"I'm losing myself," he whispered, the words cracking in his throat. "I'm... I'm forgetting... everything."
His eyes burned as tears filled them.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Kaito wept. Not for the pain. Not for the blood that had been spilled. But for the boy he used to be—the boy who was slipping away with every death.
"I don't want to do this," he whispered, trembling. "I don't want to forget anymore."
He clenched his fists, digging his nails into the earth, trying to hold on to something.
But it was slipping.
Everything was slipping.
And in the distance, the faintest echo of a familiar laugh whispered through the wind.
Part 7: A New Beginning
The world around him shattered.
The last thing Kaito saw was the twisted grin of the creature—the one who had stalked him, taunted him, and slowly eroded every shred of his soul. It loomed above him, its cold eyes watching as his body crumpled under its weight. The air around him pulsed with its malevolent energy, the oppressive darkness closing in. The ground beneath him cracked as if the very earth was trying to swallow him whole.
He felt the familiar sting of death—the suffocating emptiness that always followed his final moments. The blackness that followed. But this time, it was different. This time, there was no reset, no stone room waiting for him. No return to the statue.
Kaito's last thought before everything faded was one of confusion.
This isn't the same.
---
He woke up in his own bed. The soft, familiar warmth of his blanket wrapped around him, the faint hum of his house in the distance. He blinked, his senses adjusting to the comfort of his surroundings. For a moment, he thought he had been dreaming. A long, endless nightmare. But no. This was real. This was the world he had left behind.
He sat up slowly, the morning light filtering through the window, casting a soft glow on the room. The house smelled faintly of dust and old wood, like it always did. Everything was where it was supposed to be—the worn carpet, the half-open drawer with papers spilling out, the old clock ticking steadily on the wall. Kaito ran his fingers through his hair, still dazed. His heart was pounding, and the weight in his chest felt heavier than ever.
It took him a few minutes to collect himself. To stand, to stretch, to breathe. The nightmare—the forest, the creatures, the constant death—felt like a dream, as though he had woken up in the real world once more.
For a moment, he almost wished it had been a dream. That he could return to his old life, forget about the hellish landscape and the monsters, the pain, the constant dying. But that wasn't possible, was it? He had already lost so much. His memories. His identity. So much of him had been chipped away.
Kaito spent the next few days trying to adapt. He went through the motions—eating, sleeping, talking to the few people who still knew him, still remembered him. He had no answers. No explanation for what had happened. Why he was back. Why it felt like a dream he couldn't escape. The house, his real world—it all felt distant, alien, like it didn't quite belong to him anymore.
But then something began to feel... off.
The days bled together, each one indistinguishable from the last. Kaito felt the gnawing emptiness again. The same feeling that had followed him into the forest. The same feeling that had followed him through countless deaths. It was as if his body was here, but his mind was trapped somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
Then, one evening, as he was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, a sharp, sudden sensation hit him. A dizzying wave of disorientation washed over him, like he was being pulled from the inside out. His heart raced as the room seemed to distort, the walls closing in on him. A strange hum filled his ears, and then—everything went dark.
---
Kaito's eyes snapped open, and he found himself lying on the cold, hard ground.
The forest was back.
His breath caught in his throat as he pushed himself up, confusion flooding his mind. The trees loomed around him, casting long, twisted shadows over the earth. The air was thick with the scent of damp foliage and the pungent odor of decay. The sky above was overcast, dark clouds swirling as if a storm was about to break.
It was the same forest. The same place he had died countless times.
Wait...
He blinked, and then he noticed something. The trees—those monstrous, gnarled things that had been so oppressive before—were now... different. Less crowded. The path ahead was clearer. There was a sense of space, a kind of openness he hadn't noticed before.
But there was something else, too. Something more important.
The notification.
It appeared in front of him, flashing in the air like a hologram:
Mission 1: Complete
Save Point: Updated. You are outside the forest.
Kaito's heart skipped a beat. His mind struggled to process it. Outside the forest?
He glanced around again. The trees, the fog, the twisted landscape—everything seemed familiar, but it was different. He wasn't stuck in the thickest part of the forest anymore. There was a way forward—a path leading out.
The girl...
His thoughts flashed back to the girl—the one he had died for, the one who had once betrayed him. He had fought beside her before. She had left him there, out of the forest. But where was she now? What was happening? Was this the end? Or was it just another twisted illusion?
Kaito stood, taking slow, tentative steps forward. His sword hung loosely at his side, its weight still familiar but less oppressive. Each step felt different now. His body felt lighter, as if the weight of the endless cycles of death and pain had been lifted—at least, for the moment.
As he moved, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He was used to it by now—the strange, creeping sensation that always lingered in the air. But this time, it wasn't as terrifying. It wasn't the same. Something about the air here, outside the forest, felt... wrong in a different way.
Then another notification appeared:
Saving Point: The Edge of the Forest.
Kaito stared at the message. His pulse quickened, and the weight of it hit him all at once. He was outside the forest. He had escaped.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to feel something—something akin to relief, a spark of joy, of victory.
But was this truly the end? Was he free?
He didn't know. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he might finally be able to take a breath—like he might finally be able to step away from the endless cycle.
But as he stood there, staring at the notification, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. There was more to this place—more to this world. And something told him that he hadn't escaped at all.
The forest was only the beginning.
And Kaito had a long way to go.