CHAPTER 35 — THE LOOP THAT NEVER ENDS
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The shadow emerged from the darkness—not a large shadow, but a small one. The shadow of a little girl. A girl with tangled long hair, with torn clothes, with a face full of fear. She ran toward them, her large, dark eyes full of panic. Kyoichiiro could feel his heart pounding, could feel cold sweat beginning to dampen his palms, could feel something strange in his chest—something like fear, but also like anger.
No, he thought, his eyes unblinking. Not again. I won't let this happen again.
He saw the girl approaching—closer, faster, with hurried small steps. And in an instant, without thinking, Kyoichiiro stepped forward and reached out his hand. He wanted to cover the girl's mouth. He wanted to stop her before those words came out. He didn't know why, but his instincts screamed that if the girl didn't speak, if he didn't hear those words, then none of it would happen.
Kyoichiiro: (His voice soft, almost a whisper, his hand reaching toward the girl) "Wait... don't speak..."
The girl didn't hear him. Or perhaps she did, but couldn't stop. Her dark eyes were still full of fear, and her mouth was still open, and the words would still come out.
Little Girl: (Her voice breathless, barely audible, but Kyoichiiro could hear it clearly—too clearly, like the voice was going directly into his head) "You have to... get out of here... before—"
And at that moment, the girl's head exploded.
Not exploding like a bomb—exploding like an overripe fruit, like something bursting from within. Blood and chunks of flesh flew in all directions, hitting Kyoichiiro's face, hitting his clothes, hitting the floor around him. Kyoichiiro felt the warm blood on his skin, felt the small chunks clinging to his cheeks, felt the sharp metallic smell in his nose.
He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't think. He could only stand there, his hand still reaching out, his eyes still wide, his mouth open but no sound coming out.
Kyoichiiro: (Whispering, his voice hollow, his eyes empty) "Lies... what the hell is this...?"
He stared at the girl's body—the headless body still standing before him, its hands still reaching toward him, as if hugging, as if asking for help. Blood still flowed from its severed neck, soaking the stone floor beneath it.
Kyoichiiro: (His voice rising, becoming louder, more hysterical. His hands went to his head, gripping his own hair, as if trying to pull out whatever was inside his skull) "LIES! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!"
He screamed—not an ordinary scream, but a scream that came from his chest, from the deepest place, from the place he had held back all this time. His voice echoed in the silent corridor, bouncing off the stone walls, like the voice of a ghost that couldn't find its way out.
Kyoichiiro: (Still screaming, his voice breaking) "DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS MEAN?! WHAT DOES IT MEAN, DAMN IT!"
Amura and Aetheria could only stand there, shocked, not knowing what to do. They didn't see what Kyoichiiro saw—they only saw Kyoichiiro suddenly screaming, suddenly hysterical, suddenly like a madman.
Amura: (Approaching, his voice anxious, his hand reaching for Kyoichiiro's shoulder) "Kyoichiiro! Calm down! What's wrong?!"
Kyoichiiro: (Still screaming, but now he turned toward Amura—staring at him with wild eyes, with an unreadable expression) "Amura! Amura, do you—"
He couldn't finish his sentence.
Because at that moment, his head exploded.
Not exploding like a bomb—exploding like an overripe fruit, like something bursting from within. Blood and chunks of flesh flew in all directions, and his body fell to the floor, motionless.
Aetheria: (Screaming—truly screaming this time, her voice shattering the corridor's silence) "KYOICHIRO-SAN—!"
Amura: (Also screaming, his hands reaching for Kyoichiiro's fallen body) "Kyoichiiro! NO—!"
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And then, Kyoichiiro was aware.
He was aware that he was running. His legs were moving, his breath was ragged, and beside him, Amura and Aetheria were running with him. No blood. No headless body. No little girl. Only the dark corridor, and the three of them running.
Kyoichiiro: (Stopping abruptly, his body freezing in place. His eyes empty, his mind stopped) "..."
Amura: (Also stopping, turning back in confusion) "Kyoichiiro? What's wrong? Why did you stop?"
Aetheria: (Also stopping, her face anxious) "Kyoichiiro-san? Are you alright?"
Kyoichiiro didn't answer. He just stood there, his breath ragged, his eyes empty. He looked at his own hands—his clean hands, without blood. He looked at his own clothes—his clean clothes, without stains.
It's happening again, he thought, and for the first time, he felt something strange in his chest—not fear, not anger, but something deeper, colder, like ice creeping into his bones. It's happening again. The same girl. The same words. I died again. And now I'm back again.
He bit his lip—hard, until it hurt, until blood flowed on his tongue. The pain was real. The pain couldn't be faked.
What's happening? he thought, and his mind spun like a wheel that couldn't stop. Did I die and come back to life? That couldn't happen twice, could it? But this is the third time. Three times I saw that girl die. Three times my head exploded. Three times I returned to this point.
He felt his teeth chattering—not from cold, but from something else, something he couldn't control. His hands trembled at his sides, and he couldn't stop them.
This doesn't make sense, he thought, and his mind grew more chaotic. My head was destroyed and exploded, and then I came back to this place again. What really happened? There's no way I could come back from death. No way.
He raised his hand—his still-trembling hand—and slapped his own face. Hard. Once. The loud slap echoed in the silent corridor.
The pain spread from his cheek across his face, like fire burning on his skin. He touched his reddened cheek, feeling the heat spreading beneath his palm.
Kyoichiiro: (Whispering, his voice hoarse) "It hurts..."
He looked at his hand, then at Amura and Aetheria, who still stood before him with confused and worried expressions.
So it's not a dream, he thought, and his mind began to calm—a little, not completely, but enough to think clearly. Then what does all of this mean?
Amura: (Approaching, his voice full of concern) "Kyoichiiro... are you alright? You look pale. And you just—"
Kyoichiiro: (Cutting in, his voice flat, showing no emotion) "It's nothing. Just a little tired and dizzy. Maybe from being here too long."
Amura: (Still worried, but not pressing) "Are you sure? We can rest for a bit if you—"
Kyoichiiro: (Nodding) "Rest. Just a moment."
Aetheria: (Sighing in relief) "I agree. We've walked very far and for a very long time."
They sat along the stone wall—Kyoichiiro in the middle, Amura on his left, Aetheria on his right. Kyoichiiro leaned against the cold wall, feeling the cold creeping up his back, like something soothing. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regulate his breathing, trying to calm his still-spinning mind.
What really happened? he thought, his eyes still closed, but his mind still alert. Is that girl the cause? Or is someone cursing me? Or is this part of the dungeon—a trap that keeps me in a cycle of death?
He opened his eyes, staring at the dark stone ceiling above him.
And why am I affected too? Could it be from touch? he thought, remembering how the girl had hugged him. That's impossible. Just by touching someone could kill them. If that's the case, what else?
He bit his lip—the lip still sore from the slap—and his mind kept spinning.
Then what about that girl's fate? he thought, and for a moment, he felt something strange in his chest—not fear, not anger, but something else, something like grief. Will I meet her again?
He turned to the side, seeing Amura and Aetheria eating leftover bread from their bags—hard bread that had begun to dry out, but still edible. They ate quietly, not speaking, only enjoying the comfortable silence.
Kyoichiiro looked at them for a moment, then looked forward again—into the endless dark corridor.
What should I do? he thought. If I meet that girl again, what should I say? What should I do? How do I stop this?
He didn't know. And for the first time, he felt that he had no answers.