Crack. The sound of bones breaking echoed through the empty space. Luckily, or maybe not, no one was around to hear it—except for the hundreds of unmarked graves and the one making the noise. It was a skeleton. One that shouldn't have been moving. One trying to kill itself.
As strange as it seemed, it was true. The skeleton tried to speak, but only a hollow clatter came out. "Oh right, I can't speak anymore," it thought.
He looked at the deep crack running through his arm and then at the messages flashing in his "eyes."
[Activating Skill: Regeneration (B)]
[Error!]
[Required Status: Alive | Current Status: Alive / Dead]
[Activating Skill: Life's Echo (E)]
[Error!]
[Required Status: Dead | Current Status: Alive / Death]
[Workaround attempts logged: 13]
Something inside Mikael just refused to die.
The crack in his arm began to close. Slowly.
He was dead.
And yet...
Something wouldn't let him stay that way.
"Attempt 13 failed too. I've tried everything except fire. Maybe it's time to accept this. I can't die."
Mikael lowered his arm and watched the fracture heal itself. The bone knitted together painfully slow, but pain was something he didn't feel anymore. It was just an observation. The crack vanished. Within a minute, his arm looked whole again, like nothing had happened.
That was attempt thirteen.
Breaking his bones had seemed like the easiest way at first. It didn't work. Smashing his skull didn't work either. Neither did taking himself apart, burying himself deeper, or crushing himself under loose stones. Every time, the same thing happened: his body repaired itself. Slowly. Unavoidably.
He sat down on the uneven ground. The dry soil shifted beneath him. Some dust sifted through the gaps in his ribs. He watched it fall without reacting.
There was no discomfort.
No feeling.
Just the quiet awareness that he was sitting.
The sky above was gray, dim, lifeless. Clouds hung low, as if the world had lost interest in sunlight. Mikael stared without moving. He couldn't blink. His empty eye sockets showed nothing.
Time passed. He didn't know how long. Without breath, heartbeat, or fatigue, time had lost all meaning. Minutes felt like hours. Hours like days. Only the slow changes in light told him the world was still moving.
At last, he moved.
The soft sound of bones grinding broke the silence. He leaned forward, placed his hand on the ground, and pushed himself to stand. The motion was smooth now. He'd grown used to this body.
That took time too. At first, even moving was a struggle. Now he walked without thinking. His joints creaked quietly. Dust fell from him.
He looked around. The mass graves stretched everywhere. Mounds of dirt covered the land, marking where bodies had been buried without ceremony. Some bones stuck out from the soil, half exposed. Rusted weapons lay scattered, forgotten ghosts of a battle no one cared to remember.
Hundreds of graves.
Hundreds of soldiers.
Hundreds of endings.
And one that wouldn't end.
Mikael stepped forward. The ground gave slightly beneath his feet. His foot hit something hard. He looked down. A skull. It stared up at him, empty and still. He stepped over it. No fear, no discomfort. Just quiet acceptance. He was used to it now.
At first, it disturbed him. Now, it was just the place.
He walked slowly through the graveyard, bone scraping softly against soil. Loose bones lay scattered nearby. Some he recognized—ones he had moved himself.
Attempt seven: he buried himself under bones and dirt, hoping the weight would destroy him. Didn't work. He woke up hours later, still intact.
Attempt nine: He took off his own arm and threw it as far as possible. Took half a day to find it again. Without it, moving was harder. He reattached it and waited for it to heal.
Attempt eleven: Tried to crush his skull under a rusted shield. It cracked. He waited. It healed.
Each failure became quieter. Eventually, he stopped expecting to succeed. His panic and mania faded away, along with the rest of his feelings. Only emptiness remained.
Mikael stopped. He stood on the highest mound and looked out. Beyond the graves, a barren stretch of land lay ahead. Broken weapons and shattered armor scattered the ground. Dead trees marked the horizon.
No movement. No sound. No life.
Only silence.
He sat down on the mound. Time passed with no thoughts. No feelings. Just stillness. Then, slowly, something inside him shifted—not physically, but in his mind.
He had spent however long trying to die. Every moment focused on ending what wouldn't end. Now that he had stopped trying... there was nothing left.
Nothing to do. Nothing to aim for. Nothing to want.
He stared at his skeletal hand. It opened. Closed. Opened again. Simple. Mechanical.
Alive, yet not alive.
He was dead.
That hadn't changed.
But he was also here. Existing. Thinking. Moving.
That contradiction stayed.
A faint flicker of messages appeared again.
[Current Status: Alive / Death]
[Regeneration cycles completed: 13]
[Recommendation: None available]
He hadn't known the system could show that last line. He didn't know if it was honest or just sad. The messages faded away.
Mikael watched them disappear.
He looked up at the sky. Gray clouds drifted slowly above. The world moved on. The battle ended. The soldiers died. And he... remained.
The thought lingered.
For the first time since Attempt One, Mikael didn't think about dying. Instead, he thought about moving. Slowly, he pushed himself up. The bones in his legs shifted quietly. Dust fell from his frame. He stood on the mound and looked beyond the graveyard again.
There was nothing waiting for him. No destination. No purpose. No reason.
Still...
He took a step forward. The soil crumbled under his foot. Then another step. Then another. The graveyard stayed silent behind him.
Mikael didn't look back.
Attempt thirteen had failed.
He wouldn't try a fourteen.
He had accepted it.
He was dead.
And yet...
He kept walking.