Secrets Known to 101 Heads

“Son of Liora, you lasted way longer than I had expected.” The Keeper confessed as they held their heads high, watching the madness unfold.

The boy’s body became rigid, unable to move from its place.

Then he fell.

Hard on the ground.

Like a puppet with its strings cut.

Each of the troops has a main power and sub-powers.

The main power determines the position of the soldier in their respective groups. In this case, the boy has a dense light power that can be used to be wielded in the imaginable or unimaginable ways, tapping into force beyond this world.

No one knows for sure how his powers work, but depending on how he utilizes them, he can switch between those designated positions, showcasing his versatility.

He could play a role as a healer, defender, or even as an attacker.

But now, he can’t be any of them.

Why?

It's the poison.

It’s doing death’s work—making him find reasons to not live for a single moment.

The Aqua Regia is no ordinary poison.

It's a chemical.

Used in the nobles' forges, its corrosive properties made it a valuable mixture for dissolving gold and platinum for the ladies in courts for their jewels.

It's extremely dangerous to any living beings.

Let alone a soldier.

His arms that shielded the child from this breath of poison were now rotting in flesh.

It continued ravaging his burning white flesh, dissolving and dripping off of his arm carcass.

Whatever was left after it’s feast, slithered off the bone like melted wax.

His bones were bathing in the sunlight while swimming in the pool of blood.

Not only did it attack his skin, but also his other five senses.

His nose was burned to gravy, unable to breathe in proper air as the pungent nitric and chloric fumes dug into his nostrils.

Everywhere he looked, a huge gush of wind would blow the chemicals into his eyes, making him partially blind.

Don’t forget about his intuition, which was also dying from overworking.

As for his ears….

The snake’s shrieks were doing most of the work.

It sounded so fierce that it felt like a hundred needles were being fired into his eardrums. Blood ran down like twin streams as the cacophony overwhelmed his already poisoned nervous system.

At last, his sixth sense.

His tongue, swollen and blistered from the vapor, would no longer complain about the moldy bread served in the army.

Flies and maggots were having a feast of a lifetime.

Fortunately, the boy spat at the snake.

With the last flicker of his diminishing powers, he cast away the girl deep into the bushes, safeguarding her from the hissing danger.

What more could he do than flaunt his pride?

“I am very well known for hitting the lows of the lowest… What excuse do you have for missing my head? Missing an eye? Annoyed—”

In response, the Keeper coiled around his rotten body, holding eye contact far longer than the human eye could.

The hundred-ish sets of eyes narrowed down at his former student with grief.

“Disappointment, I think, for most of it. We were supposed to be more, you and I. We are taking much more time than needed, but knowing because of this disappointment, we have gotten the one last chance to meet and catch up.”

It's quite a sight to see the Keeper open up his sentiment to someone who turned against him. The man, the woman, and the snake are not really supposed to be there, not in this world.

“But it is quite fitting to see that death is impatiently waiting by its side while I try to change your mind.”

The boy shivered at the mention of death. Since the time he entered into this world, escaping death had been his main agenda.

“Your death is the only thing that's going to keep me coming back for you.” The Keeper widened their mouths to—

“Let me have my last words!”

Even though his mind was disabled, all of his organs started to shut down, and the damage was more than the boy could ever heal in a long time…. All he could think of was leaving a legacy.

The boy's ego swallowed his pain, his spirits still remaining intact.

Saving the girl and protecting her from the upcoming dangers made him take even more pride in his powers. They grew drastic, to the point that he walked over this snake of fatality, or as he mentioned, the last lesson his commander taught him.

“Never, ever, let your back face the enemy head-on.”

He lifted his fingers in a gun-pointed manner towards the hammer-headed monster before going out like a bang. His pride surged once more, even as death loomed over his head.

Finally, he let go of his guard, knowing that his commander was right behind the Keeper.

Letting them know who they were really up against.

The commander hadn't made a full recovery yet and also wasn't quite sure if she was even properly alive.

As a result of mercy, the Keeper didn’t end her life at that moment.

The symbolistic rubric now left behind a series of tanned marks on the commander's skin. It may appear to be burns, but instead of burning, it only left minor wounds untreated while healing the numerous serious injuries.

What magic could have been possessed that made the commander look monstrous by the vignettes depicted by the hundred-headed snake?

Her hatred for incompetence.

She sneered at the unfinished work, terribly moody about the clean-ups.

“It seems like you've done a decent job. Now, it's time for your commander to end this bad omen.”

Her silks hung in tattered ribbons, the fine embroidery now framing wounds rather than royalty.

They were now in utter rags, barely covering her up.

But it couldn't cover up her eagerness for returning the past treatment she received.

“Your Serpentine,” she eyed the orb that was rolling amidst the thrashing tails.

“Remember when I said I knew you had a weakness?” She crept closely. Her bare feet bleed on the ground, leaving behind bloody tip-toes tracks on the grassless, sandy dusty paths that stood between her and the Keeper.

She bit her lips till full blood as her back crouched, hitting signs of broken bones.

Her hair was blowing in waves across the wind, scattered all over her face, shoulders, back, else where. Finally, able to take a breath from the long over-bearing oily restricted braids.

Her hands? Held an ordinary peacock feathered hairpin.

An intricate design. Very docile.

The Keeper’s hundred eyes gleamed. “The bluff?”

That one head lowered and closed the distance between them.

“I see. You show no signs of memory loss, should I reoccur to you why you should, Cianon The Commander? Or rather ‘The Unlucky Regressor’ ?”

Her lungs squeezed in combat, her heart got caught off guard.

Blood seeped between her lips—not the first time, not the last.

The commander knew pain like an old friend.

This body had broken before.

It would break again.

Just like the last two past lives she suffered.

But this time she wasn’t alone to share the burden on her back.

The first one she lived as the cold tyrant who dedicated the empire to her whims letting the people take her downfall.

The second one she tried to repent her sins by becoming a part of the clergy.

Only to have been banished by the same commoners whom she cared for.

This time, however, she found a way out of her throne and now has a companion who suffers the same terrible fate as her.

Two regressors vs. The Hundred-Headed Serpentine.

A tale to be told and started from this generation to the next.

The wind howled through the Wȳscan Tree’s branches, scattering golden leaves like discarded pages of history.

Cianon’s fingers tightened around the hairpin—the same one she’d worn in all three lives.

First life: A symbol of tyranny, dipped in poison.

Second life: A relic of false piety, tucked into a nun’s habit.

Third life: A weapon.

Her mind went through it once again.

First, over.

Second, done.

Now, the Third Phase is on the rise.

The Keeper’s hundred heads swayed, tongues flickering in unison.

"Two regressors? No. Only one." A pause. "But the summoned one played his role well."

Damn it! They read my mind again, Cianon didn’t flinch this time.

She did have a doubt on her brother’s curse, although it was worthwhile having someone to believe in your retelling of the past lives you lived.

"He’s not a regressor. Just a fool who thought he could cheat fate." The Keeper’s eyes lingered on the fallen boy, starting more than he should have. Cian didn’t need to second guess her shot.

“A shared path?” She moved a bit closer, enlarging her eyes with drippy curiosity.

“A supposed to have been a shared path.” He admitted, lost in the 'could have been' futures.

“What’s changed changed. Onto you now, Your Lady.” The heads coiled around her, closing off any escape route she could have planned at that moment.

The Keeper moved faster. A dozen heads pinned her while others arched in amusement. "Three cycles and you still don't understand. This isn't about passing through." Its forked tongue flicked the hairpin. "It's about stories."

He wasn’t lost, instead his heads were in the game.

All.

Along.

He laughed—a sound like cracking bones. "First a tyrant, then a saint, and now… what next? A slave dog to your own throne!?"

"A survivor," she corrected.

The first time, she ruled alone.

The second, she begged for mercy.

This time?

She grabbed her pin, hauling it up. "Well, you want a part of my story? Then stop me!"

"Ah, a tale worth telling." The Keeper swirled with theirs jaws wide open, dripped with the very same poison that was sprayed all over her brother.

And so she threw it.

Not at the Keeper.

Neither at her brother.

The orb burst in white flames engulfed the tails skins on fire.

But, the fire didn’t engulf nor burn up the Keeper.

It was to free them.

The fire split open like a gateway, and from its heart tumbled out:

A scarred man missing an eye, roaring, "CURSE YOU—" before realizing he was no longer chained.

A noblewoman in tattered silks, gasping, "OH LORDS!" as she patted herself down in disbelief.

A scrawny thief cackling, "YOU COULD KISS MY ARSE!" as he rolled free.

A knight blinking at his hands, whispering, "I am alive? I AM ALIVE!"

Dozens more continue to spill forth—criminals, prisoners, the damned—all spat out from the orb’s hidden dimension.

The Keeper’s hundred heads shrieked in unison, not in pain, but in confusion.

"You—! What’s the meaning of this?" The blue and green-eyed head whipped toward Cianon, fangs bared. "You came here for your own trial! Not for these imbeciles!"

Cianon, now with her brother in her arm, grinned at the heads, a smile so wicked that it could crave out a hole at the Santeria. Something she always wanted to do during her stays at the capital.

“Well, you underestimate yourself. Remember that those virtues 50 humans went up against 50 heads of yours? Fortunately for you, these people have been ordered into trial and are given full life sentences or early death penalties. These people are not those virtuous 50 humans, no. They are criminals whose lives are well no longer worth living for and fighting for.”

“If they are so damned from the start—” The head looked around at each other, finally realization dawned upon them.

As the Keeper’s heads swarmed around fighting against the chaos unfolding, it asked, “Where’s Glutanus?”

The voice amplitude softened at once, dreading knowing the answer to it.

“Around those white portals.” A choir of three answered back from a nearby tree.

“What’s he doing?” Time felt like a millennium, each second passing by seconds slower than before.

“Eating all those criminals coming from those gates.” The former crouched in a shielding position, knowing each other’s feelings of rage pumped through the blood.

“Safeguard Ruth, in the meantime I shall deal with the regressor and the summoned,” it commanded, but it was too late.

“They took their leave.” A voice echoed, filled with dread.