Chapter 24: The Rules of a Game I Never Wanted to Play

I wandered the streets of Thalosir with the night curled soft around me. The city slept in low murmurs, only the wind whispering through shutters and narrow alleys. My pulse still hammered a steady hundred beats per minute after the little hallway spectacle I’d just witnessed. Gods, young love. Beautiful, clumsy, reckless—it had a flavor that stayed in the mouth even after you’d spat it out.

They were adorable, Serine and Cassian. Awkward as newborn foals, trembling under the weight of their own feelings. Watching them was like watching fire catch on wet wood—it shouldn’t work, and yet somehow it did. I couldn’t help it; even my cynical, smoke-stained soul thrilled to the sight.

Not that I’d ever feel that way again. Not really. By the math of my two lives stacked together, I was pushing fifty. A woman with decades in her bones, no matter how smooth my skin looked under the moonlight. The thought struck, sour and sharp, and I made a face. Fifty. Gods spare me. At least I didn’t look it.

The headache was back, pounding dully behind my eyes, and my skin still burned with a low fever that clung like a bad lover. Underneath it all, a nervousness coiled tight in my gut—not danger, exactly. More like inevitability. As though something was waiting just around the corner, sharpening its teeth, biding its time.

By the time the tavern’s sign swung into view, I was grateful. Grateful for strong drink, for distraction, for noise and bad company. Anything but my own mind.

The place was half-empty, scattered with a few diehards who couldn’t tell night from day anymore. The air smelled of old beer, fried grease, and regret. I slid onto a stool at the bar, crossing one bare leg over the other, my black tank shirt-turned-dress riding dangerously high on my thighs. The wood was sticky beneath my palms, but I didn’t care.

The barkeep glanced up from polishing a glass that would never be clean again. A thick man, balding, eyes like two old copper coins.

“Well, aren’t you a sight,” he grunted.

“Save the poetry,” I shot back, arching a brow. “Just give me the strongest thing you’ve got. I don’t care if it’s lamp oil, so long as it burns.”

His mouth twitched into something that might’ve been a smile. He turned, reached under the counter, and set a squat, unlabeled bottle in front of me. The liquid inside was dark, viscous. I could smell it from here. Perfect.

“Lovely,” I said dryly. “If I die, tell the undertaker to dress me in something with sleeves.”

The first sip clawed fire down my throat. I welcomed it, letting the burn scrape away the lingering fever.

Of course, peace never lasted.

“Oi,” a voice slurred thickly behind me. “Oi, sweetheart.”

I didn’t have to turn to smell him. Gods, the stench rolled in waves—sweat, piss, and a stomach soured on cheap ale. I sighed, stared at the dregs in my glass, and thought very seriously about shoving the bottle into his face before he even sat down.

But no, he shuffled closer, plopping onto the stool beside me. His eyes, red-rimmed and too wide, crawled down my chest like greasy snails. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing. You all alone? Shouldn’t be. World’s dangerous for girls like you. I could… keep you safe, eh?” His hand twitched vaguely toward my thigh.

I turned, slowly, and gave him a smile sharp enough to peel skin. “Touch me, and I’ll keep you safe—six feet under. With a headstone that says Here lies the dumbest bastard in Thalosir.”

He blinked, stunned stupid, then laughed nervously. “Aw, come on now, no need to be cruel. Just wanted to talk.”

“Then talk to your reflection in a chamber pot,” I said sweetly, lifting my glass. “It’ll smell better, and it won’t stab you with the broken rim afterward.”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping on a dock. Finally, with a wounded grunt, he pushed off the stool and staggered away, muttering curses that didn’t have the backbone to sting.

I exhaled through my nose, amused despite myself. “Men,” I muttered to the barkeep, who wisely said nothing.

I poured another glass, let the burn drown me again, and stared into the liquid like it might show me the future.

Another body slid onto the stool beside me. I didn’t even glance his way at first—already bracing myself for the stench of ale and desperation, already coiling a bloody threat on the tip of my tongue. If it was the same piss-soaked drunk as before, I was going to make sure he never pissed again.

I turned my head, slow as molasses, lips curling into a smile that was all teeth and knives. “Listen, darling,” I purred, voice low and venom-slick, “if you try to hit on me again, I swear I’ll take this empty glass, ram it so far up your throat it’ll come out the back of your skull, then I’ll use the shards to slice off what’s left of your manhood and nail it to the tavern door as a warning. Do we understand each other?”

The stool creaked under the weight of whoever it was, and a chuckle rolled out—deep, dry, carrying too much familiarity for comfort.

“Oh?” the man drawled. “So that’s how you greet an old friend, Rissa? Sharp tongue, sharper threats.” His voice was smooth, almost playful, but barbed underneath. I caught the glimpse of his mouth in the shadow of his hood, teeth flashing when he spoke. “This time it’s been six years—almost seven. And though I never thought you had much affection for me, this seems a bit excessive.”

He laughed softly, with a mockery that tightened the skin on my arms.

My stomach dropped, though I masked it with a swallow of fire from my glass.

Shit, I thought. Probably the last damned person in all the worlds I ever wanted to see again. My skin prickled, a chill rolling down my spine so sharp it made my teeth ache. It wasn’t even rational—every sense in me simply screamed run, get the hell out. But I stayed. I always stayed, didn’t I?

“You again,” I muttered, letting the words drip like poison. “If possible, I’d rather never see your face again, but I knew you’d crawl out of whatever hole you haunt sooner or later. So—” I swirled the last of my drink, knocked it back in one go. “—let’s skip the pleasantries. What the hell do you want?”

“How brusque you are, ‘Rissa,’” he said, savoring the name like it was a joke. His grin flashed under the hood. “Or would you prefer Clarisse? I never did ask what you wanted to be called.”

My jaw tightened, but my voice stayed flat. “Call me whatever you damn please. I couldn’t care less. What interests me more is why you know about my other life. But since I’m quite certain you’re not going to answer that… let’s circle back. What the hell do you want?”

The man smiled and let his gaze drop to my hand wrapped around the mug.

“I see you’re still wearing the ring I gave you as a child.”

“Of course,” I said, curling my fingers around it deliberately. “It’s pretty, and besides—one day I’ll make you swallow it, wait until you crap it out painfully, and then shove it right back into your mouth. Over and over again, until I get bored. Sound like a good plan? I’ve got others, but trust me—they’re not any prettier to hear.”

His grin widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Rissa, you’re far too feminine to be spewing that kind of filth. One of these days you’ll get yourself killed talking like that, and that wouldn’t be very convenient for me. Anyway, you’re mistaken,” he said, smug amusement dripping from every word. “Tonight, I did come to tell you certain things. Not just to play my usual games—though I must admit, the look on your face already made this worth the walk.”

He leaned closer, voice a whisper, sharp as broken glass: “You asked what I want? It’s very simple, Rissa. I want you to win.”

My laugh burst out harsh and humorless. “Win what?” I snapped, drumming my nails against the bar. “Try stringing a full thought together, won’t you?”

“Patience,” he crooned, lifting a gloved hand as if calming a child. “First, introductions. Names are… complicated. Some have called me Thanatos. Others, Anubis. Yama. Hades. Morrigan. Death wears many masks, after all. But most…” His lips curved into a grin sharp enough to cut. “Most simply call me Chaos. Call me whichever you like. I have no name of my own.”

I blinked at him once, then twice, and finally let out a slow, withering sigh. “So let me get this straight—you want me to swallow that you’re some sort of god of death, or whatever the hell you are, come slumming it in a tavern like this?” I gave him my sweetest, most venom-dripping smile. “You’re delirious, you know that? Completely barking mad. Fine, though. I’ll play along. If I’m forced to pick from that charming buffet of melodramatic titles…” I paused, tapping my chin. “I think I’ll call you Mr. Grimmy McDrama-Cape”. Suits you, doesn’t it?”

His laughter rumbled low, but I could feel it wasn’t entirely amused. Good.

Then I sighed and leaned back on the stool, tapping the rim of my empty glass with one nail. “So tell me, Mr. Grimmy McDrama-Cape, explain this whole I have to win nonsense. Because honestly, I’d rather finish another drink in peace.”

He smiled in that way that wasn’t a smile at all, more like a cut opening in the dark. “It’s simple, my adorable Rissa. The competition you’ve been playing your entire existence. And I don’t mean this life and the one before it. I mean all of them. Every single one of the infinite lives you’ve lived.”

I pulled a grotesque face, sticking out my tongue like I might vomit. “What the hell are you babbling about now, you lunatic?”

“What you hear is truth,” he said smoothly, ignoring the way I mocked him. “It’s difficult to explain to someone… so small. But let’s try: I have a sister. She is also my wife, my other half. Together, we form the whole. If I am Death, she is Life. If I am Darkness, she is Light. If I am End, she is Beginning. You follow?”

I snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “The only thing I follow is that you’re married to your sister. Yuck. Didn’t the kids come out deformed or at least drooling stupid?”

Mr. Grimmy McDrama-Cape didn’t even flinch. He just kept smiling, as if my words were dust on his cloak. “The point, little Rissa, is that we’ve been locked in a certain… dispute. A game, a competition, call it what you wish. It has lasted—”

He opened his mouth and what came out wasn’t a number but a guttural, grinding snarl that made my ears ring, as if the whole tavern shuddered with it. My mind tried to wrap around it and failed miserably, slipping off the sound like oil on water.

He leaned closer, voice a whisper now. “For you, for that tiny little brain of yours, let’s just say that even if you stacked infinity upon infinity, multiplied it by itself and scattered it through all the sands of all the deserts of all the worlds, you’d still only hold a grain compared to the time I speak of.”

I blinked hard, pressing a hand against my temple. His words didn’t just sound heavy, they pressed down on me, dragging me into a fog. My energy seeped out with every syllable he spilled. It was like he wasn’t talking so much as sucking the strength out of me, breath by breath.

“Fantastic,” I muttered under my breath, though my voice trembled. “So not only are you a cloaked misterious man, you’re also a creepy incestuous god-thing cosmic gambler. Congratulations.”

“Exactly, now you’re getting it,” Grimmy McDrama-Cape said smoothly. “The thing is, last time, she won.” His tone sharpened, detached, almost bored. “And I had to kill you. You can imagine how that went, can’t you? I possessed that stupid ex-boyfriend of yours and finished you off. Wasn’t even the first time, so don’t get dramatic.”

I froze. My blood turned to ice in my veins.

“Oh, don’t make that face, Rissa,” he crooned, tilting his head mockingly. “I gave you life again, didn’t I? Usually, it’s simple—you die, we reset the board, another universe, another world, rinse and repeat. But you, little friend… you’ve accumulated entropy. In all eternity, it’s the first time it’s happened.” His grin widened. “As Clarisse, you caught glimpses of me sometimes, though you don’t remember. But now, as Rissa, you’ve partially recovered your past life. And more—” his voice dropped to a giddy growl “—you can build power. Not magic, no, just raw energy. None of this was planned, not at all. But I love it. Honestly, I’m losing badly, and I’ll cheat if I can. Ha!”

His laughter rolled out of him, guttural, like the rattle of a collapsing tomb.

I could only stare, my pulse hammering in my throat. The thought slipped out of me in a whisper. “Then, if I don’t win, you’ll just… kill me again?”

“Maybe,” Grimmy McDrama-Cape said carelessly, twirling the rim of his cup with one long finger. “Not that I want to. Honestly, it makes no difference to me.”

I forced myself to breathe, to think, to wrestle the panic back down. “Fine,” I said at last, my voice flat but steady. “I don’t want to die, and I definitely don’t want to see your ugly face again. So if surviving means playing your stupid game, then I’ll play. What do I have to do?”

“Ah, that, I can’t tell you.” He wagged a finger in mock scolding. “Rules are rules. I’ll only say this—your goal changes each time. For example, in your life as Clarisse, your objective was to seize a position of great power in your world. Become a president, an emperor, something like that. But your opponent? They reached it first. Bad luck. So you died. The end.”

I clenched my teeth. “That’s the dumbest reason to kill someone I’ve ever heard.”

“There are no dumb reasons or important ones,” he replied coolly. “It simply is.”

I narrowed my eyes, leaning closer, refusing to let him keep all the cards. “So you can’t tell me my objective. Fine. But you slipped, Grimmy—you said opponent. So I’m not playing against your wife-sister, ew, gag me—” I mimed retching just to see his expression “—I’m playing against someone. Who is it?”

And for the first time, his grin faltered just slightly, just enough for me to notice.

“That,” he said softly, “is the beauty of it. I don’t know. And neither does my wife. Which means—” his teeth flashed again in that too-wide smile “—you don’t have to worry about her coming after you. She doesn’t know who you are.”

“Pfff, Grimmy McDrama-Cape, you really get on my nerves,” I muttered under my breath, swirling the last drop of bitter rotgut in my glass. “Almost as much as Myrrin. Honestly. But fine, at least you gave me some information, and that’s enough. I never cared all that much about digging into my previous life anyway.”

I leaned back, letting the shadows of the tavern cradle me, and continued out loud, half to myself, half to the empty bar. “My goal is simple: live surrounded by wealth, have adventures, and just… live. You’re making it slightly harder, sure, but whatever. Let’s make a deal. I’ll play seriously, but on two conditions. One: win or lose, I want to know. And two… I want to meet your crazy sister. Just to ask why she married you. And maybe… if she’s attractive, see if I can flirt with her and steal her attention from you, Grimmy McDrama-Cape. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, and this time, there was no trace of mockery. His voice resonated in my head, deep and serious, like a cathedral bell vibrating in the bones.

I whipped my head around, half expecting to see him lounging smugly nearby. Nothing. Just the empty stool where he’d sat, and the tavern air, which had slowly warmed back to a pleasant hum, as if the chill of his presence had never existed.

I groaned, rubbing my temples. I’m so done with kings, princesses, gods, adventurers, and the damned dead. Can nobody let a woman drink in peace?

“Hey, bartender!” I shouted, louder than necessary. “Another drink! Actually—make it three! I want to pass out properly for once in my miserable life!”

The tavern seemed to shrink around me, warm wood and flickering candlelight embracing my small rebellion. I settled into the stool, pulling the straps of my black shirt-dress just a little higher over my shoulders, feeling the freedom of doing whatever I damn well pleased. My head still throbbed, my pulse raced, but the frustration of the world… well, that could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I’d drink. And plan. And grin at the universe like it owed me something.

The first mug landed in front of me with a solid thump. I picked it up and tilted it back in a single swallow, letting the fire burn down my throat. Life was complicated. But, damn it, it was mine.