6With a deep breath, Blur lunged forward, his every move an amateur's attempt to fend off the beast. He lacked finesse and training, but he was determined to protect himself and Number 102. His strikes were erratic, a flurry of desperate slashes aimed at the creature's shadowy form.The beast responded with unnatural grace, swaying and dodging Blur's clumsy attacks. It seemed to anticipate his every move, as if it could read his intentions—Or rather it was avoiding being hit with the sword. The clash of steel against the wind beside the beast's hideous form echoed through the silent night.Blur's heart pounded in his chest, and sweat dripped from his brow. Every parry, every feint, and every swing of his blade felt like a battle against overwhelming odds. The creature's mask remained its enigmatic feature, hiding its true intentions and emotions.Despite his lack of skill, Blur refused to yield. He fought with the fierce determination born of desperation, his blood coursing through his veins like a reminder of his own resilience. Each strike of his blade was a declaration that he would not be a victim.The beast's movements became more erratic, its inhuman form shifting unpredictably. It roared in frustration, a cacophony of discordant voices that rattled Blur's resolve. But he held on, the weight of the knife in his hand feeling like an extension of his own will.As the battle raged on, Blur's stamina began to wane. His strikes grew weaker, and the world around him blurred with exhaustion. But just when he thought he could fight no longer, the beast faltered. It stumbled back, its form flickering like a wavering flame.In that moment of weakness, Blur seized his opportunity. With all the strength he could muster, he lunged forward, his knife finding its mark. The blade struck true, piercing the mask on the creature's torso.The mask split open with a deafening shriek, a sound like multiple birds chirping a single, dissonant note. Black mist billowed out from the fractured mask, pouring over Blur like a malevolent fog.The mist seared his skin with an unnatural heat, and his vision blurred. He felt himself slipping away, consciousness fading into the abyss.But just before darkness claimed him, a voice echoed in his mind, clear and urgent. "Wake up."He looked before him the beast was gone without a trace—he had defeated the beast. The relief of having seemingly defeated the beast came with a hint of worry. Have I really defeated it? He looked back at his blade he used and strike the beast but there was no feeling of killing something there. And a thought came—if it isn't dead where could it be? —102. The image of Number 102 flashed in his mind. With trembling steps, he approached the tree where he had left Number 102, his voice filled with worry and anticipation. "Number 102?" he called out, his words echoing through the desolate woods.But there was no response, only the eerie silence of the forest. His heart began to race as he called her name again, louder this time, but the only answer was the haunting echo of his own voice.And then, from the depths of the woods, a chilling sound reached his ears. It was the voice of the beast, echoing his call as if it were responding to him. Fear gripped Blur's heart as he turned to look into the darkness.
In the eerie darkness, a figure emerged, slipping gracefully from the shadows. It moved with an otherworldly grace, akin to a wisp of smoke dancing in the night. Blur's heart froze as he recognized the presence before him, a presence that sent shivers down his spine.But—There she stood, or at least her form did—Number 102. The relief in Blur's eyes was palpable as tears welled up. His voice trembled with emotion as he called out to her, his words a desperate plea, "Thank goodness you're okay, 102!"Before her response could reach his ears, before her lips could even fully form his name, a nightmare unfurled before Blur's disbelieving eyes. Out of the ether, a burning ash spear materialized, impaling Number 102 through her head with ruthless precision.The world around them was splattered in hues of eerie blue as her blood painted the ground and the surrounding trees. Blur's world shattered in that horrifying instant, his mind struggling to process the cruel turn of fate."10...2?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling with shock and grief.Number 102's last moments were filled with pain and confusion as her life was cruelly extinguished."Bl... Ur," she choked on unspoken words, her body limp and lifeless, still skewered upon the merciless spear. A scene born out from his memories
The very scene that remain constant in every loop.
Memories from past loops flood my mind like a relentless wave. It's a powerful surge, breaking down the walls of my thoughts. Initially, there's a rush of happy moments, but they quickly crumble into fragments of despair.The vivid recollections of warmth turn into cold moments tainted with sorrow. The once vibrant colors of those memories fade into shades of sadness, casting a gloomy shadow over what used to be pure and joyful.Yet, amid this chaotic flood, one sensation stands out with chilling clarity—the unmistakable feeling of dying.It's not just a memory; it's a visceral experience, a haunting echo that reverberates through my mind. The sensation of breath slipping away, the cold embrace of oblivion—these are etched into my consciousness.It's a disorienting journey through time, where the joyful echoes of the past clash violently with the haunting specters of death. The emotional rollercoaster of reliving moments, only to see them unravel into desolation, leaves an indelible mark on my psyche.As the memories surge and crash, I grapple with the profound weight of existence. The past loops, once a tapestry of experiences, now unravel into a mosaic of fragmented emotions. It's a relentless onslaught that leaves me breathless, drowning in the turbulent waters of time.In the midst of this tumult, the most poignant sensation remains the feeling of dying—a stark reminder of the fragility of life, an ever-present specter that refuses to be drowned out by the cacophony of memories. And so I become a captive of the memories—trapped in a cycle of joy turning to despair, life fading into death. The echoes of laughter are replaced by the deafening silence of resignation, and I find myself lost in the desolate landscape of my own consciousness. The despair becomes an inescapable reality, a consuming force that erodes the very every piece of my being.
—And the only means of escape.
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