《48 Hours》 The Past Martin opened his eyes to the shrieking sound of his alarm. Once again, he was in his bed. Heslammed down on his alarm snooze bar and looked around his bedroom, hoping to see signs that something was amiss, but no, everything was exactly the way it was two days ago. It was also exactly the same way it was four days ago, and six days ago, and eight days ago. Martin groaned, and idly wished for the world to stop repeating. He''d see if it worked in two days. Though it probably wouldn''t. But hey, he thought, a man can hope, right? Of course, he had done that five times now, and the world showed no sign of listening to him. Martinpressed his face into his palmas he contemplated how this had happened in the first place. He was a loner and a coward. He tended to look for the easiest way out. Like that time he persuaded himself out of asking his middle school crush out. Or that time he talked himself out of joining the track and field club, the one thing he actually liked doing. Or that time he convinced himself that he didn''t want friends in the first place. But then, in his sophomore year, he had looked back on his life and deemed it horrible. So he decided to change. One step at a time, he told himself. First, he''d join the track and field club. Or maybehe should ask Emily out. It didn''t really matter. He just wanted to change. So, after classes had ended about a month and a half ago, he waited by theentrance for Emily to come out of the school. After a minute, he started to think a bit. What if Emily rejected him? What would he do then? What should he say? Thank you? No, that''s weird for a person who had just made a failed confession. Cry?This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. God no. Run away? That''s pathetic. "When Emily rejects me, what should I do?", he pondered aloud. "Haha, nice to talk to you too ...", no, that''s off. Why was he even confessing? Did Emily have a boyfriend? This was the kind of thing he could have found out easily, had he maintained social relationships. Someone as pretty and charming as her would definitely have a boyfriend. But what if she didn''t? No, she definitely did. She was one of the nicest people he had ever met. If anyone would have a significant other, it was her. Why hadn''t he seen it before? God, now he felt like an idiot. He had wasted so much time over something that was never meant to be. And he''d been loitering by the gates for a couple of minutes now. Almost everyone was gone. The front desk lady was giving him a lot of strange looks. Even the patrolling security officer was giving him weird looks. Oh. He probably looked like a stalker. Before he got arrested, he should leave. Yeah, that was probably the best course of action. He left the school. He wandered the neighborhood around the school area, just moving for the sake of moving. He felt listless. Before long, he found himself in the park, with withering flora surrounding him. There was a small, forested piece of land hesometimesrelaxed at. Not many people came by, which was a nice break for him. The normal him would have left after a couple of minutes to do homework. Today, he didn''t. He felt tired, and he really just didn''t care anymore. He ran away. Again. Even after telling himself he would change, he did the same thing he always did. Damnit. Why was it so hard to change? He propped himself up against a tree, and sighed. He felt his eyes closing, and he fell asleep. Vendra Torres! In his dream, he could feel something ... wash over him. Suddenly, he was more aware. He turned his head to the side. Astrogarth! He froze. He was definitely dreaming. Those looked like glowing white chains ... flying at him? He relaxed as they shot at him, assured in his knowledge that this was a dream. Lentes Morralius! He turned his head to the side, and a observed a wall of earth rush towards him. It looked like a tsunami, but was made of dirt and pebbles. He frowned. He didn''t want to be hit by that, it hurt. He sighed as he got up. Or, at least, tried to. Vendra Torres! He started panicking when it became clear that he could not move in any way, as the chains and the dirt and that weird ray, seemingly coming back for another round, all flew at him. He was forced to watch, helpless, as the wall and the chains and the ray somehow all hit him at the same time, even though they were moving at different speeds. At that point, something changed inside him. He saw a light, and woke up. Martin relaxed, seemingly back in the real world, until burning pain assaulted him from all sides. No sound came out when he tried to scream. His vision was tinged with red, and he could feela general wetness on his clothing. Something was burning. But it felt wrong. He''d been burned before, when he was a kid. But itdidn''t feel like his skin was shrieking in pain. It felt like he was burning from the inside, not the outside. His bones ached; his muscles howled. Pain filled his entire body, as he attempted to scream again. Suddenly, his vision swam, and he saw nothing but darkness. BEEEP! BEEEP! BEEEP! He nearly jumped out of his bed. His bed? Looking around, he saw that the room was exactly the same as it had been this morning. A dream? The Past II Martin looked around, confused. That was one weird dream. Martin usually dreamed of flying slime monsters and talking pigs, but the dream he just had was far too realistic. Well, whatever. He couldn¡¯t be late for school again. Or maybe he would, just to try to change things up. ¡°Martin!¡± The sound waves smashed into his ears, making him wince. ¡°Get down here!¡± ¡°Coming!¡±, he yelled. He headed downstairs after brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower. The dining room was the same it had always been, cramped yet clean, and furnished with a medium-sized table in the middle with a couple of plates on it, flanked by 4 wooden chairs. As he squeezed in between the wall and the chairs, he reflected on how they should really get a smaller table. It had been a gift from his granduncle, and his parents were reluctant to trade it in, even though it was just too big. ¡°Martin!¡± ¡°Huh?!¡± Martin jerked his head up in surprise. His mom, a Caucasian woman in her 40s, was standing at the entrance with a small pot in her hand. ¡°Food¡¯s ready! Get the plates!¡± ¡°Y-Yeah!¡± After a short breakfast, Martin left for school. His ride there was a rickety school bus. The bus looked positively ancient, and was supposed to be replaced soon by the school. The bus was filled with kids, but no one came to talk to Martin. Martin was okay with that. He wanted to ask Emily out, but he didn¡¯t particularly care about the rest of his class. They were all assholes who ignored him at every possible opportunity. That was probably his fault. Still, they held an immense grudge for something that had happened six years ago. Didn¡¯t they know what it meant to forgive and forget? Martin sighed, as the voice of the bus driver filled the bus. ¡°All students, please get off the bus.¡± God, he was loud. That was probably why he was chosen for the job.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. It takes talent to be able to talk over twenty kids all speaking at the same time. Martin realized with a start that most of the kids had disembarked. He grabbed his school bag and left the bus. His school building was about as ancient as his bus. Dust was everywhere, and the fact that the janitor was a middle aged drunkard who contributed to the smell more often than not did not help Martin cope with the air quality. His school was small for a reason. At all of his classes, he simply stared at the clock for the entire fifty minutes, like most of the other kids. When the bell rang to signify the end of class, he was the first one out the door. Lunch was disgusting as usual. The less he thought about it, the better off he would be. The rest of his classes were a blur. ¡°Ding!¡± ¡°It is now 2:50 PM. Classes are now over. Soccer kid-¡±, crackled the black speaker as it was immediately drowned out by the chorus of kids talking. Martin, as always, was the first one to breathe fresh air again. He smiled. He would ask Emily out, and then based on her response- Wait. Hadn¡¯t he already tried this? He had, but Emily hadn¡¯t come out today and so he gave up- But that was just a dream, wasn¡¯t it? The dream was so lifelike though. Was it a dream? No, he was pretty certain he had died in that dream. There was no coming back from that. Whatever. If Emily didn¡¯t come out in five minutes, he¡¯d leave. He waited. And waited. And waited. Five minutes had gone by, and still no sign of Emily. Exactly like the dream. He couldn¡¯t remember much about the dream itself, just that he had waited for Emily at the gates and she had never shown up. He then went to the park, where he ¡­ died? Yeah, that was a dream for sure, considering he was alive and kicking. ¡®But still¡¯, the cultist side of his brain whispered to him. ¡®What if it was a prediction of the future? Or what if he had gone back in time?¡¯ ¡®Impossible¡¯, the sane side of his brain argued. ¡®How about we just focus on the real world and not those crazy delusions you have? Sound good?¡¯ ¡®But what if-¡¯ ¡®NO!¡¯ ¡°Hello?¡± Martin snapped back to reality, to see the face of the security officer looming right in front of his face. ¡°Are you oka-¡± ¡°Gah!¡±, Martin gasped as he jumped back at least a foot. ¡°Wait, what?!¡± The security officer stepped back. ¡°You¡¯ve been standing in front of the gates for ten minutes, kid.¡± ¡°Oh, uh, sorry, I¡¯ll be on my way then.¡± ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay? Do I need to call your parents?¡± ¡°Ah, no, no, I¡¯m fine, really, thank you,¡± Martin said as he furiously back-pedaled. ¡°All right then ¡­¡± Martin turned and bolted out of there. That was humiliating. He went straight home, ate dinner, did his homework, brushed his teeth, flossed and jumped back in bed again in a rush. He curled up under the covers. Today was weird. Well, at least he didn¡¯t die this time. This time? He froze, confused. ¡®We¡¯ve already determined that was a dream,¡¯ the rational part of his brain argued. ¡®Now go to sleep, it¡¯s late and you need to get up tomorrow morning.¡¯ ¡®But what if it wasn¡¯t a dream? What if it WAS a vision of the future?¡¯, the wizard-wannabe side of his brain asked excitedly. ¡®Whether it was real or not, I don¡¯t care. We need to go to sleep. We have school tomorrow, and we can both agree that¡¯s real.¡¯ ¡®Maybe. But if tomorrow turns out to be a repeat of today, you have to believe me more.¡¯ ¡®Deal, because it won¡¯t happen.¡¯ Martin idly wondered about why he was making a bet with himself, before switching off the lights and going to sleep. If tomorrow was magical, he would deal with it tomorrow. The next day was completely normal. The Past III Martin was slightly disappointed. It was 2:30, he was in the middle of E block, and nothing magical had happened. His dream was wrong. ¡®Hey, at least we now know for sure. Now, can we get to the important things?¡¯, the rational part of his brain inquired. ¡®¡­¡¯ ¡®Oh, come on. Just accept that it was false, and move on with your life.¡¯ ¡®But still ¡­ I wanted to be a wizard¡­¡¯ ¡®Well, there is a major flaw with that desire. That is, wizards don¡¯t exist.¡¯ ¡®But maybe they do exist, just, y¡¯know, out of sight.¡¯ ¡®Unlikely. Plus, we have other, more important things to do.¡¯ ¡®Yeah, yeah, school. You keep repeating the same thing over and over.¡¯ ¡®No, I mean joining the track club. Clearly, you can¡¯t handle asking Emily out, so let¡¯s try something new.¡¯ ¡®Wait, what?! The school-obsessed maniac cares about something other than grades?!¡¯ ¡®We¡¯re the same person, you ass. I care about the same things you do. I just take a more rational approach to things. Why am I justifying my thought process to myself?¡¯ Martin snapped back to reality. He glanced at the clock, praying for the day to be over. It was 2:45. Damnit, five more minutes ¡­ ¡°And so, the biggest reason behind the fall of Japan in World War Two was ¡­ Yes, Thomas?¡± ¡°The atom bombs!¡± ¡°Yes, but while that was a major factor, Japan had actually been teetering on the brink ¡­¡± God, this class was boring. Martin glanced up at the clock again. It was 2:46. He watched the seconds pass by, as the clock ticked away. Finally, at 2:50 PM, the bell rang, and Martin was free. He shoved his notebook (which he hadn¡¯t used all year) and his pencils (always sharpened; never used) into his backpack and dashed out the door, heading straight for the front gates. He paused halfway through. Should he head for the track club room now? Yeah, he probably should. But what if they laugh in his face, saying he¡¯s not good enough?If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Nah, impossible. Martin had pride in his track skills. He was one of the fastest kids in the school. No way they¡¯d laugh in his face. If he wanted to change, he should start now. But what if they laughed behind his back at his fairly anti-social behavior? Well, it wasn¡¯t like he went there to make friends. Resolve set, Martin smiled, and then frowned as he realized he had no idea where the track club met. Probably the kind of thing he could have asked his friends, if he had them. Martin walked towards the front desk, as he wondered what he should say. Hi, front desk lady ¡­ Oh. He had no idea what her name was. She was always just ¡®front desk lady¡¯ to him, and most likely to everyone else as well. He didn¡¯t want to be rude, though. Ah, he was here. No time to check now ¡­ or he could pretend he was just walking by, secretly turn around, go to the faculty list, learn her name, and then come back. That does sound more plausible. ¡°Hi, how can I help you?¡± Jolted out of his thoughts, he stared down at a middle-aged woman with hazel eyes. She looked tired; most likely a result of dealing with so many annoying kids each day. Wait. Now he had to talk. ¡°Um, yeah, uh, do-do you know where the track club is?¡± ¡°Well, yes, it¡¯s in room 203. It isn¡¯t meeting today though.¡± ¡°Oh-oh. Thanks.¡± ¡°No problem!¡± Martin slowly turned around and left. ¡®See, that wasn¡¯t too hard, was it?¡¯, his now-happy rational side asked. ¡®It was really nerve-wracking though ¡­ well, I¡¯ll deal with the track club tomorrow.¡¯ ¡®As much as I hate to admit it, yes, we will have to deal with it tomorrow. You could try doing other things today, like-¡¯ ¡®No. Just no. That was too hard. I want to go home and play video games. Or read a book. Or do anything but talk.¡¯ ¡®How are we going to survive with only this much social stamina, man?!¡¯ Martin, now irritated, boarded the bus. As per routine, all of the kids fell silent as he entered. Some glared at him, while some just looked on with apathy. None of the stares were pleasant, however. Martin quietly sat in the front seat, as usual. The other kids started talking again, and he just silently stared out the window as the bus driver started the engine. Engine creaking, the bus drove onto the road. It stopped at each of the designated stops, and finally, after 30 minutes of driving, Martin saw his house through the window. It was grey and small. His parents either couldn¡¯t afford the continual maintenance that would come with painting it, or just liked the color grey. He¡¯d never been able to figure out which one it was. His parents were rather ¡­ tight-lipped in affairs concerning money. Whatever. He stepped into the small house. It felt nice being home again. Both of his parents worked, and it didn¡¯t look like they were home yet. He had some free time. He went back upstairs, and pulled out his dusty old desktop he¡¯d been using since he was eight. He logged in, and opened a game of online Uno. That, embarrassingly enough, was all his computer could handle. Being a master at the game after being able to play it and only it for seven years, he quickly defeated his opponents and moved on to the next match. He beat his next opponents too. Of course, Uno may be somewhat about skill, but it¡¯s mostly about luck. He lost the next one, and that¡¯s when the front door creaked open. He quickly shut off his computer, pulled out his English homework and a pencil, and got to work. He got halfway through his homework, a small question and answer sheet on what they had read for homework two nights before, before hearing knocking at his door, followed by a slight creak as the door opened. His dad appeared in the doorframe, a fairly average man in most aspects. He wore a jet-black suit with a navy blue tie and jet-black pants to match. In case anybody on the street who was passing by him didn¡¯t know, his favorite color was black. Martin smiled, as he asked, ¡°Hey dad, do you need anything?¡± His dad looked at him, tired, as he answered, ¡°No, just ¡­ checking up on you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine, really.¡± ¡°Then why don¡¯t I ever see you with other kids?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like them, and it¡¯s mutual.¡± ¡°This can¡¯t possibly be because of what happened six years ago, can it?¡± ¡°Even if it weren¡¯t, they aren¡¯t very interesting people. I just don¡¯t like them, Dad.¡± ¡°Well ¡­ okay. But still-¡± ¡°Yes, yes, try to get along with them.¡± His dad¡¯s face morphed into a grimace. ¡°Look, Martin, we just want you to be happy. Preferably, happy with other people.¡± ¡°Thanks, Dad. But I¡¯m fine.¡± Sighing, his dad left the room, and Martin concentrated on his homework for the rest of his night. ¡®I¡¯m going to go back to track club tomorrow, and I will join. No more excuses,¡¯ he vowed to himself as he went to sleep. At 11:16 PM, the world stopped turning. And then it started turning backwards. The Past IV People, some sleeping, some not, moved around with incredible speeds, mostly backpedaling. In approximately fifty seconds, buildings had been made slightly lower, bricks flew off unconstructed buildings, ships sailed across the waves, recent wounds healed, and entire continents moved back a few nanometers. And then the world slowed its frantic backwards turning, and slowed down to a reasonable pace. And then it slowed down further, until the world nearly stopped spinning altogether. And then the world reversed its turning, and started spinning faster. And faster. And faster. Until it reached normal speeds once again. All of this happened in the span of precisely one minute. Martin, of course, had no idea of this. So when he woke up, he understandably thought his clock was broken. It was, after all, telling him it was October 15th. That would be impossible, considering that yesterday (for him) was October 16th. And so he brushed his teeth and took a shower, thinking that he would fix his clock in the afternoon, when he got back from school. He ate his breakfast, same as normal, and left for the bus stop. When he got on the bus, after that customary moment of silence, he sat down and realized he had an English vocabulary quiz today. Fuck. The homework he had done last night was supposed to be preparatory material for this quiz. Of course, like in most schools, the preparatory material never covers everything that is on the test. He was supposed to study after he finished his homework, but he had felt tired so- ¡®Fuck!¡¯, the rational side of his brain exclaimed. ¡®We need to study for this quiz!¡¯ ¡®Or you could pretend to be sick, skip class, study at home, and take the quiz the next day,¡¯ the lazy part of his brain answered. ¡®Anything for the grade¡¯, his rational side agreed. With that plan in mind, when the bus got to school, Martin immediately left the school premises. His town was small, and he could walk back to his house in thirty minutes. He headed out to the local convenience store to buy some snacks. His mom hated sugar with a passion, and forbade her family from ever bringing sugar into the household. When he entered through the glass double doors, he immediately made for the back aisles, where he knew he would find his favorite treat, Cheetos. He grabbed a bag and went to the counter, where he could find his friend, whom he had mentally branded as ¡®the counter man¡¯. They bonded over their mutual love of Cheetos.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°A bag of Cheetos, and nothing else?¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯ll be $1.99.¡± ¡°Here.¡± ¡°Thank you. Also, Martin, shouldn¡¯t you be in school? It¡¯s a Tuesday.¡± Martin looked at him weirdly. ¡°What? It¡¯s a Thursday.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s Tuesday.¡± ¡°Tuesday was a while ago, man.¡± ¡°Look at the calendar. It says Tuesday.¡± Martin fumbled his Cheetos in shock. ¡°Wait, what?! Yesterday was Wednesday! Are you pranking me?!¡± ¡°No, you can go check with anyone you can find. It¡¯s a Tuesday. Of course, most of them will be working or in school, where kids should be on a Tuesday morning.¡± Martin, still in shock, ran out of the store. He dashed towards the nearest building he could find. Halfway there, he stopped. This was probably a prank by the counter man, who was punishing him for skipping school early. ¡®But what if something greater is at work?!¡¯, his magical side excitedly asked. ¡®Impossible. It. Is. A. Prank,¡¯ said his rational side. But even it wasn¡¯t completely sure what was happening. He walked into the building slowly. What should he say to the receptionist? ¡®Hey there, not to sound crazy or anything, but could you possibly tell me what day it is?¡¯ He¡¯d be lucky if she didn¡¯t call the policeman over for a ¡®quick chat¡¯. He¡¯d be sent back to school. Forcefully. After all, the one mandate of skipping school was ¡®Don¡¯t get caught.¡¯ He turned around to leave. ¡°Sir, can I help you?¡± Those words made his blood freeze in horror. Slowly, he turned around. He saw her confused face. He knew he had to speak. ¡®I-I don¡¯t-Why?! Crap, gotta back out¡­¡¯ ¡°Um, hi¡­¡± ¡°Hello.¡± No good. She was even more confused now. ¡°Could-Could you possibly tell me what day it is?¡±, he blurted out. ¡°Uh¡­ It¡¯s Tuesday.¡± ¡®What?!¡¯ ¡®Magic!¡¯, his cultist side practically screamed. ¡®No, there must be a logical explanation from this. You can¡¯t be serious, telling me something as fairy tale-like as magic exists.¡¯ ¡®But what if?¡¯ ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°Ah?¡±, he squeaked as he snapped back to reality. ¡°Sir, are you sure you¡¯re okay? Should I call an ambulance?¡± ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine, I, uh, got the days mixed up. Sorry for bothering you, andIreallyneedtoleavenowgoodbye¡±, he said as he all but ran away, leaving a very confused receptionist. Martin ran. And ran. And ran, until he found himself in front of his home. He opened the door and stepped inside. He first checked the clock in the kitchen. It said Tuesday. Then he checked his computer. It said Tuesday. He slowly and carefully turned it off and sat on his bed, closing his eyes. ¡®So, are you finally ready to admit the existence of magic?¡¯, his cultist side inquired. ¡®Impossible.¡¯ ¡®Look, I know how you¡¯re feeling. Everything you believed in just got turned upside down. But don¡¯t worry, I know exactly what¡¯s going on.¡¯ ¡®What, then?¡¯ ¡®Someone, somewhere, cast a spell that trapped us in a time loop!¡¯, the little wizard in his brain loudly proclaimed. ¡®Hah, really? First of all, even if I accepted the very faint possibility of wizards existing, why would anyone target us? We are the most unimportant person I have ever seen. Second, why a time loop? Time is linear, and it always has been. Third, why would anyone trap us and only us in this ¡®time loop¡¯? I maybe, possibly, could have understood if the failed experiment of a mad scientist had caused the whole world to experience this, but nobody else seems to notice the fact that the world is not normal.¡¯ ¡®Um¡­ I¡¯m not sure but-Wait.¡¯ ¡®What?¡¯ ¡®Do you remember that incident two days ago where we dreamed of dying in the park after attempting to confess to Emily?¡¯ ¡®Well, yes?¡¯ ¡®What if we went back there? What if this whole incident, whatever it may be, started back there when we died?¡¯ ¡®Perhaps. That was the only out-of-the-ordinary incident we experienced.¡¯ ¡®So it¡¯s settled? This is not normal? This has a possibility of being ¡­ magical?¡¯ ¡®It¡¯s not normal, I¡¯ll give you that. But I¡¯m sure there¡¯s some branch of science that I never learned about that is responsible for this. It will not be magic, just plain, reasonable, science.¡¯ ¡®However, we¡¯ll be going to the forest to investigate, right?¡¯ ¡®Yes.¡¯ Martin¡¯s eyes opened. Somewhere, deep inside of him, a dead flame was starting to show signs of life once more. He had a mystery to solve. And he had his first clue. The Past V The leaves of the forest were turning yellow. As the sun set, Martin grew increasingly bored. He had been sitting still for close to an hour, and he desperately needed something to do. What was he even looking for? What was the point of all this? He was searching for something that had a high likelihood of not being there. Plus, he had fallen asleep at four. Even if something magical had hit him, he had no idea when it happened. There was no point in staying there. ¡®But this could be your first clue!¡¯, his wizardly side (Martin had now begun to name it Magic for convenience) exclaimed. ¡®It¡¯s probably not. Look, this could have all been a dream. You have no idea that magic actually exists,¡¯ his grounded side (Martin had named it Ration) remarked. ¡®Come on, this is the closest thing to real magic and you know it.¡¯ ¡®No, actually, I don¡¯t. While squatting in a park at seven thirty may seem like a good idea to you, there are better things we could be doing with our time. Such as genuinely trying to figure out if this was a one-time occurrence or not.¡¯ ¡®What if it is a one-time thing and you¡¯re throwing away our only lead?¡¯ ¡®So much the better. Look, we¡¯ve wasted so much time on this. How will magic, which doesn¡¯t exist, help us get a job?¡¯ ¡®Well, it would be cool to have skills on hand-¡¯ ¡®Are they core skills?¡¯ ¡®Well, no, but they could give us an edge-¡¯ ¡®So will going home and doing homework. Therefore, we can investigate this mystery by using the most efficient way. By scanning for anything out of the ordinary while also accomplishing what we¡¯re supposed to be doing.¡¯ ¡®¡­ Fine. But please, don¡¯t drop this mystery.¡¯ ¡®I won¡¯t. This genuinely interests me.¡¯ ¡®Also, quick question: Do we have split personality disorder?¡¯ ¡®No, personality disorders are usually accompanied by memory gaps. This is just us getting really into the debate. And we should really go.¡¯ Martin stood up. It was seven forty five pm, and he had wasted close to an hour and a half in the forest. He took one last look around, before stealthily leaving the park.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. About an four hours later, the entire forest experienced a slight tremor. The rangers dismissed it as a minor earthquake; on the West Coast, those were pretty common. However, the seven year old child that was passing by the scene of the ¡®earthquake¡¯ as he walked back to his house didn¡¯t think the same. He saw a rising plume of fire; almost blocked by the trees, but still distinctly visible. Of course, when he attempted to tell the adults, they dismissed it as a creative story made up by the kid. Though, Martin knew none of that when he woke up the next morning. He just brushed his teeth and left the house, right after squeezing through the ever-tiny dining room. He had decided to passively keep an eye out for anything supernatural. ¡®But what, exactly, does supernatural entail?¡¯, questioned Magic. ¡®Something that doesn¡¯t fit the bounds of reality.¡¯, replied Ration. ¡®Have you heard the story of a mother flipping a car to save her child? That¡¯s supernatural.¡¯ ¡®Well, that is true. But I think we¡¯re looking for something a little more ¡­ distinctive.¡¯ ¡®Like what? What could possibly be more distinctive than a car being flipped?!¡¯ ¡®Well ¡­ I don¡¯t know. Something inconsistent, I guess? We should set standards.¡¯ ¡®Well, I think we should keep an eye on anything supernatural. There isn¡¯t that much in this tiny town, so we should be able to get it all.¡¯ ¡®Well, sure, we¡¯ll try that. But before that, we should see if we can make it past today. Also, the teacher is glaring at us; we should probably be paying attention to that.¡¯ Martin put on his best I¡¯m-a-very-interested-student face. The teacher looked slightly mollified, though she kept glancing at him specifically. Martin had never gotten out of that class faster in his life, and that was saying something. He ran out of the door and bolted back home, where he ¡­ waited. And waited. And waited. He didn¡¯t really feel like doing homework. Not now. Even Ration was slightly quiet. This was boring. He waited some more. And some more. It was eight o¡¯clock when his mom showed up in the doorway. ¡°Martin, come downstairs. Dinner¡¯s ready.¡± She glanced at him, and then furrowed her eyebrows. ¡°Have you not started on any of your homework?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°And why not?¡± ¡°I wanted a break.¡± ¡°From what? Listen, Martin, you haven¡¯t been doing anything hard.¡± Martin buried his face into his hands. ¡°No, no, don¡¯t do that. Doing that won¡¯t get you anywhere.¡± ¡°I¡¯m ¡­ just tired.¡± How could he tell her he was waiting for something even he couldn¡¯t identify? ¡°Yeah, well, funnily enough, your school doesn¡¯t actually care, sweetie. Now get up, eat dinner, and do your homework.¡± ¡°¡­Fine.¡± As he trudged downstairs, Ration spoke up. ¡®She¡¯s right, you know. If this was a one-off occurrence, we¡¯d have wasted our time for nothing.¡¯ ¡®But we should be paying attention to see if it really was a one off occurrence. What if it wasn¡¯t?¡¯ ¡®We should be preparing for the worst. Also, assuming this was a time loop-¡¯ Magic let out a cry of joy. ¡®Oh, come on, I may have said ¡°assuming¡±, but there are other possibilities. Anyway, assuming there is a time loop, wouldn¡¯t retaining information be the most important part?¡¯ ¡®Maybe.¡¯ ¡®Come on, all we have to do is be awake when this ¡°time loop¡± thing happens. I think we would notice time rewinding. Also, there could be other possibilities.¡¯ ¡®You keep saying that, but I think you¡¯re starting to believe that there¡¯s a time loop.¡¯ ¡®¡­¡¯ ¡°Oi!¡± Martin¡¯s head jolted up. He saw a yellow napkin hanging from his mom¡¯s fingers. ¡°Are you even paying attention to what¡¯s in front of your face?¡± She waved the napkin in front of his face some more. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± After he ate dinner, he went back up and actually did his homework. And then he waited. And waited. And waited. He could hear his parents trudging up the stairs to bed. He waited some more. It was eleven o¡¯clock. He waited more. He closed his eyes for a brief second. And then everything blacked out. The Past VI Martin woke up to the sound of his alarm. He groggily fumbled his way out of bed, his hand searched for the snooze button. Then the hand stopped. Martin¡¯s eyes snapped open and frantically held up the alarm clock, searching for the tiny date in the bottom-right hand corner. It was Tuesday. Tuesday, October 15th. Martin fell back on his bed with a plop, staring up at the ceiling with somewhat contradictory feelings welling up inside of him. On the one hand, it really was something special. Magic was shrieking in joy. On the other, he had the distinct feeling of stepping in a pile of crap he was fully unlicensed to deal with. ¡®Alright, alright, let¡¯s sort this situation out,¡¯ Ration said in an attempt to calm Magic down. ¡®The way I see it, there are two possibilities for this happening. One, there really is some sort of magic-¡¯ Magic¡¯s happiness grew mentally louder. ¡®Or, we are simply dreaming this. Honestly, I find this incredibly unlikely. I don¡¯t remember ever having a lucid dream before, and our cognitive abilities seem perfectly fine. So, this is magical bullshit.¡¯ ¡®You-you admitted it! Finally admitted it!¡¯ ¡®It might have been a scientist messing with quantum physics. We don¡¯t know this is something related to science outside of our realm of understanding, but I don¡¯t know. I feel like we would have known about it on the news, and besides, why were we the only ones affected? I don¡¯t know much about quantum physics, but considering we were the only ones to be affected in this entire town, I think we can rule it out. So yes, it probably is magical.¡¯ ¡®We HAVE to investigate!¡¯ ¡®Maybe. Do you think we should head back to the forest, or make use of this time loop thing?¡¯ ¡®Huh? What do you mean by making use of it?¡¯ ¡®Think about it. We have literally all the time in the world, as well as a chance to erase our mistakes every two days. We could learn so much! If we ever get out of this, or if it naturally ends, we¡¯d have everything we¡¯d ever need!¡¯, Ration exclaimed. ¡®That¡¯s true¡­¡¯ ¡®And we could get along with more people!¡¯ ¡®Hah?¡¯ ¡®Improve our social skills, read situations, and also have a chance to reset everything?! It¡¯s like this time loop was made for us!¡¯A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡®Oh ¡­ uh ¡­¡¯ ¡®This is incredible! We could literally do anything!¡¯ ¡®Um, Ration?¡¯ ¡®Hm?¡¯ ¡®You do realize we have two days, right? Even if we made any progress at all in social relationships, we¡¯d lose it. There¡¯s a limit on how much we can interact with others in two days.¡¯ ¡®Well ¡­ we could at least practice getting started?¡¯ ¡®I still think we should investigate the forest.¡¯ ¡®I don¡¯t know ¡­ We could be doing so much more.¡¯ Martin groaned and rolled over. This problem was ¡­ vexing. Did he go back to the forest? Or did he make use of this ¡®time loop¡¯? ¡°MARTIN!¡± He winced as the shout interrupted his musings from below. ¡°GET DOWN HERE!¡± ¡®Erk¡­¡¯ He still had to pretend to go to school. Martin tucked away his thoughts for later, and glanced at the time. His eyes bulged. It was 7:50 AM. School was in ten minutes. He couldn¡¯t even catch the bus. Of course, school didn¡¯t really matter anymore, but his mom certainly didn¡¯t think the same way. ¡°MARTIN!¡± If the last shout was normal, this one was a roar by comparison. He didn¡¯t even know his mother had that much lung capacity. So, before his eardrums burst from the progressively increasing shouts, he ran to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and washed his face, before scrambling down the stairs, hoping to avoid an angry mother. That hope was in vain. Martin sat in the four-seater family car, the only one his parents owned. He was shrinking into his shadow, attempting to make himself as invisible as possible. Every once in a while, his mother shot him an angry glance from the driver¡¯s seat. His mother wanted Martin to succeed in all the areas she didn¡¯t, a desire Martin did not replicate. His dad was more about enjoying life. His dad wanted Martin to have more¡­ balanced fun throughout his life, as opposed to going wild in his early years and paying for it later. As such, both of them agreed on one thing: school was very much a priority. Martin, or at least Ration, usually agreed with that statement. School was a stepping stone for later careers. However, he had just discovered a fucking time loop. School wasn¡¯t the priority right now. At least, that was what he had been thinking while his mother was preaching to him about the virtues of school and how important it was for the seventy-first time. And then he inadvertently told her that he didn¡¯t care about school. She did not take it well. Even now, as he looked at his mother, her anger was nearly visible. So, he opted to remain silent all the way through the car ride. When he got to school, he muttered a quick ¡°thank you¡± and dashed out as fast as possible. He could feel his mother¡¯s eyes trained on his back up until he made it through the doors. Instead of heading to A block class, however, he simply went to the bathroom for a couple of minutes. Once he thought the coast was clear, he grabbed the backpack and ran out the back door. His school did not care if people skipped. They simply notified the parents of their overall attendance at the end of every semester, and believed that the best punishments were always meted out by the parents. So, as he walked into the forest, he was smiling. That smiling abruptly turned into a frown. The problem of boredom had struck him again. Was he simply to wait until night? ¡®Yes.¡¯, Magic said. ¡®Hm?¡¯ ¡®Last time, we didn¡¯t wait because we didn¡¯t think that time loops actually existed. But now we know. So, we wait.¡¯ ¡®But still, we could be doing so much more-¡¯ ¡®Nope. We have a clue. We are going to follow the goddamned clue.¡¯ So Martin sat near a tree. And he waited. And waited. And damn, was he getting really good at waiting. And then, at around 4 PM, he felt his eyes closing. ¡®Just a little bit of sleep,¡¯ he drowsily thought. He woke up later. He looked around for a bit. And he saw them. The Past VII Ghostly things, dressed in all black, standing on top of the tree branches around him. Martin froze. He did not move as the ghost thing in the front made a hand gesture to those behind. He did not move as the ghost things around him silently leaped from their tree branches to the ones in front of them, ninja-style. Martin was an expert at not moving and completely hiding his presence. If he didn¡¯t have that skill, he would have never been able to doodle in elementary school. Or make paper airplanes in middle school. In fact, he was fairly sure he had set the record in that the teacher had somehow continuously forgotten Martin was in his class for six months. An extremely difficult task, considering that, in this town, everyone knew each other, whether they be teacher or student. So, using that skill he had refined for years, he sat perfectly still, not moving, barely even breathing. Just watching. He was lucky he did. If his attention had wavered for even a split second, he would not have caught the lead ghoster¡¯s movement. Or, precisely, teleportation. Or perhaps some other, more logical, more rational action. All Martin saw was the ghoster standing there one second, and gone the next. While he kept up his perfect fa?ade, he was near petrified with shock internally. There were more people like him?! All the other ghosters looked at each other. Then, they followed after him. Martin sat still for a couple more moments, after which he quietly got up and attempted to turn around so that he could move towards the entrance to the forest. Then he saw steel, flashing in the moonlight, heading straight for his windpipe. The knife entered his throat. The knife exited his throat. Blood came out of his throat; at first a trickle, then a mild stream, as he gargled and drowned in a desperate attempt to speak, to talk, to live. He felt a warm hand supporting his neck. He opened his red- tinted eyes to see what was happening. He saw the same knife flashing towards his brain. Time seemed to slow down, as he stared at that knife, knowing he was powerless to resist. His first real clue into his ¡®time-loop¡¯, gone. While he had died before- Wait. He had died before. But he heard something before he died. What was it? Lentes Mortannius? That knife is getting awfully close.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Vendre- No. Shoot. What was that last one? Ah. His eyes refocused on the grey dagger, about 2 milliseconds away from entering his brain, severing vital parts of it, and ending his life. He remembered. Right before he died, a strange voice had shouted ¨C no, chanted a word. Internally, he screamed, ¡®Astrogarth!¡¯ He felt that same odd burning-from-the-inside feeling he¡¯d had before, as white half-shackles erupted from his body, slamming into the ghoster¡¯s neck and hands, effectively chaining him to the tree right behind him. Dimly, he heard the ghoster swearing as it ineffectively attempted to get out of the shackles that chained him. The wooziness from loss of blood was getting worse and worse. Not surprising, considering he had a fucking hole in his throat. And all went black, as the world stopped. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ¡°BEEP! BEEP!¡± Martin¡¯s hand instinctively shot out of his covers, slamming down on the snooze button as he rolled over. He really didn¡¯t want to get out of bed today, especially since he just died- Wait. What?! He had died?! Martin sat up in his bed, mentally reeling from the sensation of death. It had felt ¡­ peaceful. It was almost like a dream in that regard. Of course, it would be a dream he would never wake up from. But he had done ¡­ something. He remembered the chains crashing into the ghost thing¡¯s neck and wrists. Shrugging his shoulders, he resolved himself to try it again. ¡®Astrogarth!¡¯, he screamed internally. Nothing happened. What? He clearly remembered glowing white half-shackles attached to long chains flying out of his body and locking the ghost thing into the tree. Maybe he needed to visualize it better? Securing the image in his mind, he chanted it again. Nothing happened. Martin was understandably confused. After all, he had done it before. Perhaps it was something that could only be used under duress? That seemed logical enough. Or, maybe this ¡­ spell (for it really could be nothing else) activated because of the feelings he experienced. What had he felt? A strong desire to live. A realization of powerlessness. And an strong desire to do something, anything, to the ghoster- Oh. Ohh. It was really that simple, wasn¡¯t it? Of course the spell wouldn¡¯t do anything. It had no target to chain. What was he expecting it to do, shoot it every general direction? Focusing on the alarm clock to his side, and remembering the glowing half-shackles, he chanted once more. ¡®Astrogarth.¡¯ And the glowing chains crashed into the alarm clock, shoving it back a foot and very audibly pinning it to the wall on the other side. Martin smiled, and then froze. Acting quickly, he put his hands over his ears, as he prepared for the roar that was to come. ¡°MARTIN!¡± He heard angry stomping coming up the stairs. His mother had an uncanny ability to hear everything. Of course, it wasn¡¯t like she needed it to hear the sound of something going thunk into the wall. He then realized he had no idea how to dematerialize the shackles. ¡®Smart, Martin. Real smart,¡¯ he thought to himself. Perhaps he just had to will them away? He was relieved to see it work. He was less relieved to see his alarm clock smash upon the floor. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Martin sulked on the bus, really unbothered by the angry glances some of the kids were shooting him. He had discovered an amazing power, the likes of which had never been seen before. And what had happened? He had been grounded for breaking his alarm clock. His mother had immediately assumed he had been screwing around with it. Unfair. Oh well, there¡¯s only so much one can do against the parental units. But the most important part of this entire ordeal was the fact that he got to use magic. Magic! Inside his brain, Ration had shut down from attempting to process real-world magic (it¡¯s one thing to theorize something exists, and quite another to see it in action) and Magic was exuberantly happy. After all those years of being stifled, of focusing on the real world, he was right. Right! So, he was going to sneak back into the woods and see what else he could learn- A knife, stabbing through his throat. Blood rushing through his windpipe, clogging up his lungs. The feeling of drowning, as he desperately tried to breathe. Staring his attacker dead in the eye, as the knife fell toward his face- Martin choked on the air he was breathing, sputtering and coughing as he attempted to right himself again. What the hell was that?! The Past VIII Wheezing, Martin almost didn¡¯t notice the bus driver¡¯s call for all students to depart. As he got off and tried to walk to the small building in front of him, the events from last night kept playing in his mind. The knife, sharp and red, being ripped out of his throat. The serrated edge looking even nastier in the moonlight. The knife, plunging towards his brain- ¡®Stop,¡¯ he angrily thought to himself. He could feel himself stumbling to the right, heading into the forest, away from all this. Happy thoughts. The time he got his computer. His first win at a game of Uno. The moment when he found out he could use magic- A serrated edge. Designed for ripping away chunks of flesh when the dagger was pulled out. Blood, flowing from his veins as the- ¡°ENOUGH!¡± The receptionist frowned. She thought she had heard something. It ¡­ sounded like muddled shouting? ¡®Oh, dear. That¡¯s not good.¡¯ She got up and opened the door, looking outside. There was nothing there. Martin leaned against the tree, panting. He had sprinted all the way around the school, into the forest right behind. Death ¡­ hurt. Well, really, the process of being killed hurt, and not just physically. It ¡­ just felt wrong that his life could have been taken away, just like that. Life should be harder to snuff out. All it took was one knife. All it took was one sharp object to enter his throat, ending him. If he hadn¡¯t had the time loop, everything he had worked for, to live a real life, would have been for naught. His hopes, dreams, ambitions, ended just because he saw something he wasn¡¯t supposed to. Because he was definitely not supposed to see the ghosters, teleporting around as they did. He wasn¡¯t supposed to be able to use magic. He wasn¡¯t supposed to be able to go back in fucking time. This was unfair. He didn¡¯t even do anything. He had stayed still, done nothing, nothing at all, to warrant this. His only crime was seeing them. And for that, he paid with his life. This is bullshit. The fear from his death was slowly fading away, being replaced by intense anger. Just because they didn¡¯t want to be seen, they killed him. Snuffed out his existence. He had done nothing wrong. He hadn¡¯t even spoken before that damn knife-A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Red, slick with blood, the knife withdrew from his throat. The ghoster holding the blade, indifferent to the suffering he had caused, stabbed again, aiming for his head- -had done that. Had killed him. Why? For what reason was he dead? He bore witness to magic. For that, he died. Unfair. These people operated above the law, seeing how easily they had killed him. They were strong, and he was weak. That was why he died. He was weak. The law only matters in a society of equals, where it could be enforced. He was definitely not equal to those killers. Why? Because they could speak magic words when no one else can? Unfair. If they could speak magic words, he could too. If he could die, they would too, hallucinations be damned. Martin slowly walked into the forest. Last time, he had napped under a tree while waiting for something to happen, and had seen the ghosters because of that. So, it reasonably followed that he would do the same thing. He picked the same tree as the one before. At least, he thought it was the same. It had the same split in the trunk of the tree, at least 20 meters in the air. He quietly attempted to hide, in the same way he had done before. The sun slowly moved across the sky. To Martin, it seemed to be chasing a cloud that was floating in the same direction. It made him so sleepy. The cloud, serenely drifting across the sky without a care in the world. He suppressed a yawn as he fought his eyes, which were trying their hardest to close. Just a little bit of sleep, his body murmured. It¡¯s not like anything is going to happen for a while anyway¡­ His body went limp as his eyes closed, and all went black. The knife that had stabbed him, red and gory, flew at his head, guided by the hand holding it. Only this time, it was moving slower. He caught the blade out of the air with reflexes that surprised both assailant and victim, and yanked it free of the ghoster¡¯s hands in the moment of confusion. The ghoster took a step back, confused. Martin smiled, as he spun the dagger around and plunged it into the man¡¯s cranium- Martin was instantly on high alert, as if he wasn¡¯t sleeping mere moments before. His eyes flew up to the sky, checking the time. It was almost sunset. Black shadows materialized over him, as if they hadn¡¯t been there before. The ghosters were assembled all around him. After what seemed like an eternity, he saw the lead ghoster put a finger to his lips. Finally. He strained his ears, but couldn¡¯t make out what the lead ghoster had said before he disappeared. One by one, the other ghosters teleported away as well. Shit. He¡¯d have to be closer next time. Speaking of which¡­ He turned around, staring down the ghoster that was swinging at him with a knife, the source of those hallucinations, his killer, and lifted a palm, whispering, ¡°Astrogarth.¡± Glowing white half-shackles, following by chains, erupted from his hands, slamming into his would-be assailant and pinning him to the tree directly behind him. The ghoster froze with surprise. Then he frantically attempted to escape his imprisonment. Martin walked closer. And closer. Upon close inspection, the ghoster was clearly a human. He had a human-shaped body, and clearly had snow blue eyes. The rest of his body was wrapped in a strange grey cloth, much like a mummy. The ghoster suddenly stopped struggling, as if resigning himself. He stared Martin directly in the eye. ¡°Telest.¡± He disappeared, as Martin whirled around, seeing the knife that had snuffed out his existence flying straight towards his neck. Gone were his thoughts of revenge, as he desperately attempted to duck. It wasn¡¯t enough. He saw the approaching knife, and mentally cursed, knowing he couldn¡¯t avoid it. How could he have been so stupid, knowing the ghoster had a teleportation ability? Did his anger over his death blind him that much? What was he expecting, that the ghoster would just give up? And for the second time in one day, Martin died, regretting his actions. The Past IX Martin swore as he paced around in the forest. He kicked at random rocks, threw sticks at birds, and punched some trees. None of it helped his anger. He had died not once, but twice, to the same fuck using the exact same trick. ¡®So, how would we prevent things from happening again?¡¯, asked Ration. He struggled to find a response. He could just simply avoid the forest from now on. But that wouldn¡¯t get him the answers he wanted. It also wouldn¡¯t help him figure out this time loop, or whatever crazy batshit this was. Therefore, this was not an option. However, he was very clearly putting his life at risk by entering the forest. Why should he continue to do so? Was this chase for answers really worth his life? It hurt to die. Every time he did, he was sent to that place, for who knows how long. That place was ¡­ terrible. All he did was float in darkness. He couldn¡¯t see anything. Nor hear. Nor smell. Nor taste. He couldn¡¯t even feel his own body. Everything was numb. He half-convinced himself he was going insane. Had he floated there for two minutes or two hours? Two hours or two days? Anything would be preferable to that. So, he resolved, there would be no going back to that. Not if he could help it.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. If it weren¡¯t for that ghosty piece of shit¡­ ¡®Soo, what would our course of action be?¡¯ On one hand, he had a mystery to solve, consequences be damned. On the other hand, when he failed, he went to that place. ¡®Isn¡¯t the answer obvious here?¡¯, asked Magic, who had been busy angrily hitting things for the past two hours. ¡®Just don¡¯t fail.¡¯ ¡®That¡¯s ¡­ not a solution. That¡¯s a wish.¡¯ ¡®Well, it¡¯s a goal to aim towards.¡¯ ¡®I was looking for something with a higher likelihood of happening.¡¯ So, out of the two options, which one is better? In this ¡®time loop¡¯, death seems to be temporary. However, it took him years to finally have a goal. To finally want to do something of his own accord, and not just because it was required of him. So, the answer is obvious. ¡°I¡¯ll have to go back there,¡± Martin whispered. The first thing to do would be to prepare. First, he would have to be more efficient with his chains. Second, he distinctly remembered the ghost man saying a word right before teleporting. Martin put his hand on a tree as he concentrated. He focused on a spot a couple of feet away. He imagined himself being there. ¡°Telest.¡± He looked up. Nothing had changed. Martin frowned. Was there a problem in the way he had imagined it? He tried to picture the act of teleporting itself and spoke the word once more. Nothing changed. Why? Was there some sort of special restriction for teleporting? How did any of this even work? Magic might not even follow a set pattern. Martin¡¯s mind froze as it made several connections. Why had the ghost man spoken that word so freely? If magic did follow a set pattern, then he was risking giving away a teleporting spell to a person who clearly did not know it. Perhaps every member of the magic community could use this spell? Or perhaps, was he just very confident in his skills? ¡®This is a dumb plan,¡¯ Ration said. Perhaps. There was a chance magic didn¡¯t follow a certain pattern. There was a chance that this was simply basic magic, which seemed unlikely to Martin. If it was truly a basic spell, why had he only used it twice in the fight? If someone could freely teleport in a fight, wouldn¡¯t it make more sense to abuse that ability? And finally, there was a chance that the assassin was overconfident. Martin smiled. He¡¯d take those odds. The Past X Martin sat under the same tree that had led to his demise a little while ago. It was almost sunset (6:50 PM, to be exact), and Martin was bored. He had sat under this tree for the past ten hours, and he had run out of entertaining things a while ago. He wasn¡¯t even able to sleep because he wanted to record the exact time the ghosts appeared- Martin instantly went on high alert as the lead ghost appeared, followed by the other ones. The leader put a finger to his lips as he mouthed that word and vanished. The others did the same. Martin braced himself. He turned around and saw the ghost standing there, about to stab him. He blocked the knife with his hand and got a deep gash for it. The ghost struck again, to no avail, as Martin shouted, ¡°Astrogarth!¡±. Glowing white chains flew out of his hands and pinned the ghost to the tree, the same as before. The ghost¡¯s eyes went wide as he struggled, attempting to break free of the chains. Martin backed away slowly. The ghost sighed. ¡°Telest.¡± Martin spun around as the ghost reappeared behind him, already stabbing outwards. He once again braced himself as the dagger went into his heart. ¡°Please, cough, please wait,¡± he choked out as his hand covered his heart. The ghost raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m not sparing your life, if that¡¯s what you were going to ask.¡± ¡°No ¡­ I just ¡­ How did you do that? You struck me, a practitioner of the binding arts (lie). I am a pupil cough of the greatest binding mage (lie) and he taught me all his secrets (lie) but I¡¯ve never seen anything like that (true).¡± The ghost smirked. ¡°Well, since you¡¯re down there, sputtering on the ground, I¡¯ll tell you.¡± ¡®Yes!¡¯, Martin thought to himself. ¡®I was right! He¡¯s the arrogant type!¡¯ ¡°For your guiding mentality, just picture yourself accelerating at high speeds towards your target. I can¡¯t believe no other path has managed to replicate this skill yet. You guys must really suck at anything outside of reading those dusty books in your crumbling towers.¡± The ghost laughed as Martin¡¯s vision went dark once more. When Martin woke up in his room the next morning, he spent a couple of minutes laughing at how easy that was. Then again, he probably didn¡¯t expect Martin to revive. ¡®Ah, well. We should probably test what he told us,¡¯ Ration said. Martin closed his eyes and turned one palm in front of him. He thought of a spot near the wall, imagined himself accelerating at high speeds towards it, and spoke.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°Telest.¡± He instantly reopened his eyes to burning pain. His hand was buried three inches deep in the wall. He screamed and yanked it out, but that just made the hand throb even worse. He could hear his mother running up the stairs to investigate, but he could not care less. He cradled his hand and was huddling on the floor when his mother burst in, screaming, ¡°Martin, what the- ARE YOU OKAY?¡± ¡°NO!¡± His mother grabbed his left hand and forcefully pried it open, making him yell even harder. A couple of three inch shards as well as some smaller bits were poking out of both ends of his hand, stopping the bleeding to an extent but making it extraordinarily hard to open or close his fingers. ¡°Martin, what were you doing?! Slapping the wall?!¡± ¡°OWowowwwoowww¡­¡± His father burst in as well, only half dressed. ¡°Martin, what- ARE YOU OKAY?!¡± ¡°NO!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll call the hospital! Just don¡¯t move your hand- HONEY, STOP FLEXING HIS HAND! YOU¡¯LL MAKE THE CUT WORSE!¡± Martin¡¯s mother jerked her hand back, causing Martin¡¯s hand to fall to the floor, stimulating his pain nerves even more. ¡°Martin! Er¡­¡± Martin looked up and recoiled in shock. On his mother¡¯s face was a plethora of emotions he had never seen before ¨C indecision, worry, and panic. In his eyes, his mother was always the calm one- someone who made decisions with maximum efficiency in mind. Nothing would stop her carefully thought out plans. But now, she just looked ¡­ more ¡­ human. Martin had seen a grand total of four emotions on his mother¡¯s face: anger, coldness, warmth (for the first four years of his life), and disappointment. Now three more were added. ¡®Huh,¡¯ Martin thought. ¡®Does everyone have emotions like this? Behind their exterior, doesn¡¯t everyone feel joy? Don¡¯t they feel sad, or disappointed? I ¡­ can¡¯t define them by what I see, because they are so much more than that. I ¡­ what about the kids I ignore in class? The teachers? My mom? Don¡¯t they have feelings too? I never tried to know them- no, I tried to know them, but then I gave up. Because of one little incident six years ago. I missed out on ¡­ so many things. I ¡­¡¯ Unbeknownst to Martin, he had started crying halfway through his thoughts, which made his mother panic even further. He barely even noticed when the paramedics arrived to take him away, and fell asleep soon after. Martin woke up to pure pain, and through sheer instinct, smashed the snooze bar on the alarm clock next to his bed. Even more pain followed, and when he looked to the side, he realized he swatted an LED monitor with his very bandaged hand. The nurse looked over at him, from where she had been writing on a clipboard. ¡°Ah, Martin. You¡¯re awake.¡± ¡°Er¡­ yeah. Um, what time is it?¡± ¡®Huh? I didn¡¯t stutter that much.¡¯ ¡°It¡¯s ¡­ 11:14 PM. It¡¯s Wednesday, by the way.¡± ¡°Oh. Um, what happened?¡± The nurse laughed. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯d like to ask you! We were very surprised when you were wheeled in with pieces of plaster embedded in your palm.¡± Martin fell silent. ¡®Well, it¡¯s not like I can tell her I magically teleported into the wall¡­¡¯ The nurse opened her mouth to speak, but then everything stopped. She got up and backpedaled out of the room. Martin confusedly attempted to ask why, but he found that he couldn¡¯t speak. His eyes forcefully shut themselves. He could feel things buzzing in the room. Suddenly, he felt the bandages on his hands were being unwrapped fast. Shards of plastic re-embedded themselves into his palm. Martin tried to scream once more, but found he couldn¡¯t. He was lifted out of his bed by extremely large hands. He was quickly put into a stretcher and wheeled backwards out the door. He was pushed into a van. Less than two seconds later, he was taken out of the van and wheeled back into his room, where his eyes re-opened to find his mother cradling him for less than a second, and then exiting the room faster than she had any right to go. He saw himself jump up and shove his hand back into the plaster, where the shards in his hand stayed as he pulled his hand out, completely healed. He got into his bed, and his eyes were forcefully closed again. Martin woke up to the incessant buzzing of his alarm, one that was stopped by a smash of the snooze bar. ¡®Well,¡¯ Ration meekly said. ¡®I believe we now know how this time loop works.¡¯ Hiatus I really have no idea what I''m doing with this book. So, it''s going on hiatus until I can figure it out. I really don''t like it, and I feel that I''ve made a lot of choices that I shouldn''t have made. That, along with my nonexistent planning really killed my motivation. As such, this book will be on indefinite hiatus. Thanks for reading this far!This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The next few lines will be jargon, to bring my character count up to five hundred so I can post this. Death is just the beginning. In this world, a Rolls-Royce comes to life, as words literally fly off the page. The Ascedant Sun wakes, to bring down the mighty.