Darkness surrounded him.
Place, time, sensory inputs.
Everything was cut off from his being, if not the self-conscience of existence.
Then he felt like his sight was added back.
When he tried reopening his eyes, he was back in New York.
At that point, everything repeated in front of him.
He felt like some ghost, reliving his past life to understand his errors.
The problem was, there wasn't anything as useful as that in this reality.
All that happened was a non-stop replay of his last minute of life.
He had a girl in each hand.
At that moment, he walked with them toward a hotel he knew.
Then while waiting at a crossroad for the semaphore to turn green, he was literally pushed by his ex-girlfriend under a hearse.
Differently from what he thought happened that time, he wasn't teleported toward Ouroboros. He was left lying there on the road.
Strangely enough, the only person crying was his ex-girlfriend, the killer of the situation.
The two girls immediately ran away screaming a couple of seconds after the vehicle hit the body, and their minds registered the event.
This scene repeated infinitely for a time. He didn't even know how long it was.
When he started thinking he was dead...suddenly he was back in Ouroboros.
The sky was dark, and there were only irregular thunder-like explosions of light in the sky from time to time.
His skin instinctively tingled.
The sand pricked his face, and the strong staunch of rotting blood punched his nose.
His ears could hear both the dying pleading voices of the demons at his shoulders and the immutable desert's wind.
This was the Desert of Death, the end of his first life.
Thinking back about it.
It was probably the most suited place to give his body rest.
He and his old comrades gave a new meaning to this place.
First, it represented the desert where the Demon King reigned, a place not apt to live in.
Be it anthropomorphic or plant-like life.
Now the golden sand became currant red in color, and the blood of the demon guards created rivers between the sand dunes.
The head of the Demon King was in his hands.
That's right, even though strange: he, the tamer, was the strongest of the party.
For that reason, he had to give the final hit to the Demon King, or so he thought.
He thought now he could finally relax, but then he felt bloodlust. But this time, strangely, it came from his back.
''Oh no, how unlucky?!
The Demon King created a curse to possess his killer! ''
Eric was extremely tired, so when he heard that pile of bullshit exit from the shield hero's mouth, he was unsure if it made more sense to simply kill himself after cursing all of them with all of his soul or to die while selling his life to a high price.
Prideful as he was, the decision was obvious.
''Ahah, ahahah, ahahahahahah. That's the bullshit you are gonna spout Aegis?! ''
His rage seemed to create a thick, intense, black smoke around his eyes.
The reality was he tamed minuscule insects to create a moving fog to deceive his enemies' eyes.
Since his situation was desperate, and was in a critical situation of numerical disadvantage (1 VS 7), Eric changed his usual bulldozer tactic and attacking style in a way similar to that of the assassin heroine, the only one in this party that he felt some kind of authentic bond with.
In this way, after hours of taxing battle, he managed to kill the saintess, which would have definitely been the biggest worry in a longwinded fight, and cut the tongue of the shield hero.
Just to be sure not to make him talk again, with his betraying mouth, once he cut his tongue, he instantly proceeded to burn it into ashes with his survival magic.
At that moment, when he lowered his guard, to execute his previous plan, he felt something itching near the middle of his chest.
There was no pain there, but when he lowered his eyes, there he found a dagger he knew way too well Pugio.
The favorite equipment and mission nickname of the assassin heroine.
Again, as in the other part of his dream, after death, he saw that Pugio was delicately extracted from his chest, with almost no blood on it.
Her technique was defined as god-like for a reason.
The little blood on it was washed by water, but it wasn't raining.
As previously, he was made to watch that scene on repeat.
As if one wasn't enough, he now felt pain for two reasons.
One was the most obvious: pain caused by reliving his own death, characterized not only by physical pain but also by the mental one of betrayal.
The second reason was way more complex:'' Why were they crying? Isn't that hypocritical on the mildest and batshit crazy on the harsher side? ''
Rethinking about the dreams that tortured him every night from the beginning of his third attempt, he smiled lightly before slapping his own cheeks.
*There's no point in thinking back now.
My best move now is to become the strongest in the shortest amount of time possible.
Then, I'll be able to right my wrong and have my answer from at least one of those crazy, crying women! *
At that moment, he was moving unconsciously. After all, when he wasn't acting intentionally, his brain went back to default mode, using the most engrained motor patterns.
For this reason, since he and Rubra started hunting less than a week ago, his level was increasing at a steady pace, and he became accustomed to his new body.
Watching him fight with death on the line while spacing out about his dreaming problems, Rubra was left speechless.
*In what world does a herbalist manage to move like that?!
His movements are slower because of the level difference but way more refined than mine.
Did he fight giant carnivore plants with his bare hands during his past life?! *
His thoughts were completely different.
*I won't repeat the same mistake again! *
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A.N. : I hope you enjoyed the side stories and some of the holes(intentional) are partially filled now.
From tomorrow will start the next Volume and everything should become even more dynamic.
Enjoy the ride!