The cold water poured over Zack's body, the harsh spray stinging his skin as he stood beneath the metal showerhead in the public bathroom. The early morning light barely filtered through the small, foggy window above, casting long, dark shadows across the room. It was still quiet—most students were still asleep, tucked away in their dorms, unaware of the darkness that lingered beneath the surface of this world.
Zack had always woken up early. It wasn't because he liked the quiet, though it did offer some peace before the storm of the day began. It was because he couldn't sleep, not really. His nightmares were far too vivid, too real. The pain, the deaths, the endless cycles of suffering. It all came back to him as soon as he closed his eyes, a never-ending loop of horror that refused to release him.
So instead, he stood here, in this sterile, empty room, letting the cold water wash over him, wishing he could scrub away the memories.
Zack's gaze drifted to his reflection in the slightly cracked mirror above the sink. He saw the body that had once been weak and frail—thin, scrawny, incapable of standing up to the harshness of this world. But now, after countless cycles, after countless deaths, his body was different.
Muscles rippled beneath his skin, toned and defined, a testament to his endless battles. Every death had brought him back stronger, his body retaining the physical strength from each life, each painful experience. The only part of him that never changed was his physical form.
He flexed his hand, watching the movement of his fingers, the veins beneath his skin. He had trained tirelessly over the years, forced himself to become stronger, faster, more deadly. After all, strength was the one thing he could rely on in this world, the one thing that remained constant.
But as he stared at himself in the mirror, the question lingered in his mind: Was it enough?
Was his strength enough to change anything? To save anyone?
The memories of his past lives hit him like a tidal wave.
He remembered the moments of pain—the searing heat of poison coursing through his veins, the cold steel of a blade thrust into his chest, the sickening sound of his body being torn apart by monstrous forces. He'd felt every cut, every stab, every moment of agony. And every time, his body would return to its normal state, healed and whole, but the memories would never fade.
The trauma should have been overwhelming. After a hundred, a thousand, or maybe even more lifetimes, he should have broken, should have given up. But Zack had long since stopped reacting to the pain. It no longer scared him.
As he closed his eyes, the images flashed in his mind: the poison that burned through his veins, the sharp pain of being stabbed, the bone-crushing weight of his own body being shattered. He remembered being ripped apart, limbs torn off, his heart crushed under the force of unimaginable creatures. And yet, each time, he had returned.
It was no longer a horrifying event. It was just another memory.
Zack had learned to accept it. He had no choice. It had become a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his existence. The fear, the panic attacks that had once plagued him, had disappeared with time. There was no room for fear in the face of eternity.
The same strength that allowed him to survive over and over again was the same strength that had caused him to endure so much. It had become an insidious double-edged sword.
He opened his eyes and took a long, steady breath. His reflection remained unchanged—hard eyes, a sharp jawline, and the weariness that clung to his face like a second skin.
No matter how strong he was, no matter how much he had trained or fought, nothing would ever change. The cycle would repeat, the deaths would continue, and no amount of strength could save the ones he loved.
He stepped out of the shower, his body dripping with cold water, and grabbed his towel. It wasn't the physical pain that bothered him anymore—it was the helplessness. The truth that he had accepted long ago: nothing mattered.
In this world, he was just a player stuck in an endless game. The only difference now was that the game wasn't fun anymore.
And yet, he couldn't stop playing.