Zhen Xue swiftly turned to his side, narrowly avoiding a meticulous swing of a sword, its sharp edge cutting through the air just inches from his neck. With equal precision, he cleaved his last adversary in two with his blade. The metallic sound resonated faintly, mimicking a droplet of water that explodes into a powerful burst of wind. The eruption of energy resonated for miles, falling on deaf ears, except for one individual.

“What have you done?” Ming Yi asked, falling to his knees in despair. He stared at Zhen Xue with an utterly broken expression, taking in the sword drenched in blood.

Wind blew through their clothes and hair, carrying the rotting stench of decaying corpses from the burning field around them. The bodies belonged to Ming Yi’s village. For him to feel wronged, Zhen Xue could understand.

When he doesn’t respond, Ming Yi’s face distorts with anger. “Zhen Xue!” he shouted, choking back a sob like everything that was right was suddenly wrong in the world. “Why?! Why have you done this?! When have I wronged you?!”

For a moment, Zhen Xue froze where he stood, picturing the orphaned boy he sheltered. How the boy fought with immense bravery to remain by his side, always striving to excel for his sake. Zhen Xue thought he’d grown numb for good after taking so many lives, but upon hearing Ming Yi’s words, he discovered a pain worse than the hundred blades protruding from his back. “I’ve tried,” he said, taking a step towards him, his voice raw. “Believe me, I’ve tried so many times to save you, but each time, you still choose the same path.”

Ming Yi’s dark clothes soiled with blood from the nearby bodies as he watched him in confusion, green eyes perceiving him with hurt.

“It’s not a matter of what you’ve done, but what you will do,” Zhen Xue lamented, taking the last step to reach him. The sword tightened in his grasp, thinking of the events that have yet to unfold, the knowledge he shouldn’t have but gained through his many lifetimes. He took a deep breath, continuing with resolution, “The alternative is a future I never wish to bear again.”

Ming Yi shook where he was kneeling, unable to rise to his feet. Every word seemed to drive a nail into his desperate hope that Zhen Xue would change his mind. That maybe he’d take Ming Yi’s hand, leaving this chaos behind and return to their peaceful life before the slaughter, but the dead from his village will forever stain his hands.

Ming Yi didn’t want to face reality.

He was not the same person Ming Yi once knew, and Ming Yi was not the same little kid he found doing parlor tricks on the streets. They were both grown men with different mindsets and goals they wanted to achieve. However, Ming Yi still saw him as his friend, but Zhen Xue saw him as his enemy.

As Zhen Xue subtly shifted where he stands, the swords in his back twisted, sinking further into his bones. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth as he fights to suppress a cough, a stark reminder that he’s not long for this world. With his sword that he used to reshape his destiny, hovering over Ming Yi, he watched how Ming Yi didn’t move, as though willing to accept whatever fate he’d give him. The thought almost made him fall to his knees in despair.

“I’ll try again,” Zhen Xue said, putting the sword through himself instead. His next regression would be different. He’d use what he learned to ensure there didn’t need to be a sacrifice.

Ming Yi’s eyes widened, catching him as he falls forward into Ming Yi’s embrace. His best friend bellowed out a desperate cry overhead, pulling the swords from his broken body, hands fumbling as they seize the metal in his shaking hands, but Zhen Xue couldn’t feel anything.

“No matter how many times it takes…” Zhen Xue mumbled, vowing against Ming Yi’s quivering chest. A flash of metal hurtled over towards them, Ming Yi too distracted to notice. Zhen Xue slowly closed his eyes, acceptance washing over him as he whispered with his final breath, “There has to be a future where we can both survive.”