The forest only grew stranger as Rayon pressed deeper, the air heavier, each step sinking into moss that seemed to breathe beneath his boots. His Hollow Strings whispered around him like invisible serpents, always alert, always ready. He thought himself untouchable. He thought himself above this place.
And then he heard it.
A hiss. Not the sharp sound of a snake, but something layered, reverberating, unnatural. Four voices at once, rising from the shadows ahead. The trees shuddered as something massive pushed through them.
It emerged from the black—scaled in obsidian plates, eyes burning red like coals, and four colossal heads snapping and coiling with hunger. Each maw dripped with venom thick enough to burn the forest floor.
A monster out of legend. A beast that belonged to the old world.
Rayon smirked, arrogance gleaming in his gaze. "What a pretty thing," he murmured, threads stretching from his fingertips like glistening spider silk. "Let's see how easily you unravel."
The serpent struck.
He didn't even see the first head move. One moment, he was ready to weave his strings. The next, his body was in pieces.
Fangs pierced his torso. Another head crushed his leg. A third swallowed half his arm before he could blink. Rayon's world turned into fire, venom, and tearing flesh. He didn't scream—his pride wouldn't allow it—but his eyes widened as he realized something terrifying.
He wasn't fast enough.
He wasn't ready.
The beast was beyond him.
And then everything went black.
Silence.
A faint ticking.
The world rewound.
Rayon's eyes snapped open, and he was standing once again on the forest path, mere steps before the clearing. His chest was intact. His arm whole. His blood was in his veins, not spilled across the dirt. The scar on his wrist burned faintly, the watch pulsing as if it had a heartbeat of its own.
He stood still for a long moment, the memory of his death so vivid it lingered like poison on his tongue. He could still feel the fangs in his chest, the venom boiling his blood, the helplessness.
A sharp laugh escaped him, humorless and jagged. "So… that's how it is," he whispered, running a hand over the cuff of his suit. "If not for you…" He glanced at the scar. "…I'd be a corpse rotting in this forest."
The arrogance didn't leave him—it never would. But something shifted behind his eyes. Caution. Not fear, but an understanding of the edge he now danced upon. He had been granted the luxury of dying without consequence. For now.
Rayon adjusted his coat, pulling the hood up once more. His strings curled around him, humming with sharpened intent. "Fine then," he muttered, smirk curling back onto his lips. "Round two."
The ticking of the Artifact of the Forgotten Hour echoed in his bones as he stepped back into the clearing, eyes locked on the four-headed monster that had already killed him once.
This time, death would not find him so easily.