Death must’ve been sad. Because out of the blood and the fear in her eyes, it was Chosa's tears that rang the loudest—tears in full, bright brown eyes, turned dark and empty. She fell over, unmoving, hand stretched out towards T’balt, her only fleeting hope, and he could do nothing but hear her final call for help.

  “Why?”

  But the apes didn’t spare her a graceful end, for they were there to tear her apart with rage and disdain. T’balt watched, unable to take the despair. Despite the clear danger, he crawled towards them. Where her body was, where it was being ripped to shreds and eaten like road kill. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to be over. He wanted them to take him too.

  “BEGONE!” A light flashed without warning, and all the apes vanished, not a sign or hair left of them. Monan was pleased with himself. But then he noticed one corpse crawling to another. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

  “Chosa. Please. No Chosa.” T’balt cradled the bloodied, beaten carcass in his arms. Trying to separate the blood from the woman underneath it. She was hardly there, but where he could see her, he could still see the agony on her face. It was something he would never unsee, no matter how many times he revived.

  During his mourning, Monan crouched and pickpocketed T’balt’s wallet, checking his ID. “T’balt Ferrier. Too bad I was never into Shakespeare. The melodrama just goes right over my head.”

  “This is all your fault!” T’balt yelled, darkness and smoke filling him. “You could’ve saved them. This is your fault. She didn’t have to die. She didn’t have to die like this. In so much pain…” But the anger quickly melted into sorrow as he looked down upon her still half-closed eyes.

  “Shut up, won’t you?” Monan said, bored. “You want to see her so badly, then die.” Monan kicked T’balt to his back. And before he could even hope to fight back, Monan stuffed his boot into T”balt’s throat.

  It was only a few moments of pain. His windpipe was crushed. Blood filled his mouth and eyes, not an ounce of oxygen reaching his brain. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He could only close his eyes and…

  “You died.” T’balt grasped at his throat. Choking and coughing as if the wound was still fresh. But of course it wasn’t. His body was clean of all wounds and free from pain. But the rest of him…

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  He fell to the floor, yelling, still unable to take the pain of what he had seen. “It's not a dream. It's not a dream.” He kept muttering to himself. His hands were trembling, still feeling the thickness of the invisible blood upon them.

  It took T’balt a long time to stand up from his chair. For an hour, he just held his head in his hand. Unable to shake that cold image from his mind. He just kept seeing her face over and over and over and over again. Chosa dead. Though his mind knew it was over now, the rest of him was stuck in that moment. He felt like he would never leave it.

  No matter how many times he threw cold water in his face or drowned himself in a bottle of beer. He couldn’t shake the fact that it was real. What if it happened again? What if it happened in every one of his lives? What if he couldn’t stop it? Even though he had died over thirty times, he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

  Those demons. Angels. Cruxes of the apocalypse. There was nothing to stop them from coming. No matter how many times he revived, he couldn’t stop the end from coming. How could someone like him protect her? He was weak. He wasted his life alone in his room, and this was him suffering the consequences for it.

  “Hello.”

  “Chosa here.” She answered the phone in that sweet, enthusiastic way she always did. “Hi Tibby, what's up?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted… to hear your voice.”

  “You feeling okay?” She heard the despair in his voice. It was the voice of tragedy, more than the usual low self-loathing T’balt sometimes went through.

  “I just… Never realized how much I needed you.”

  “Have you been drinking again?”

  “No… No… I just needed to know you were okay.”

  Then, without warning, he hung up the phone. That was stupid. But he supposed things like that didn’t matter. She wouldn’t care once the clock hit noon and things went to hell again. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how things would be for all eternity, dying and coming back like this, while still remembering the pain.

  He took another drink of his beer, his grandfather’s gun sitting on the kitchen counter.

  After a couple more, a knock came from the front door. He groaned. He didn’t want Chosa to see him all depressed. Namely, because he couldn’t explain to her why. Even if he tried to pass it off as a dream, she would still think that he was crazy for being torn up over a dream.

  He tried to rub some sense into his face. The knock came again. “What did you lose your key?” he slurred.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  He groaned and stumbled over to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. But the face he saw immediately sent him tumbling into fear. He fell to the floor, pushing himself away, shielding himself like he was in front of a firing squad.

  A heavy boot stepped in his doorway. “Welcome back to the living.” Monan smiled.