Kairos spawned into the alley filth for the fourth time, fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood. Naked, shivering under twin moons, the reset's cold slap fueled a growing fury. *Cult. They know. Sewer demon was bait—cult's watching from loop one.* Mira's footsteps pattered near; the bread chase would kick off any second. No more playing nice. Time to hunt.
He let the thugs grab her—watched from shadows as they yanked her hair, sword rising. *Bait the trap early.* When the scarred leader leered, Kairos struck like lightning: rock from the wall crushed windpipe first. Gurgle. Mira spun, knife burying in another's gut. The third bolted—Kairos tripped him into sewer grate, skull-first *crack*.
"Go! Cult's coming," he growled, no explanations. Mira's eyes widened but she ran, matching his sprint through tannery stench. No square detour. Straight to her backup shack—*safer, less eyes.*
Holes in the roof dripped rain as they barricaded. Mira lit the candle, face smeared with blood and grime. "You *knew* their moves. Like you've done this dance before."
Kairos stripped demon intel first—no fang this loop, but knowledge burned brighter. "Witch's Cult. Three-eyed skull. They hunt 'echo-bearers.' That's me."
She paled, clutching knife. "Fingers of the Witch—demon summoners. Eat souls for her favor. Why you?"
"Power glitch." He flexed his hand; faint blue glow traced veins, gone in a blink. *Echo building.* "We arm up. Hit black market before they circle."
Dawn haggling netted better: iron dagger for him, leather vest, pouch of silvers from "anonymous demon tip." Mira pocketed extras, grinning feral. "Partners now, Vale. Slums don't forget debts."
They scouted. Slums buzzed with whispers—royal candidate Lirien's riders sniffing for "unmarked summoned," demon sightings spiking. Kairos probed: "Lirien—half-elf? Throne fight?"
Mira spat. "Five candidates, dragon jewels pick the pure. Lirien's got spirit arts, heals the dying. Bigots call her witch-touched. Saw her up close yesterday—beautiful, sad. Guards rough."
*Key player.* By midday, they shadowed a hooded informant near the old mill—three-eyed pin glinting. Kairos signaled; Mira created diversion, toppling crates. He ambushed from blind spot, dagger to throat.
"Who sent you?" Pressing hard enough for blood.
The man wheezed, eyes manic. "Echo calls to Witch's love. Your deaths echo—sweet symphony. She hungers."
Kairos twisted. "Where's your pack?"
"Everywhere. Slums are fingers." Froth bubbled lips—poison. Dead before answers.
Mira dragged the corpse to shadows. "Loot: map scrap. Cult den marked—undercity ruins."
Adrenaline high, they geared: clubs, torches. Evening descent into undercity—crumbling stone stairs slick with moss, air thick as grave rot. Torches flickered on altars of bone, chants humming low.
Voices ahead. Kairos peeked: circle of five cultists, central rite pulsing purple. "Fresh echo tonight. Bring the bearer!"
*Now or loop.* He charged silent, dagger plunging first cultist's back. Mira flanked, silent kills. Chaos erupted—spells flew, shadows lashed like whips.
Kairos dodged ice shard, tackling robed mage. Fists pulped face. But numbers turned: chain wrapped his throat, pulling tight. Vision spotted. Mira screamed, swarmed.
Last breath, he lunged—grabbed altar dagger, flung true. Impaled the chanter. Purple light exploded, sucking shadows inward. Cultists shrieked, imploding to husks.
Kairos gasped free, chains slack. Mira bled from gashes but alive. "Nest smashed. Map shows more."
Relief cracked. *First win.* But as they climbed out, moonlit square ahead: Lirien's riders waited. She dismounted, silver hair flowing, eyes piercing his soul.
"You. Marked by echoes." Her voice soft thunder. Mana tendrils probed. "Come willingly, or—"
Cult horn wailed distant—reinforcements. Riders spun. Mira yanked Kairos. "Run!"
They fled into night, Lirien's gaze burning his back. *Allies? Threats?* Deeper in slums, safe house secured. Mira bandaged wounds, closer now, breath warm. "You're changing me, Kairos. Like fate."
He nodded, glow faint in veins. *Echo strengthening.* Sleep tugged, but a chill whisper slithered through cracks: *"More deaths... more echoes... ours."*
Dawn broke. Cult symbol carved fresh on shack door.
Kairos woke to Mira's dagger at his throat—her eyes blank, possessed. "For the Witch."
She struck. Blade sank home. Agony. Darkness.
Alley reset. Naked. Fifth. Possession. Can't trust sleep.
⚔️ To be continued!