The trench reeked of rot and smoke. Half the sandbags were already burned.
Shells rained somewhere in the distance, but Zelia didn't flinch.
Her chest still stung where the spear had pierced her heart in the last loop—but she was alive again.
She stood. Gritted her teeth.
One hand clutched a broken rifle.
The other dragged a bloodied combat knife through the mud.
Around her, the screaming began again—new soldiers, same war.
Zelia didn't scream back. She charged in silence.
Her body knew the rhythm now. Parry. Step. Slash. Duck. Stab.
This was her 90th death. She had lost count of pain.
Now, she counted kills instead.
---
When she opened her eyes, she was already walking.
She knew where she was. The third time meeting the virtual Zain.
Zain stood by the window this time, back turned.
"You lasted longer this time," he said without turning.
Zelia dropped into the nearby chair.
"Don't flatter me," she muttered.
"I died again."
