The Sixth Life of Medusa

34. Aether Spot

The curse was right. Suffering through loops of death and survival was doing something to Medusa's mind, sharpening it in a way that couldn't be reversed.

As she peeled into the forest for the sixty-seventh time, her heart didn't race in fear. Her rage toward her killers cooled to calm resolve around her twenty-fourth death, and her disgust at her weakness faded when she realised that running wasn't the only way out of this madness.

Thin sheets of rain hit her face as she followed the trail, counting in her head as she went. Hoping that this time...

No. She gave her head a fierce shake. Not hope. This time, she must make it to the aether spot. And she had been so close before her last death, but that last spearman just wouldn't die.

It no longer mattered that Cuauhua's arrows never struck her through her loops. Cold rationality had since frozen sentiments, and now she was focused on how well she could manipulate his sentiment for her benefit.

Unlike her earlier runs where she madly dashed for the forest, her movements were now coordinated. Measured breaths through her mouth. Eyes open and core locked. Lighter and quicker steps.

Still, it was insanely difficult. Going too slowly had killed her more than she cared to count, and moving too fast had messed with her sense of direction too soon.

Every step mattered. Turning at a slightly wrong angle could ruin an entire loop. The root she had stumbled over must not be missed. Cuauhua's arrow that nearly got her, and the snake that slithered past. Everything had to be timed perfectly for things to go as planned.

Laboured breaths sawed through her lungs as her sweat mixed with the drizzle, but this was fine. If anything, each run had improved her endurance. Now, her runs were no longer an agonising race for survival, but a lure.

When Cuauhua's arrow hit the tree, she increased her speed and took the necessary turns. After the snake slithered past her foot, like clockwork, the spear came for her.

This terrible moment had accounted for nearly half of her deaths. Sometimes she twisted at a wrong angle, shattering her wrists and losing fingers. Other times, she completely escaped the spear, but her hands remained tied. And no matter how madly she dashed for the aether spot with her hands bound, a club to the face or a spear through the heart had crushed her effort.

Medusa ducked and raised her tied wrists. All it took was a graze as the weapon sped past and pierced the tree behind with a loud thwack.

Flicking her wrists and wiggling her numb fingers, Medusa went for the spear and dislodged it. Then she waited for one...two...three breaths.

The moment he stepped out of the underbush, she hurled the weapon, well aware of the angle he'd lean into to dodge. And she got him in the heart, just as she had the twelve times before. There was no recoil, no vomiting like the first time she killed him; her mind stayed calm, her focus locked on the flow of what had to come next.

Hurrying over, she retrieved the spear with both hands and dove into the bushes.

Five quick steps straight ahead, three slower ones towards the east. Stab forward with all her might. An expected grunt. Another step. In the same breath, she stabbed upwards and shoved harder, ignoring his gurgled curse of surprise. Warm blood splattered against her face as she pulled out her weapon and watched him fall.

This was necessary. It was either him or her. Besides, the warrior was the meanest of the bunch, always aiming for her face whenever he struck her with his club. Even now, she remembered the pain in stark clarity.

Using the spear as a walking staff, Medusa continued counting as she staggered out of the bushes. It was at this point that she made her first mistake in her last four loops. The blood. How warm it had felt. She had tried her best to use the counting, but from that point on, each move had been a painful stumble after another painful stumble.