As A Mafia Boss I Refuse To Be An Extra Chapter 543
The price of victory[ … words ]
[ … words ]
Lysander stood within the loop’s immediate effect, his consciousness anchored to the reversal’s origin point.
He watched Damian go through it again.
Watched the bodies explode, watched Brian kneel, watched the same desperate question emerge from broken lips.
Watched Damian’s mouth form that word.
“Yes.”
CRACK
WHOOSH
Reality bent, pulling them back.
’Even though I’m only bringing us back moments, not even half an hour ago…’
Lysander’s thoughts came sluggish, fragments of understanding slipping away like water through his fingers.
’The principles are fading faster than I calculated. How is that possible? The temporal distance should be minimal, the strain negligible, but…’
His mind felt wrapped in fog, dense and suffocating.
’How many times has it been now? Seven hundred? More?’
He tried to count backward through the attempts, tried to anchor himself to something concrete.
But the numbers scattered, became meaningless.
’My Law Seed… is deteriorating. I can feel it dissolving, piece by piece, attempt by attempt.’
SPLAT
Another execution played out in front of them.
’And he…’
Lysander’s awareness tracked toward where Damian knelt, watching for any sign of response.
’He isn’t responding anymore. Its almost like his consciousness has retreated somewhere I can’t reach.’
Damian’s face showed nothing now, completely blank, his eyes tracking the deaths mechanically.
’Has his mind broken completely?’
The thought settled cold and terrible.
’Is there anything left of him to save, or am I just dragging a hollow shell through this hell over and over?’
SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT
The count climbed higher.
Brian knelt in front of Damian.
“You… s-save me?”
Damian’s mouth opened.
“Yes.”
CRACK
’Again.’
Lysander pulled them back, the principles fragmenting further in his grasp.
’How much longer can I maintain this? How many attempts remain before the skill collapses completely?’
But he knew the answer already, felt it in the way reality resisted his pull: ’Not many.’
****
[Deep Within]
Somewhere beyond the physical world, beyond the looping moments and shattered timelines, in a space that existed only inside one boy’s fracturing consciousness…
A child sat beside still water.
He looked maybe seven years old, crimson hair falling across his face, his arms wrapped around his knees as he rocked slowly back and forth.
The pond stretched before him, its surface perfectly smooth, reflecting nothing.
“I must endure. I must suffer.”
The words emerged as barely a whisper, mechanical and distant.
“Must endure, I must suffer.”
The sentences shortened, breaking down into smaller pieces.
“Endure, I must suffer.”
His voice became quieter with each repetition.
“I must suffer.”
The words compressed further.
“Must suffer.”
His eyes stared at nothing, seeing beyond the water to something else entirely.
“Suffer suffer suffer suffer–”
The word repeated like a mantra, like the only truth left in existence.
Then his rocking stopped.
His head lifted slowly, his eyes finding the still surface.
“But why?”
The question came out small and lost.
“Why must I always suffer?”
Silence answered him, the pond offering no response except its endless calm.
The child’s legs unfolded, his small frame rising on shaking limbs.
His eyes never left the water as he took one step forward.
’Peace…’
The thought formed with terrible clarity.
’If I enter it, I will finally get peace…’
His foot touched the water’s edge, toes breaking the surface.
Warmth spread through the contact, gentle and welcoming, promising an end to everything.
He took another step, the water rising to his ankles.
’No more pain… No more watching them die… No more choices…’
Another step, the water reaching his knees.
’Just… nothing… Forever…’
His foot lifted for the next step, the one that would take him deep enough that coming back would become impossible.
Then a voice cut across the stillness, familiar and certain.
“We can’t enter it.”
The child froze mid-step, his body going rigid.
“You know it as well.”
The words landed with finality, pulling him back from the edge.
The child turned slowly, his crimson eyes finding the figure standing on the shore behind him.
A boy, maybe the same age, with black hair and black eyes that blazed with intensity the child had forgotten how to feel.
“But…”
The child’s voice came out broken.
“It hurts…”
The black-haired boy’s expression didn’t change, his gaze steady and unbending.
“You already know how to make it stop, don’t you?”
He took a step forward, boots finding purchase on solid ground.
“You just refuse to do it.”
The child said nothing, his eyes dropping to the water around his legs.
The black-haired boy continued, his voice becoming gentler despite the hard truth underneath.
“We aren’t the only ones hurting.”
Another step forward, closing the distance.
“Brian is hurting as well. We need to end his suffering…”
The child’s hands clenched at his sides, water dripping from his fingers.
“But…”
The word caught in his throat, emotion making it difficult to speak.
“He is our friend… Our only true friend in both lives… We always wanted one, didn’t we?”
The black-haired boy stopped at the water’s edge, his reflection appearing beside the child’s.
“And as his friend…”
His voice carried conviction that made each word land like stone.
“We must bring him peace. We must let him go.”
The child’s breathing became audible, his chest heaving with sobs he was trying to suppress.
“Why must it always be this way?”
The question tore from him, raw and desperate.
“Why must we always lose our loved ones? Why can’t we keep anyone? Why does everyone who cares about us ends up dead or–”
The black-haired boy stepped into the water, moving closer until they stood side by side.
“We chose it, didn’t we?”
His hand found the child’s shoulder, the grip firm.
“When that mysterious figure gave us the choice to leave or stay, we couldn’t choose either because we loved them all…”
His eyes tracked across the still surface, seeing something beyond the reflection.
“So when he gave us a way out, when he showed us the third path, we chose to start our own game.” He paused. “The game to become the only one with power…”
The child’s tears fell faster now, dropping into the water and creating tiny ripples.
“But no player can win the game without losing something…”
The black-haired boy’s grip tightened on the child’s shoulder.
“And the winner always loses the most compared to the loser. That’s the price of victory.”
The words settled between them, heavy with implication.
