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Annabeth, 23, known far and wide as The Mistress of Despair, has a well-earned reputation for ruthlessness, ambition, and a flair for theatrics. But even she isn't prepared when a strange, infuriatingly powerful boy suddenly appears in her home and—without so much as a dramatic monologue—utterly crushes her. Death is supposed to be the end, but not for Annabeth. Instead, she’s yanked back to her first breath, forced to relive her cursed life from the very beginning. Her mother? Mysteriously dead during childbirth. Her father? Poisoned by a scheming wife before Annabeth even loses her baby teeth. The only constants in her life are her overpowered, possibly psychopathic uncle and the haunting certainty of her own downfall. Rather than reflect, repent, or pursue a quiet life, Annabeth decides on a simpler solution: become even more terrifying. After all, absolute power should be enough to defeat anyone, even the mysterious man who keeps showing up to kill her. Right? Right? Every plan, every spell, every life leads to the same humiliating conclusion: defeat, rebirth, repeat. It’s enough to give even The Mistress of Despair an existential crisis. When a runaway slave crosses her path, offering her a glimpse of happiness and hope, Annabeth begins to wonder if redemption—or even escape—is possible. But her past isn't done with her, and every rebirth tightens the chains that bind her to an unending cycle of torment. Can Annabeth break free, or is she doomed to be the architect of her own misery forever? ************************************************************************************* "If you’re going to make an entrance, make it unforgettable." "And if you can’t manage unforgettable, at least go for dramatic." ************************************************************************************* Given her past, Annabeth calling someone else a witch—or worse, a b*tch—was laughably hypocritical. But honestly, what's a little hypocrisy from someone who once killed children just to avoid the inconvenience of them growing up and seeking revenge for their dead parents? ************************************************************************************* "I’m a skinny guy—I can’t handle the big chunks you’re talking about. Why don’t you take them since, you know, you’re already halfway to turning into a boulder?" the skinny man smirked. "Watch it, Ollie! I was just trying to be generous since you look like a strong breeze might finish you off!" Lord Brodie shot back, his face reddening under his double chin. ************************************************************************************* "Look, I’m not saying it’s okay to fall apart. But it happens. It happens to everyone. What matters in the end is what you do with the pieces. No matter how many times you shatter, I’ll pick up every single shard." "Even if it tears me apart to see you hurting, I’ll still put you back together. And even if I have to hold you together with my own two hands, I’ll make sure you stand whole again." ************************************************************************************* Don't forget to add the book to your collections so that you may see updated chapters when I upload them. P.S.: Feedback, comments, reviews and gifts are welcome. P.P.S: Power stones are welcome too. P.P.P.S? (Really?): Especially power stones. :P P.P.P.P.S (I swear it's the last one): If you're a beginner writer too, comment the title of your book so that I can provide a review and some feedback. Maybe even a shiny new Power Stone...
"Blood Tornado!!!" Annabeth shrieked, her voice echoing in the chaos.
A small tornado materialized in the middle of her palm, slowly turning red as she infused it with her blood. She desperately threw it on the ground in front of her before teleporting backward several meters.
This was one of the drawbacks of the dark arts blood magic. It harmed anyone who came into contact with it… and its caster was no exception.
Annabeth winced as searing pain spread across her palm. It might have just been for a moment, but the blood tornado spell had still touched her palm. The agony was secondary to the horror unfolding before her, however.
The blood tornado was now a small, cottage-sized, swirling destructive force, aiming to obliterate everything in its path. Yet the figure within it barely reacted. Standing amidst the chaos, he looked... bored. He even started picking his nose.
"Wh- What are you?!?" She yelled at the figure.
From the moment she could walk, Annabeth had trained relentlessly for this battle. This exact battle.
Because 23 years ago, she had faced this very stranger. He'd ended her life with a single, devastating punch—straight through her chest.
As her consciousness faded into the void, swallowed by desolate darkness, everything changed. Suddenly, she awoke in a brightly lit room... as a newborn baby.
She had been reborn.
With her memories of her past life intact, Annabeth swore an unbreakable vow: if she ever encountered that hole-punching bastard again, she'd tear him apart. She would pluck out his nails and hair one at a time until he looked like a dressed pheasant. She'd reduce him to nothingness, then use his soul as the key ingredient in an iced pineapple juice spell—because sweet revenge, after all, was best served cold.
But her revenge hinged on one uncertainty: would she even possess magic in this new life?
Fortunately, it seemed she did. It felt as though time itself had rewound. It had to. How else would she explain the weirdness of this situation? She was named Annabeth once again, and seeing her father's perpetually depressed face only confirmed her suspicions. This wasn't just a rebirth—it was an opportunity.
Clearly, the gods of darkness had taken note of her accomplishments. Perhaps they even willed her return, urging her to fulfill their bidding. With that belief burning inside her, she resolved to train harder than ever before. No matter the cost, she would defeat the mysterious figure when the fated day arrived, 23 years later.
And now, here she was.
Yet despite all her preparation, her blood tornado—her most devastating spell—had no effect on him. The swirling mass of crimson power completely engulfed him, but he remained unmoved.
In her experiments, the spell had been exceptionally brutal and yielded astonishing results. It was designed to forcibly extract blood from its target, inflicting unimaginable agony. Five out of six of her test subjects hadn't even lasted until the tornado reached full size, reduced to shriveled husks. The sixth? He'd lasted only a minute longer.
But this man? He simply stood there, expressionless, inside the towering vortex. Bored.
As if the monotony was too much to bear, he raised his hand—and casually punched the air.
Buff!!!
An air current tore through the walls of the blood tornado, shredding it into nothingness. But it didn't stop there. The force surged forward, slamming into Annabeth with devastating speed, pinning her against a jagged rock.
She didn't even have time to react. One moment she saw his punch, and the next, she was crushed into the stone.
If he had used magic to generate that force, she might have sensed it. Might have teleported. Might have. But, just like 23 years ago, he hadn't. It was raw speed. Pure, unrelenting power.
The impact was catastrophic. Bones shattered in her arms, back, and legs. Her skull cracked. The only thing keeping her upright was the unforgiving rock she'd been smashed into.
Her life force was fading, consciousness slipping away. Images of her past raced through her mind—every betrayal, every life she had taken. The undeserving. The guilty. All of them.
"Sh*t…" Annabeth thought bitterly. "I'm going to die again, huh?"
She couldn't move a muscle, not even her lips. Only her eyes remained under her control, so she focused on the figure approaching her.
He walked leisurely, his steps calm, each one radiating an aura of overwhelming power.
The first time she'd seen him, he'd appeared unannounced in her home. His presence alone had sent shivers down her spine, and when she attacked with her darkness magic, he had barely reacted. Instead, he punched a hole clean through her chest with terrifying ease.
Now, she had the chance to study him again—though it was far too late to matter.
Black hair, tall, medium build, black clothes… wait, Annabeth noticed, are those black nails? This weirdo painted his nails.
Her thoughts wandered, her mind fogged from the pain. "D*mn it. His face. I need to memorize his stupid face."
She forced her eyes upward, focusing on his face.
Just as she remembered, he had fierce blue eyes and a face that could make any girl swoon. His hair, carelessly tied into a loose manbun, looked like it was done in a rush. His faint facial hair hinted at a beard just beginning to grow. He didn't even look older than 16.
"I'm getting killed by a bored kid…? What in the actual hell?!" she wanted to yell, but her lips wouldn't move.
He was standing right in front of her now, his expression no longer bored. Instead, he stared at her intently, his piercing gaze locking onto hers.
If she'd been in better shape, she might have teleported away. But it was too late for wishful thinking. Death had already arrived, and it wore the face of this strange, detached teenager.
"So much for being blessed by the gods of darkness," she thought grimly, recalling her earlier confidence in her rebirth.
Her thoughts began to scatter. Is it supposed to take this long to die?
The young man moved slightly, shifting his weight. His knees bent slightly as he drew back his right hand, forming a fist. His stance was perfect.
He was preparing to deliver the final blow.
"Oh well. I guess he wouldn't be much of a bastard if he didn't go for an overkill..." before the thought could finish, she saw him move. A familiar, brightly lit room came into view.
She was reborn… again.
