Ten Thousand

"Follow me quietly, and I can still let you enjoy the last day of your life undisturbed."

Laemno lost track of the number of times these words had been uttered, punctuating the aftermath of each death akin to a litany for his demise. 

How many spells had he seen? How many wounds had he suffered? He couldn't remember. 

Every loop he experienced went by faster than the flicker of a star, never lasting longer than a minute. Beheaded, scorched, suffocated—they all ended with him succumbing in a different way, yet there was a noticeable pattern to them. 

The Pontiff of Stars never injured Laemno's head. 

By the hundredth loop, he had understood that his face needed to remain pristine for the sake of the fake Sacrificial Ceremony. It had come to him in a sudden realization as his body was disintegrating under a pillar of starlight. The spell had slightly curved to only target him beneath the neck.