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Only when all the living perish, will there be peace ... Apollo was a bratty noble. Using the power of his father, he did many mischievous stunts. However, he would never go too far. The worst he did was steal someone's shoe, while on the average, it would be poking them in the back and running off. That's why he found it so absurd that someone would assassinate him, in his own room no less. He was stabbed in the back and left to die... But then he was back in his room, completely fine. Yet, he was stabbed in the back once again. Once he was stabbed in the back for the third time, the cruel reality began to sink in. That this would repeat itself for an eternity. The only thing in his room was his bed and his bokken, a wooden sword. At some point, Apollo picked up the bokken. He took his first steps to break out of the cycle. And swore to bury the person who called for this assassin with his own hands. ...But also calls a lot of things mommy for some reason.
"Apollo! You won't get away with this forever!"
A girl was shaking her fist and glaring at Apollo. The girl was in a white dress but completely drenched in water. Her whole body was shaking, sending little droplets of water onto the grass beneath her.
As for Apollo, he was snickering and running away as fast as he could. His short blonde hair was blown aside in the wind as his small figure escaped.
His footsteps slapped the cobblestone ground, taking him past all the white stone houses. The villagers that saw Apollo's snickering sighed.
They knew he was up to his usual antics again.
Once Apollo slipped into a large and white stone house, he put both his hands on his sides and stuck out his elbows.
A smug smile was on Apollo's face as he puffed out his chest.
"Another successful mission! As a reward, I should get some good rest."
Apollo made his way up the stairs.
His house was bigger than average, but not absurdly so. His father was a nobleman.
In this village, the status of a nobleman was not much higher than a commoner as they could be frequently seen casually interacting with each other.
Being the son of a nobleman itself was not the only reason nobody tried to find trouble with Apollo.
Unlike his son, Apollo's father got along well with the other villagers. On that basis, many would turn a blind eye even though Apollo was messing around most of the time.
As for Apollo's father, he was incredibly distressed over Apollo's deeds.
He tried to discipline Apollo, but that only made it worse. He then promised Apollo a gift for each day he did not disturb some of the townsfolk.
Yet, no matter what he offered, it would do nothing to deter him. For Apollo, pranking was more exciting than any gift could be.
Apollo opened the door to his room.
His room was quite large and his bed was king-sized. There was a small window next to the bed and a bokken, or wooden sword, was propped up on the wall under it.
The bokken had a small red tassel at the hilt which was made of exquisite threads.
Apollo's father had tried to get him into any hobby whatsoever so that he would be more preoccupied. Practicing the sword was one of them.
Apollo requested to keep his bokken in his room, which made his father hopeful that this hobby would stick.
Unfortunately, the only reason Apollo wanted to keep it was that he thought it looked cool. His father might have fainted if he knew that was the reason why.
Apollo walked up to his bed and lifted both his arms high to stretch.
Then, when he looked down, he saw a knife had pierced his chest.
His vision got blurry and he uncontrollably fell on the bed.
The pain was harrowing and filled Apollo with despair.
As he felt the blood slowly leave his body, a thought echoed in his mind.
"I... don't want to die."
To Apollo's dismay, his eyelids slowly closed and it all went dark.
...
Apollo's eyes abruptly flew open. He was standing at the doorway of his bedroom.
His heart was hammering and his breaths were ragged. His hyperventilation gradually calmed down.
Apollo tried to clutch his heart, with his hand digging into the skin of his chest. A bead of sweat fell from his face, splashing onto the floor.
"Was it just a dream?"
Apollo shook his head and slowly walked towards his bed.
He frequently took glances behind him. He was expecting a scraggly old man in hooded clothes with a knife in hand, ready to stab.
Despite how many times he turned around, he was unable to find anything out of the ordinary. His eyes darted around suspiciously. He thought the old man would show up soon enough.
Once he approached the foot of his bed, he thought it could have been a false alarm. That it was some fever dream that he had while he was awake.
But, the knife that was sticking out of his chest poked fun at his fantastical beliefs.
Once again, Apollo fell onto the bed and blacked out.
...
Apollo's eyes flew open again. His breathing was more rapid and unstable than last time. As for his heart, it was pumping so much blood, his head was getting dizzy.
"What is happening?"
Once his eyes landed on the bed, he instinctively took a few steps back.
"No... No."
Apollo swung his head towards the end of the hallway and ran as fast as he could.
"I have to get out of here!"
But, as though it was inevitable, a knife pierced through his chest once again.
A scary premonition appeared in Apollo's head as his vision darkened.
It told him that this was going to keep happening, for all eternity.
...
Apollo stood at the entrance of his bedroom. He was deathly still, blinking every minute or so.
His breaths were shallow and intermittent.
After a few minutes, he was stabbed once again.
...
Apollo fell to his knees, crying.
"Stop it... It hurts! It hurts so bad..."
A knife pierced through his chest.
...
Apollo started begging.
"Please! Please don't kill me. I don't want to die!"
His cries were ignored and a knife pierced through his chest.
...
"I am a noble! There are valuables I can give you if you just don't kill me! Everything I have is surely worth more than your need to kill me!"
Whatever was killing him, paid no heed.
A knife stuck out from his chest.
...
"Why? Why are you doing this? How can you be so cruel?"
His vision blackened.
...
Apollo lost hope at some point.
Sometimes he would just sit down in the middle of the entrance of the bedroom.
Sometimes he would walk over to the bed and try to lie down on it before he died.
Sometimes he would stare aimlessly through the window to the outside world.
He was becoming numb to the pain.
Anger swelled in his heart.
What did he do to deserve this?
Who hated him so much that they needed him dead?
He walked over to his bokken and lifted it up.
Apollo made a vow in his heart.
He would bury the person who called for this assassin with his own hands.
And it would start with surviving the assassination.
Apollo's bokken suddenly twisted to cover the back of his chest and blocked the knife.
