Viktor felt his consciousness 'fracture.'

Energy surged from the memory's hand. Purple-pink light—the same color as the dungeon tower—flowed into Helena's belly.

Her pregnancy 'reversed.'

The swelling went down. Rapidly. Unnaturally. Within seconds, her stomach was flat again.

Their child—'his' child—unmade. Unsealed. Stored away like an inconvenient object.

Helena knelt there, hands on her now-flat belly, tears falling silently.

"Though I promise," the memory continued, turning away, wings spreading, "maybe when I get bored with this life, we might meet again. Don't worry, you'll—"

'Tug.'

Something grabbed the memory's leg.

Viktor—both the memory and the consciousness trapped inside it—looked down.

Helena had grabbed his ankle.

She rose slowly. Shakily.

And as she stood, she 'changed.'

Her green hair darkened. Strand by strand, the vibrant spring color drained away, replaced by 'brown.' Earth brown. Mud brown. The color of dying leaves.

Her eyes—still filled with tears—shifted too. The green drained from her irises, replaced by that same deep brown.

Everything around her 'withered.'

A rose bush beside the pond turned black—not gradually, but in a wave. Viktor watched as the petals crumbled to ash, disintegrating in real-time. The ash fell like dark snow, coating the grass.

Fruit overhead rotted. A ripe apple blackened, split open, maggots writhing inside impossibly fast before it dropped with a wet, meaty 'thud' on the ground.

Vines recoiled from Helena's feet like they were burned. They shriveled, turned gray, pulled away from her as if her very presence was poison now.

The grass beneath her feet didn't just die—it 'decayed.' Turned to black sludge that squelched with each step. Flowers wilted and collapsed, stems snapping with brittle 'cracks' that echoed across the garden.

Trees creaked. Their leaves fell in thick cascades—brown, withered, dead. Branches cracked and dropped, hitting the ground with hollow thuds.

Nature itself was 'rejecting' what Viktor had done.

The pond's surface turned murky. Fish floated up, belly-white and dead. The water itself seemed to recoil from the shore where Helena stood, as if it couldn't bear to touch her anymore.

Helena's brown eyes—'hollow' now, empty of the light that had been there moments before—locked onto the memory's purple ones.

"So..." Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. Like the calm before a storm. "You're going to abandon me."

She took a step forward. The ground blackened beneath her foot. A mushroom rotted instantly, collapsing into foul-smelling mush.

"Expecting that I would ever love you again."

Another step. A sapling beside her withered, its trunk splitting with a sound like breaking bones.

"You 'bastard.'"

The memory—Viktor's past self—blinked. Surprised.

"Did you just... curse me?"

SLAP!

Helena's hand connected with his face.

Hard.

Hard enough that Viktor—both versions of him—felt his head snap to the side.

"I 'CURSE' YOU, VIKTOR!"

Helena's scream shattered the memory.

The entire garden 'fractured.' Cracks spread through reality itself.

"You will be abandoned as I was! You will feel this pain! You will remember! You will—"

—

GASP!

"'HAAH—HAAH—HAAH—'"

Viktor jolted back to consciousness.

His face was 'soaked.' Tears—so many tears—running down both cheeks, dripping off his chin onto Helena's hair.

She was still unconscious on top of him. Still crying in her sleep. Still trembling.

Viktor's arms tightened around her instinctively.

His right eye 'burned.' When he blinked, he could feel it—the color had shifted. Not back to pure black. A faint purple ring now circled his iris, like a permanent stain. Amethyst flecks scattered through the black like shattered glass embedded in his pupil.

A mark. A scar. A 'reminder.'

Every time Helena looked at him, she would see it. Every time he looked in a mirror, he would remember.

What he'd done. Who he'd been. What he'd destroyed.

"Damn it..." His voice cracked. "Damn it, damn it, 'damn it—'"

He buried his face in Helena's brown hair. Breathed in her scent—that earthy, comforting smell that was so fundamentally 'her.'

'It was my fault.'

The realization hit like a physical blow.

His body 'reacted' before his mind caught up.

His tail—still buried in Helena's ass—clenched. 'Hard.' The muscles contracted involuntarily, tightening inside her with enough force that her unconscious body tensed, a small whimper escaping her lips.

Viktor's claws extended. He felt them slide free from his fingertips—sharp, black, deadly—and before he could stop himself, they dug into his own palms.

Pierce.

Pain. Sharp. Immediate. His own blood welling up hot between his fingers.

But it wasn't enough.

It would 'never' be enough.

No amount of physical pain could match what he'd done to her. No self-inflicted wound could balance the scales.

His claws dug deeper. Blood dripped from his clenched fists, falling onto the sheets beneath them.

'I deserve worse.'

His tail tightened again in Helena, mixing pain with the twisted intimacy of their position. He felt her body clench around him, heard her breathing hitch even in sleep—

And he 'hated' himself for it.

For hurting her even now. Even unintentionally. Even as he held her.

All of it. Everything. The betrayal by the goddesses, the endless cycle of sex and violence, the dungeon tower manifesting, Helena's desperate need to please him—

'I did this.'

In his past life, he'd been a Primordial Incubus. Powerful. Free. Sought after by goddesses themselves.

And he'd abandoned the one person who loved him for 'him.'

Not for his power. Not for what he could give her.

Just... 'him.'

And when she got pregnant—when she wanted to build a life together—he'd 'thrown it away.'

For what?

Freedom? Adventure? The attention of goddesses who only wanted to use him?

'I'm such a fucking idiot.'

Viktor's tears fell faster, soaking into Helena's hair. His blood dripped onto her skin, mixing with his tears.

She stirred slightly in her sleep. Her hand clutched at his chest, fingers digging in, like even unconscious she was afraid he'd disappear.

"I'm sorry..." Viktor whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry, Helena. I'm—"

His voice broke.

He understood now.

Why his higher self—the Primordial consciousness that had reincarnated into this body—had never felt the urge for revenge against the goddesses who betrayed him.

Because deep down, in the parts of himself he'd buried and forgotten—

'He knew he deserved it.'

The curse Helena had placed on him that day had come true.

He 'had' been abandoned. By those same goddesses he'd chosen over her. The ones he'd trusted. The ones he'd worked for.

They'd turned on him. Used him. Thrown him away when he was no longer useful.

Just like he'd done to her.

'Karma.'

Viktor's jaw clenched. His tears continued to fall. His claws slowly retracted from his palms, leaving bloody crescents in his flesh.

He thought of those spiritual gurus he'd heard in his previous previous life—the ones who said souls didn't carry memories of past lives for a reason.

'Because you're supposed to start fresh. Not carry the pain. Not repeat the mistakes.'

But sometimes—'sometimes'—the universe decided you 'needed' to remember.

To face what you'd done.

To 'fix' it.

Viktor's arms tightened around Helena's sleeping form.

"I won't leave you," he whispered. "Not this time. Never again."

His tail—still buried in her ass—flexed slightly, gentler now, as if punctuating the promise.

Helena's tears finally began to slow. Her breathing evened out. Like somehow, even in sleep, she'd heard him.

Viktor closed his eyes.

Let his own tears soak into her brown hair.

And for the first time since his regression, since waking up in this second chance at life—

He felt the full 'weight' of his past.

'Shit...'

He held Helena tighter.

And let himself cry.

And... cursed himself.

'F-FUCKING BASTARD!'

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