Chapter 48: Three Till…_The Soul Bound Chronicles: [A Progression Litrpg Fantasy]

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 Chapter 48

 Three Till…

 Well now, ain''t this just a fine mess.

 I wake up—again—rattling like a tin roof

 in a twister, gasping like a catfish yanked straight outta the Mississippi. My

 skin’s slick, but not with any honest sweat—no, this is something else.

 Like I’ve been wrung out, twisted dry, left with nothing but a clammy, feverish

 wrongness sinking into my bones.

 And my chest? Heavy. Hollow. Like my

 soul’s been left out in the sun too long—dried up, cracked, barely holding

 together. I press my fingers into the dirt, trying to ground myself, but even

 that feels off. Like I’m touching the world through fogged-up glass.

 This ain’t just exhaustion. This is worse.

 Something’s crawled inside me, curled up, and made itself at home.

 I just hold on, breathing slow, waiting for the

 world to feel real again.

 Soul Sickness. Still here. Still awful.

 But this time? It’s worse.

 A dull chime echoes in my skull. Shaq’Rai.

 Her voice crackles, glitchy, like a damaged recording.

 “Grant… your condition has worsened.”

 “No shit, Sherlock.”

 My gaze flicks to the corner of my vision. The

 debuff icon sits there, smug as hell. A tiny square, a diamond shape in the

 center, with a neat little ‘x5’ hanging off the top-left corner.

 I reach for it.

 Soul Sickness x5.

 Oh, fantastic.

 “What the hell does ‘x5’ mean?” My voice scrapes

 out hoarse, like I haven’t spoken in hours.

 Shaq’Rai hesitates. Never a good sign.

 “Each untimely death results in the loss of a

 soul shard—a fragment of your essence. The number reflects total losses.

 Unfortunately, every time you die, the previous soul shard enters a timed

 event. If they are not reclaimed before the timer expires…”

 I do not like where this is going.

 A small rectangle pops up at the bottom right of

 my vision, an hourglass flickering in its center. I reach for it.

 A timer appears.

 3:00. 

 2:59. 

 2:58…

 Oh, that ain''t good.

 “How long was I out?” My throat is dry. My limbs

 feel like they’re made of concrete.

 Shaq’Rai’s voice is crisp, detached—like she’s

 reading me my last rites.

 “Standard respawn procedures dictate a one-day

 delay before reanimation.”

 Lord have mercy.

 A whole day? Just gone? Like sweet

 tea at a Texas church picnic? I blow out a breath, shaky as a newborn foal, and

 drag a hand down my face, feeling the grit of... well, everything and

 nothing at once.

 “So,” I mutter, quiet-like, “I been playin’

 possum for a whole damn day?”

 The meadow sways, all green and peaceful. Like

 nothing’s wrong. Like my insides ain’t currently twisted up like a kudzu

 vine. The wind hums a tune, some old hymn probably, and the whole world

 just keeps on turning.

 But that little tick-tock in my head? That

 ain’t stopping. Nope. Keeps right on counting, like a hound dog tracking a

 scent.

 And I just stand here, feeling like a bug under a

 glass, watching it all go by.

 “Grant…?” Shaq’Rai’s voice is hesitant. “Are…

 you alright?”

 I throw my arms up, laughing—a dry, humorless

 sound.

 “OH! Just peachy, darlin’. Truly.”

 Panic sets in faster than a June bug to a porch

 light. Three minutes. That’s it. Three measly minutes before my

 soul—my actual, honest-to-God, irreplaceable soul—up and skedaddles for

 good.

 If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

 Fuck me.

 I try to breathe slow, like my grandmother used

 to tell me when I got spooked by thunder. But my heart? Banging like a drum

 solo at the county fair. Can’t hear a damn thing over it. Got to think.

 Got to think.

 Teleport.

 That’s my only play.

 Get back to the ruins. Back to where

 I—where I’m supposed to be.

 …Right?

 I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrate, try

 to pull at the magic, like calling a stray dog home.

 No sweat. Just focus—

 I feel it flicker. A tiny spark, like a firefly

 in a jar. Sputtering. Dying. And then—

 Nothing.

 Cold. Dead. Nothing.

 Error. Skill activation failed.

 My gut twists. Soul Sickness. It’s fucking

 with my abilities.

 I grind my teeth, fists clenching.

 This can’t be happening.

 Desperation morphs into rage. A real, proper

 fit of rage.

 I drop, hard, knees slamming into the dirt

 like a sack of potatoes. And then I start pounding. Just pounding. Fists

 hitting the ground—once, twice, over and over—till my knuckles burn like

 hellfire.

 “DAMMIT!” My voice comes out raw. “DAMMIT!”

 My vision blurs, and I’m cussing a blue streak,

 spitting, clawing at the dirt like a wild critter. Like I can dig my way

 back. Back to where I messed up. Back to where I’m supposed to be.

 Like I can bully reality into playing

 fair.

 Just this once.

 Just one damn time.

 But it ain’t working. Ain’t nothing working.

 Just dirt, and hurt, and a whole lot of cussing.

 The timer ticks down.

 0:05. 

 0:04.

 I stop. Chest heaving. Fingers trembling.

 0:03.

 A cold shiver snakes up my spine. Something

 inside me pulls. Unraveling.

 0:02.

 It’s slipping.

 A part of me—something important.

 0:01.

 I gasp.

 “Jenni—”

 The name spills out before I even know I’m saying

 it.

 But—who?

 Babe…?

 0:00.

 A wave of disorientation crashes over me. My mind

 reels. A weight I didn’t even know was there—gone.

 Like a door slamming shut.

 On something I’ll never get back.

 I clutch my head, breath coming in ragged gulps.

 Who was I just thinking about?

 And… why does it hurt so much?

 I push myself up too fast.

 Bad idea.

 The world lurches. My stomach twists, and

 suddenly, I’m weightless—like I just took a sucker punch from God

 Himself.

 And then—bam.

 The ground slams into me, hard. Pain

 sparks up my spine, but it barely registers over the gut-wrenching nausea. My

 limbs don’t just feel stiff—they lock up. A violent shudder rolls

 through me, muscles spasming like a fish flopping on dry land.

 I can’t breathe.

 I can’t—

 Black.

 <hr>

 When I come to, everything is wrong.

 I know my name. Grant Calloway. I know I’m

 a Soul-Binder. I know I just lost a piece of myself.

 But what piece?

 I sift through my memories like running fingers

 through sand—the shape is there, but the details slip right through.

 I had a sister. I know that much. She has

 kids—a boy and a girl.

 But their names? Gone.

 I had a farm. I remember the feel of dirt under

 my nails, the weight of a shovel in my hands.

 But where was it? What did I grow?

 I… had someone.

 A wife? No.

 A friend? Maybe.

 Someone important. Someone I should

 remember.

 But I don’t.

 A chill creeps down my spine.

 This isn’t just a game penalty. This isn’t

 some slap on the wrist for dying too much.

 Every respawn is taking something from me.

 Not just stats. Me.

 I stare into the distance, heart pounding.

 How many deaths before there’s nothing left?

 Maybe… I swallow hard.

 Maybe this is what happened to Arthur

 Pendragon.

 He wasn’t evil.

 He just lost himself.

AliNovel

Chapter 48: Three Till…