Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop

“How did you know about the loops?”

In the Wintersin Empire, where seasons had a dramatic flair for the ironic, teetering on the edge of summer like a novice on a tightrope.

Here, the weather gods seemed to have a twisted sense of humor, gifting chilly showers and a gloom that clung more stubbornly than an unwanted party guest.

The sun, apparently shy this time of year, peeked through the sullen clouds like a reluctant child at a dance recital.

On this particularly dreary day, the church, a brooding behemoth of stone and stained glass, stood as a silent witness to the damp whimsy of the season.

Its interior, a haven from the persistent drizzle, murmured with the echoes of a thousand confessions.

Inside, Burn and Morgan found themselves seated comfortably close. The air between them had the kind of tension that could make even the most devout atheist say a little prayer.

The only light was a quivering candle, flickering as if it was nervous about the conversation to come, casting long shadows that danced a slow, macabre waltz across the cold, stone floor.

Rain tapped a morose rhythm against the stained-glass windows, the droplets racing each other down the panes like tears on the face of the sky.

“In the other loops, you were unaware of it all. So what changed this time around?"

“Courtesy of the vampires. Spending a couple of decades training here turned out to be a wise decision," Momo replied.

Mind reading, huh?

“What is the condition of that annoying spell…?” Burn muttered.

“Do you want to know?” the woman smiled softly at him.

Momo launched into an explanation of the spell, her voice a soothing melody that threatened to turn the conversation into a bedtime story.

Given the somber pitter-patter of rain outside, perfect for a nap, Burn half-expected to find himself drooling on the chair by the time she finished.

"For beginners, you know, the 1st-3rd circle initiates," she began, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as if sketching the circles herself.

"They must be terribly polite: knowing the person’s name, getting their permission—almost like asking, 'May I please cast a spell on you?' They also need to touch the target, concentrate, and shout the spell out loud.”

Burn was wrong. She looked and sounded beautiful, he wouldn’t be lulled to sleep.

“Oh, and they can only juggle one target at a time. Handy if you're into personalized service, like magical customer support for the mind."

Her lips curled into a smile that could only be described as impishly charming. 

"Moving up to the 4th-6th circles, it gets a bit more... invasive. No need for pleasantries or permissions. They just need to know who they're dealing with and manage a touch—long or intimate enough to make it count.”

“It's less 'May I?' and more 'I just did.' And they can multitask, handling more than one target. Think of it as upgrading from solo performances to conducting an orchestra.”

And she had the same sense of humor as him.

She leaned closer, her expression one of mock-seriousness as if sharing a juicy secret. "Now, for the grandmasters, 7th-9th circles, they're basically almost like Vlad.”

Bad.

Burn found himself squinting in disdain, as if by narrowing his eyes he could somehow lessen the overwhelming impact of her image.

“No need to know names, no need for touching—though it does help. They can hypnotize, brainwash, mind control... It’s like they have an unlimited subscription to every brain in the vicinity."

"And Vlad," she concluded with a dazzling smile, "well, he's in a league of his own. He could probably sell ice to snowmen or convince the moon it’s made of cheese."

“So, you’re around 4th-6th circles mastery of the spell?” Burn asked.

“I’m a little less than that,” Momo answered. “I still need a little permission from you. Didn’t you give it to me,” she paused, her lips glistening in the dark room from the previous kiss, “unconsciously?”

What was she, a temptress?

“Well, it saves time. I don’t have to explain everything to you,” Burn said. “And was it fun?”

The two looked into each others’ eyes, deep, yet coldly.

“Looking into someone’s mind everyday while also sucking his Force energy?”

The woman closed her eyes, and it suddenly felt as though all the blue in the world had disappeared. The sky outside darkened further, and no warm light seemed able to penetrate the deepening gloom.

“It wasn’t fun,” she answered.

Burn saw her slowly open her eyes again.

“But aren’t you glad to see your worst enemy able to understand your point of view?” the woman smiled softly. “You should also be glad that I’m a rational and considerate type of person.”

Even to her worst enemy.

Just as the conversation was heating up, a cold gust of wind, clearly with no regard for personal space, barged into the chamber from the cheerless world outside.

With the subtlety of an uninvited guest, it wrapped its icy fingers around everything, seemingly just for the thrill of causing discomfort.

Momo, in her current state as delicate as a blossom in a storm, was an immediate victim to this chilly intrusion.

“Mmh…”

Looking at how the tip of her fingers unconsciously hooked around her thick garment in a pose to shield herself, her body, unprepared for such audacity from the weather, shivered—a silent, elegant protest against the impolite cold…

Her skin, which had held the soft glow of candlelight moments before, surrendered to the pallor of a tragic heroine in the climax of a dark romance novel.

As she wrapped her arms around herself, one might have mistaken her for a fragile statue, momentarily bewildered by the sudden change from warm discourse to cold reality.

Burn somewhat understood why she didn’t kill him.

She was simply… weak.

Her eyelashes fluttered.

The moment Burn’s thought landed on that conclusion, it almost seemed like she heard the echo of it. Burn looked at her in suspicion and saw her smile slowly bloomed.

“How?” he asked, demanding to know.

“Ah,” she chuckled. “I hadn’t mentioned the duration of the spell.”

“You’re able to extend the duration?”

“If I managed to plant my Vision energy in you, yes.”

But it also meant… that she knew… that he was attracted to her the whole time.

“Pffft—” Momo had the same sense of humor as him.

GRASP!

“HMPH!”

Burn’s angry veins popped as he grasped the woman’s beautiful face with his hand. For the most part, he was irritated at how distracting her beauty was. But now, he had more reason to hate it.

“But it’s not my fault that I’m pretty—no! It’s your fault to find me pretty!” she retorted.

“Fix that useless feature your face has. Make you look ugly to me and we’ll talk afterwards.”

“Why? Do you find it difficult to concentrate? Pa-the-tic~”

This bloody sense of humor!

“Let’s leave the church tomorrow, Your Majesty.”

Burn raised his eyebrows. He lifted his palm from her face, seeing her disheveled bangs and red cheeks appeared from behind his irritated little squeeze.

“I want to meet my disciple.”

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