Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
217 – Redo

"Now, are you ready to show me your favorite spell?" Bunny asked, her tone light but expectant.

Blair exhaled softly, shaking off her nerves. "Yes," she said, smiling. "It's a simple golem spell."

Simple.

That was what she said.

And yet, the moment she started casting, it was clear nothing about this was simple.

Her red string magic just unravelled like thick, vibrant wool—it moved with liquid smoothness, like veins weaving into existence. 

The threads coiled in midair, twisting and shaping with a speed that suggested they already knew what they wanted to become. There was no hesitation, no faltering, just the kind of seamless precision that came from absolute mastery.

The golem took shape.

The red string coiled into the form of a kitten—a delicate, intricately crocheted creature with a plume-like tail made from a denser weave of string. Its ears twitched the moment they finished forming, big black button eyes flickering to life.

The kitten tilted its head, observing its surroundings with adorable intelligence.

Bunny gasped, clasping her hands together as her expression softened into genuine delight. "Oh, you clever thing."

The cat moved. Its tiny paws, barely the size of acorns, stepped onto Blair’s palm with the grace of something far too real for an artificial construct. It flicked its tail—testing its weight, its limits, its existence.

And then, without a single sound, it disappeared. No puff of smoke. No unraveling threads. It simply wasn’t there anymore.

A beat of silence.

Morgante’s brow furrowed. Vlad’s gaze sharpened. Isaiah’s fingers twitched toward his spear.

And then—

Matthew yelped.

"GAH—!" He nearly fell backward as the little red kitten reappeared on his shoulder.

The golem blinked up at him. Tilted its head. Then, ever so innocently, nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Matthew froze. Alan and Evan froze. Bunny, meanwhile, squealed. "ADORABLE!"

Evan, more than anyone, was staring.

Not at the cat. But at Blair.

He smiled, and seeing it, Blair blushed.

And right on cue—

Blair staggered.

The moment it happened, it was like her body had suddenly forgotten how to hold itself together. Her breath hitched—shallow, sharp. Her knees buckled, and her hands shot up to clutch at her throat as if something unseen had wrapped its thin, thread-like claws around it.

And then—

COUGH.

A wet, ugly sound tore from her lips, followed by a spray of red.

The droplets hit the ground in a splatter far too vibrant against the dull earth. The world around her blurred, her vision swimming with dizzying, shifting shapes. A sickly heat burned beneath her skin, winding its way through her veins like living wire, searing hot and ice-cold all at once.

Her fingers, blood-streaked and trembling, dug into her own skin. Not out of pain. Not out of shock. But because some part of her needed to feel something real—something tangible—before the sensation of unraveling swallowed her whole.

A curse.

Her lips parted—whether to gasp or to scream, she didn’t know—but nothing came out except more blood.

Blair’s vision wavered. The world tilted. Somewhere in the distance, she heard voices—shouting, urgent footsteps— but they sounded too far away, too distorted.

And then, just before her legs gave out—

A hand caught her.

Warm. Firm. Familiar.

“Blair—stay with me.”

The voice was right there, close enough to ground her. A red thread wrapped around her left pinky, its other end winding around his.

But the curse had already sunk its teeth in.

Amidst the chaos, just like the last loop, Finn’s voice cut through the tension.

“Monsieur Sator!”

The man was sprinting toward them, breathless, frantic.

“Monsieur! I just received a report—the First Prince and the Elven Princess have been kidnapped on their way here!”

Bunny and Morgante exchanged a glance, the kind that carried far too much understanding for a disaster like this.

“Isaiah, with me. Finn, get the guards and secure the kids. Think you can handle that?” Morgante asked, already turning back to his wife as he issued orders.

Bunny gave a sharp nod. “I’ve got this.”

And just like before, Burn was gone in an instant, Isaiah right on his heels. Meanwhile, Vlad—after finally prying Nemo off him—turned his attention to Morgan, lending a hand to keep Blair from crumbling.

And then, they arrived.

A pair of monstrous, blackened hands clawed their way into existence, dripping with thick, mud-like corruption. They hung there, grotesque and unholy, their long, gnarled fingers bound by sinister red threads—threads that trailed down and coiled tightly around Blair’s neck, wrists, and ankles like a puppeteer’s grip on a marionette.

Blair’s scream tore through the air, raw and guttural. Her body convulsed as a thick glob of that nightmarish sludge forced its way out of her, splattering onto the ground like the bile of something long since rotted.

Above her, those monstrous hands twitched, fingers jerking the threads with unnatural precision.

And then, a pair of eyes snapped open in the palms of the hands. Wide, round, and disturbingly aware. They flicked over the battlefield, then locked onto one person in particular.

Morgan Le Fay.

A voice, thick with malice, slithered through the air.

“We finally meet, Original Saint and her Vampire Cardinal.”

Predictable.

Just like the last loop, without missing a beat, the grotesque hands hovered above, was shackled by a crown of light. Then, Vlad barely needed a second before snapping his fingers and slicing through the threads holding Blair hostage.

Of course that wasn’t the end of it.

The strings, once under neat and orderly control, went rogue. The red threads twisted, multiplied, and coiled tighter, binding Blair’s entire body. No longer satisfied with just her limbs, they constricted every inch of her frame, sharper than knives and disturbingly sentient.

Then came the laugh. Low, wet, and thoroughly unpleasant.

“It’s too late, Original Saint.” The voice sneered, self-satisfied. “You actually think you can stop this? That you can undo my greatest invention? How pathe—”

Morgan cut in, completely unimpressed. “Standard villain monologue. Skip.”

After all, she had heard it in the last loop.

Blair screamed again, her agony tearing through the battlefield.

Morgan didn’t flinch. She just kept pouring her holy energy into Blair, already predicting every possible attack that could come her way—Vlad, of course, watching her back as usual.

Blood dripped from Blair’s lips as she gasped for air, her fingers clawing at the red threads in a desperate, losing battle. They cut into her deeper, latching onto something vital—her heart.

Morgan moved without hesitation, weaving her hand through the tangled, suffocating mass of strings and pressing a steady palm against Blair’s cheek.

“Be not afraid.”

The words, simple and unshaken, cut through the chaos like the toll of a bell. And with them, the corruption shattered.

But the real battle wasn’t over.

Blair had one final opponent: herself. She had to take control of her Vision, to rip herself free from the fear that had wrapped around her like a noose.

She felt it—her heart bound, shredded, and pulled in a thousand different directions by those ruthless red threads.

“Blair.”

Morgan’s voice sliced through the madness, steady and unwavering. Even as the world twisted and threatened to break, her words landed sharp and deliberate.

“All of this power is yours.”

Blair’s once-violet eyes burned red. Specialty awakening—

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