Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop

The permanent crack in the sky was, amusingly, not that close to the atmosphere of the planet. There was still, in the grand scheme of things, a vast chasm between them.  

But comparing that chasm to the distance to the moon? Please. The moon was a vacation home in the distant suburbs of space—way, way farther.  

So, even with a mighty dragon, they still needed three hours to reach their destination. And let’s not overlook the delightful detour they had to take to dodge the ever-watchful outsiders.  

“‘Tis hardly a challenge to evade the reflection of their vessels' radar signals,” Isaiah said, “yet I did traverse this very path at dawn. Better to be cautious than to regret,” he added halfway there.  

Burn had seamlessly adapted to the vast embrace of space, converting his mana to satisfy his need for oxygen. All else, including the toll of their breakneck journey on his physique, had been effectively neutralized by his swiftly evolving form.  

Morgan, in stark contrast, encased her body in a veritable fortress of spells, whispered every few minutes like a well-rehearsed incantation.  

“Thou art rarely one to encumber thyself with spells for protection, Miss Momo,” Isaiah remarked dryly. “Thou typically dost depend upon thine infinite soul to rebuild thy form or merely shroud thyself in a cocoon of high-density mana to craft a comfortable atmosphere.”  

“Since Merlin, I have come to appreciate the art of frugality,” Morgan sneered, sending her sound transmission with magic.  

Burn, however, knew the truth beneath her façade. It was not frugality that had prompted her spells; it was because of the reserves of soul energy she would require to maintain the burden of the curse.  

“Almost there,” Isaiah said, his voice barely masking the thrill of their descent as they neared the moon's gravity.  

In mere moments, he had landed safely atop the sandy surface. Everything looked bleak and monotone; the sky was a void of black, unashamedly proclaiming it was ‘daytime,’ while the sunset—if it could be called that—wouldn’t arrive for another week.  

“The gravity… is amusing,” Burn mused after jumping down from Isaiah’s head, his tone betraying a mix of fascination and absurdity. “Floaty, but not really. A real treat for the senses.”  

Morgan managed a smile, her spells now programmed to keep her safe until they returned to the radiant blue orb of Nethermere.  

She gazed at the planet, speckled with wispy white clouds and patches of green. Yet, most of it was a dreary shade of gray, an unfortunate reminder of the corruption.  

Suddenly, an unwelcome wave of sadness swept over her. Ah yes, the stunning contrast of celestial beauty versus bleak reality—a tale as old as time.  

“It is not thy fault, fair Miss Momo,” Isaiah declared, his massive body rendered light and agile in this low-gravity environment. “Come, let us make our way to the chamber of treasures.”  

Burn clasped her hand, and now, in this strange gravity, her movements resembled a graceful dancer, flitting about like a white deer. Or was it a little white bunny?  

“You are the bunny, Caliburn,” Morgan retorted. “Caliburn. Burn. Bunny.”  

“Fine, you are Lady Chang’e, then," Burn conceded.  

“I can no longer indulge this folly. This is the moon, not your honeymoon,” Isaiah remarked wearily, adapting into making a pun of the situation.  

“How did you usually visit this place without him?” Burn asked.  

Morgan shrugged her shoulders. “Fly here?”  

Burn felt that he shouldn’t have asked.  

“But I’d need at least ten days just to reach here,” Morgan answered.  

With that, Burn understood why Morgan didn’t want to leave by herself. There was no source of mana after they left the atmosphere, and she had to rely solely on her soul to produce mana.  

Not to mention, her body was built like a regular human’s. Or worse. She wasn’t some dragon equipped to withstand a jaunt to the moon and back in a few hours.  

But maybe the real reason she needed ten days was that she wasn’t in a hurry. Why race when you could gracefully tank the brutal space environment with just your soul?  

Isaiah, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky. He preferred to sprint to their destination, desperate to escape the lovely embrace of radiation exposure.  

Among the countless moon craters lay a cave, modestly concealed under the towering grandeur of one of its mountains—not that anyone would be fooled by its humble appearance.  

Isaiah, ever the practical one, resumed his humanoid form before entering the small entrance, though it was abundantly clear there was a backdoor big enough for his dragon self to waltz through.  

But since he was burdened with Morgan and Burn, he graciously opted for the more intimate route. After all, nothing screams “team bonding” quite like squeezing into a tight space together.  

What they entered could scarcely be called a chamber—it was more of a great hall, a grandiose reminder of nature’s flair for the dramatic.  

Grand stairs cascaded down from the entrance, designed with all the artistry of a seasoned architect rather than whatever cosmic force had shaped this cave.  

The tall pillars, intricately carved with magic that almost appeared to have grown organically from the cave itself, beckoned admiration—even if they were just rocks showing off.  

As for the stairs, calling them “designed for better mobility” was a charming understatement.  

In Earth's gravity, they’d have been appropriate for giants; here in low gravity, they were like a welcome mat for humans, or at least, beings with similar proportions and the appropriate mass to avoid tripping and falling.  

But it wasn’t yet their destination. No, no—further, deeper into the cave awaited another entrance. As if the last one wasn’t grand enough, now stood a majestic treasure chamber entrance, complete with giant, decorated stone gate doors that seemed to impose on their approach.  

Isaiah, the seven-foot-tall humanoid form of a dragon, shoved them open with one hand. Ah, the sweet, melodious sound of stone protesting like it hadn’t had its morning coffee—what a symphony of deep, groaning echoes!  

There wasn’t exactly light illuminating the space, but rather… a subtle glow. Nothing too impressive. Obviously, they hadn’t bothered with lightbulbs in this ancient lair.  

Burn widened his eyes at the sight of countless gemstones and ores—because who doesn’t need a little bling in their life? Magic artifacts and piles upon piles of gold, like the dragons had decided to hoard every shiny object since the dawn of time.  

But the true star of this show, the pièce de résistance, was perched nonchalantly at the top, floating as if it had better things to do than sit on a shelf.  

It was an hourglass. An ouroboros coiled around its body, a snake quite pleased with its eternal loop, as if saying, “Time? What’s that?” But it contrasted with what floated inside it: infinite golden sand.  

Morgan reached forward.  

“This is my catalyst, Mnemosyne’s Aeons.”

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