Edmund Belisarius' cybernetic eye malfunctioned for the first time upon the pyre.
He remembered the burning should start at his feet - sanctified pinewood licking upwards like mother wiping blueberry jam off his three-year-old fingers. But these flames sank fangs directly into his throat, as if God had replaced Judgment Day with a sword-swallowing circus act.
"Seventh time." He coughed ashes, a gear fragment clattering from his trachea. The Belisarius crest warped on its surface - wolf's head entwined with umbilical cord. The system alert exploded through auditory implants in a children's choir's saccharine tones:
[Welcome to Rebirth Node 12.7]
[Newcomer Bonus: Carbonized Bone Polish (Effective Char Concealer)]
[Primary Objective: Assassinate Bishop Elias (Remaining Attempts: ∞)]
Moonlight leaked through the confession booth's shattered stained glass, casting a deranged crucifix in congealing blood. Edmund's alloy fingers dented the bishop's bloated neck, feeling subcutaneous clockwork mechanisms tremble. The corpse played recordings in Uncle Joachim's wedding toast cadence: "May your sins age like fine wine..."
"Predictable." He crushed the copper foil vocal cords into stardust. Sixth identical assassination, each corpse leaving new relics: infant socks embroidered with wolf cubs last cycle, engine grease-stained wedding ring the previous. Now the silver pipe bleeding mother's migraine herbal blend into the pool of blood.
The system glitched suddenly, mission interface overwritten by crayon scribbles. Childish script urged: "Lookie! Bishop's 4th rib hides treasure!"
Ribs split under chainsaw blade, releasing maple syrup sweetness. Etched lyrics along the bone's inner curve flaked under centuries of corrosion:
"When gears gnaw the umbilical's tail...
...From cradle crawls godslaying babe..."
Blood-smeared sheet music shimmered like mother-of-pearl coffin inlays from Margaret's funeral. Edmund's augmented hearing caught faint ticking - the bishop's excised heart waltzed clumsily on the altar, spurting blackened machine oil with each contraction.
"Creative touch." His boot crushed the organ, triggering tactile memory of the music box gears he'd shattered at six.
Sirens tore the night, but no templars came. Twelve mechanized infants swaddled in gold-threaded linens crawled through broken windows. Their ocular sockets housed pickled human eyes instead of lenses, wailing in Joachim's dinner speech cadence: "...Belisarius scions shall become precision chronometers..."
Edmund's molars ached. These murderous dolls' joints were rebuilt from his childhood toys - the third infant's right arm still bore "EWB" carved at age eight.
"Your uncle's humor remains delightfully morbid." The familiar voice drifted from confessionals. Cecilia's argent blade impaled the last automaton, its hilt inlaid with his long-lost milk tooth. "Fun fact," she kicked twitching metal limbs, "these eyes' original owners are currently playing kill-tag at Lux Aeterna Kindergarten."
The system chose this moment to flash:
[Interactable Target Detected: Cecilia Belisarius (Unregistered Kin)]
[Suggested Actions: Kiss/Dismember/Co-Bake Apple Pie]
Edmund's spinal actuators groaned. He noted Cecilia's necklace - seven colored gears matching his missing memory cores from each rebirth.
"Option C." He detonated honey bombs between them. Not mercy, but because those gears bore mother's final journal fragment: "...Joachim altered the cradle protocol..."
As Cecilia's purifying flames engulfed the chapel, Edmund lay sprawled on the cemetery oak, chewing metallic foil from the bishop's stomach. Infantile scrawl warned: "Check diaper liners next time, dumb nephew."
The moonlight warped into crib's curvature. The system never explained why every rebirth began in the delivery room where Margaret hemorrhaged to death.