Fate's eyes snapped open, his grip on Lord Bosina's leg tightening. His face was moist, the coppery tang on his tongue informing him that it was blood. He lied there, for how long he didn't know, trying to stamp out the crippling dread that kept him immobilized.
He strugglingly moved his gaze to Queen Dinan, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't fight the fear enough to bring his face out of the dirt.
Queen Dinan noticed immediately, having kept a close eye on Fate. Her eyes flashed with hope, her noble, expressionless mouth parting slightly as she spoke.
"You've been out for twenty-one minutes," she said, her melodious voice tickling his ear. "You have nineteen more before you lose."
"At this point, it should take your Savior a full five minutes just to form a single thought," Lord Bosina said, his voice lacking its usual mocking tone. "He's performed well for an Avatar, but it won't be enough. He'll fail, and then I'll kill him and everyone you rule."
Bosina's words held truth to them. Fate indeed took five minutes to make sense of what was happening, and another five to think of what to do next, leaving him with only nine minutes to land a blow on Lord Bosina. He gritted his teeth, pushing off the ground.
It took him five minutes just to think, so he wouldn't think. He would just do.
The problem with this decision was that he had to keep his mind as clear as possible and run almost entirely on autopilot, a difficult task when taking into account the fear overriding his brain's control of his body and demanding he run. What only Fate knew, however, was that he had dealt with a situation like this before.
That bear story he thought about earlier? That was the first time he was crippled with fear, with only the options of running and facing the Advanced's wrath or staying and facing the wrath of the bear. That wasn't the last time, either.
Every time they told him to get on a table so they could cut him open, every time they told him to kill the Fildenan in front of him, he weighed his options. In every single instance, inaction was hundreds of times worse than action. The Advanced would elicit the results they wanted out of him, one way or another. The only variable was how much he wanted to suffer first.
Even when he and his friends escaped, that nagging fear at the back of his mind was always present. He was afraid his Prodigy power would fail at an inopportune time, that he would miss a shot, or accidentally hit one of his teammates.
While those fears weren't nearly as great as what he experienced at the Advanced's hands, and the fear the Advanced invoked was like a spark compared to the world-engulfing flames of the fear he felt now, he always soldiered through. Doing nothing would be worse than even the worst action he could take.
Now the fear, previously the only feeling he was capable of producing, had a neighbor inside his mind: unwillingness, the same thing that gave him victory against the bear, the thing that kept him alive all these years. It was barely a twentieth of the sheer ferocity of the fear raging inside him, but it was enough.
With only nine minutes left on the clock, he jerked his legs underneath him and rested on his knees. Then, releasing his grip on Lord Bosina, he pushed himself onto one knee, then to a stand.
It was a slow, shaky rise, his entire body tremoring as he rose to his full height. The process took six minutes in and of itself, his legs buckling and knees giving out dozens of times. It occurred to him then, as he looked down on Lord Bosina, that he was taller than the Fractured's king.
The terror inside him made a resurgence as he looked into Bosina's cold eyes, his shaking's severity raising several levels as he fought his instinctive desire to step back, feeling like he was driving down the world's bumpiest road in a car with shitty suspension during a magnitude nine earthquake.
He raised his fist, cocking it back as he placed a hand on Lord Bosina's shoulder. The armor was as cold as the man's eyes. He clenched his teeth, a little too hard, baring them as blood flowed down from his gums and dribbled down his chin. He scowled, eyes never leaving Bosina's own as he drove his fist forward.
A satisfying *crack* resounded, followed by intense pain as Fate's knuckles cracked and fractured against Bosina's jaw. The red-armored man didn't even flinch, his head not moving a single centimeter from the impact. The fear vanished from Fate's mind, and he collapsed sideways as his adrenaline ran out, no longer able to fight his exhaustion.
He sat there, face only an inch or two from the ground as he held himself up, panting. Blood and sweat dripped off his face, swallowed greedily by the soil below him. In his peripheral vision, he caught Queen Dinan's face breaking into relief, then apprehension as a shadow passed over Fate.
"You didn't advance in your Level at all from that? Curious," Fate heard Lord Bosina say behind him. "Those who survive usually budge at least a little. Anyway, a deal's a deal. Pick yourself up and meet me and your queen back in the tent. As for you, Your Highness, I suggest you think twice before trying to subject us to your rule again."
The shadow left from Fate as Lord Bosina strode back to the tent, retracting his aura as those brought here to bear witness to the meeting stirred. They groaned and rubbed their heads, many having fallen in uncomfortable positions, then staggered to their feet and jogged to catch up with their monarchs. Fate did the same, his mind now free and running normally.
He stumbled over to his sword laying in the grass, picking it up with care and wiping the blades of grass off of his shirt. After sheathing it, he wiped the blood and sweat off his face and headed back into the tent with the others.