Oliver soared through the air, expertly adjusting his posture to avoid a jarring impact as he landed. He instinctively reached into his pack, driven by the mounting frustration of his injured hand preventing him from drawing his bow. The sting of pain was overshadowed by a strategic realization: if his enemies could see through the elf's eyes, then perhaps he could shroud himself in darkness.
With swift determination, he pulled out a handful of smoke bombs, hurling them to the ground one after another. A thick mist billowed and intertwined, rapidly expanding towards the elves. The humans trying to intercept him faltered, unable to pinpoint his elusive figure amidst the encroaching fog.
The elf, adept in alchemy yet lacking in raw magical power, struggled to combat the smoke. Her attempts to use wind magic were futile; instead, she resorted to small, explosive crystals crafted from her alchemical skills, creating bursts of force to disperse the smoke. A human rushed to her side, bracing against the shockwaves of the explosions while remaining vigilant against Oliver.
With every wisp of smoke he conjured, the elves became increasingly frantic, tirelessly clearing the air around them. Oliver recognized an opportunity: while they were preoccupied, their shared vision was compromised. Hidden within the swirling mist, he released a small bird and repositioned his smoke bombs, focusing on steadying his breath to ensure the precision of his next move.
Yet, in his concentration, he failed to notice the elf's expression shift from calm to increasingly troubled, shadows of memories flickering in her eyes. There were echoes of the past; unwanted thoughts that could easily unravel a soul.
As time pressed on, the elf's movements began to falter. Seizing the moment, Oliver bit through the bandage around his dagger, securing a smoke bomb to it before launching the weapon into the air. A human instinctively reached out, but the dagger's inertia sent the bomb crashing into the ground, unleashing a thick cloud of smoke.
In an instant, Oliver dashed forward, timing his escape perfectly as the new smoke enveloped him, masking his presence. He slipped past the human, who, blinded by the fog, was powerless to stop him.
Recalling the layout of the battlefield, he deftly retrieved the dagger, gripping it tightly as he pushed off the ground and lunged forward, striking with calculated precision. It was a pivotal moment; he believed that with the elf now in his grasp, the humans would hesitate to act recklessly.
It mirrored the earlier dagger throw, one he sensed the elf could have easily evaded. Yet, in a moment of loyalty, her allies had chosen to shield her instead. Why they didn't eliminate her, Oliver couldn't fathom, but a twinge of envy stirred within him. Even in death, their camaraderie was remarkable.
He felt an indescribable sensation, a profound connection that transcended mere observation. It was reminiscent of their first encounter, where he saw them as ethereal beings amidst a starry sky. Elemental wings shimmered, lifting them gracefully, while the scents of flowers and nature intertwined in the air. Their gentle gazes, devoid of malice, radiated a warmth that had once made him feel truly seen.
Oliver had forgotten that it was a summer night, the same night he first saw the elf. The memory of that moment was hazy now, blurred by countless battles and brushes with death, but what lingered was the kindness he had seen in her eyes. That single, enduring memory was all that remained. The kindness, and nothing more.
As he darted through the thick mists, his senses on high alert, a figure materialized in front of him. There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. In an instant, he raised the dagger in his backhand, aiming it at her neck. But he did not strike with full force. His intent wasn't to kill, just to force her to stop; stop the human, or rather, the creature that had once been human, from closing in.
But, as had happened so many times before, something unexpected occurred. The elf raised her right hand, a crystal clutched tightly in her grasp. Oliver's dagger barely grazed her neck before she crushed the crystal with brutal efficiency, utterly fearless of the explosion that would follow.
The blast knocked him back, the force of it sending him flying through the air. In the split second before the world spun around him, he caught a glimpse of the elf's face; astonished, yet strangely calm. Her hand touched the spot where his dagger had pressed against her skin, as if in disbelief.
Despite the explosion's proximity, she appeared unharmed. Her eyes bled, her clothes tattered, but her body bore no significant wounds. Blood sprayed before Oliver's eyes; his own, he realized, as he was hurled backward. It stained the air as he flew, his body betraying his will. A bitter thought crossed his mind: 'What kind of monsters are these?'
These beings were unlike anything he had faced before. They were impervious to blades and bullets, possessed immense strength, and moved with an otherworldly grace. And worse, his attacks never seemed to land. Only two of the four had revealed their true powers, yet every encounter ended the same; his retreat, or his failure.
He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. His consciousness wavered, his vision blurring as he struggled to comprehend the pain. Blood seeped from his wounds, pooling beneath him, but he couldn't even muster the strength to cry out. His right hand throbbed, his chest burned, and his left hand was completely numb. Even his leg, which had been caught in the blast, felt as though it had been struck by lightning. He was immobilized, his body unresponsive.
Above him, the sky was still full of stars, twinkling indifferently. He stared at them, lost in a fog of pain and fading thoughts. How had it come to this? The elf, his opponent, remained untouched while his body was broken. It was as if the universe had tipped the scales so heavily against him that even surviving this fight seemed impossible.
As the agony spread through his body, the words of his teacher echoed faintly in his mind: "Stay alive."
He almost laughed, but even that took too much effort. How was he supposed to stay alive when the fight had taken a turn he couldn't have predicted? If he had known he would face an opponent of this caliber, he would have stayed far away, no matter the consequences.
But now, all he could do was silently curse his luck. He was helpless, like a fish caught on a knife's edge. His fate was no longer his to control. Whether the elf chose to slice him like salmon or leave him there to bleed out; it was her choice. He had no power to resist.
Unable to even twist his body, Oliver let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, resigned. He waited for death to take him.
Yet, curiously, nothing came. He didn't feel the creeping coldness of his body shutting down, nor the quiet pull of death. There was only stillness, and the distant hum of the world continuing, as if unaware of his suffering.