The black crow hovered ominously over the earth, its presence commanding the natural world to surrender its vitality. Slowly, a green, shimmering essence seeped from the ground, spreading like a gentle mist. It was a sight both mesmerizing and otherworldly. As the life force emerged, it carried an intoxicating comfort, one that wrapped itself around anyone nearby.
Olivier could feel it almost immediately. The ache in his muscles, the sting of his wounds, everything began to fade. The sensation was soothing, as if the very earth itself were singing a lullaby, accompanied by the earthy fragrance of rain-soaked soil and a cool, gentle breeze. His breaths came easier, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his body felt light, almost weightless.
Even Lucy, ever wary and on edge, succumbed to the sensation. She closed her eyes, allowing the pure energy to wash over her. The expression on her face was one of rare peace. For a moment, it was as if the battlefield had vanished, replaced by a tranquil oasis.
No one could resist the allure of this moment. The happiness was palpable; overwhelming. Olivier almost forgot the longbow still clutched in his hand, his grip slackening. He wanted to stay here, to breathe in this serenity forever. But peace was fleeting.
Just as he drew his fourth deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool, revitalizing air, something struck his chest. Hard. The force was incomprehensible, an impact that shattered his momentary tranquility like glass. His body flew backward as if hurled by a tempest. Trees splintered in his wake, and the journey only ended when his battered form collided with a massive boulder, cracking it in half.
For a brief moment, all was still. Then came the pain, sharp and unrelenting, as blood poured from his mouth in thick, dark streams. He could barely tilt his head, his blurred vision searching for the source of the attack. When he caught a glimpse of his assailant, his heart sank.
It was Lucy.
She lay crumpled nearby, her body unmoving, a fresh scar marking her abdomen. The sight tore at him. Olivier clenched his jaw, forcing himself to rise, but his battered body screamed in protest. He used his longbow for support, planting it against the ground like a crutch as he fought to stand. When he finally steadied himself, his gaze shifted to the enemy.
There he was.
The young man, once a broken husk of muscle and sinew, now stood tall and restored. His skin was smooth, his body whole, and his expression infuriatingly smug. The green energy that had brought such comfort moments ago was now visibly flowing into him, coiling around him like a serpent. He was feeding off the vitality of the earth, draining it. 'Why had the teacher never mentioned this?' Olivier thought bitterly.
Gritting his teeth, Olivier reached for an arrow, his trembling hand fumbling as he pulled one from the quiver on his back. Blood dripped from his wounds, staining the ground beneath him, but he refused to give in. With all his remaining strength, he tried to draw the bowstring, his muscles straining as his vision blurred.
His fingers slipped. The bowstring refused to budge.
A guttural roar erupted from his throat, a mix of frustration and defiance. But his strength was waning. His knees buckled, and the world around him spun. Before he could process what was happening, the young man vanished from his sight.
Then came the second blow.
It struck his right arm with devastating precision, sending him hurtling through the air. He crashed into a tree with such force that it splintered around him. His right arm dangled uselessly, the fingers twitching weakly. The arrow he had clutched had flown somewhere into the chaos, lost.
He tried to push himself upright again. He couldn't afford to stay down. But the enemy was relentless.
The young man reappeared, dragging Olivier by the leg like a discarded doll. The sound of trees breaking echoed in the distance as his limp body was hauled through the dirt. His head was shoved into the ground, grinding against the earth as he was dragged for meters. Finally, with a ferocious swing, the young man hurled him skyward. Olivier's body arced through the air before crashing back to the ground in a heap.
Olivier lay still for a moment, his breath ragged. Pain no longer registered, it had gone beyond his ability to process it. Yet, through it all, his left hand still gripped the longbow. Its cold surface pressed against his palm, a silent reminder: 'Stand. Fight.'
The sound of footsteps approached. Slow. Methodical. The young man's voice reached his ears, but it was muffled, like hearing through water. His head swam, his senses distorted. Yet one sentence rang clear:
"You should have stayed down."
Olivier tightened his grip on the longbow, summoning every last ounce of willpower. The battle wasn't over; not yet.
"After all, you're just an archer," the young man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.
He seized Olivier by the head, lifting him off the ground as though he were nothing more than a sack of rotting vegetables. Olivier's limbs dangled uselessly, his vision a swirling haze of shadow and light. He forced himself to focus, noting with detached clarity that the man held him aloft with his left hand while his right reached toward him.
Then, just as it had happened before, a chilling numbness overtook him. Pain didn't come; not in the way he expected. Instead, everything vanished. Colors, sounds, even the texture of existence itself faded into an empty void. It wasn't black, it was the absence of black, the absence of 'anything'.
Moments later, his limp body was unceremoniously thrown to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He turned his head skyward or tried to; but there was no light, no warmth, nothing to orient him. The world felt distant, unreachable.
The young man stood over him, his expression shifting from arrogance to irritation. He extended his hands, summoning the wind elements once more. They swirled chaotically around him, glowing faintly as they gathered strength. He unleashed them onto Olivier's broken body without restraint, as though venting his frustration. The wind, once a soothing force of nature, turned into a feral beast, carving countless gashes across the archer's form. Flesh split and blood sprayed with each lash, but Olivier barely flinched. His body was already teetering on the edge of lifelessness.
The young man grew bored of his cruel game. With a dismissive glance at his victim, he turned his attention to Lucy, who had inflicted a grievous wound on him earlier. His lips curled into a snarl as he prepared to finish what he'd started.
Before he could advance, a noise echoed from the distance. The young man snapped his head toward it, his patience wearing thin. Despite the vitality he had absorbed, his resurrection remained incomplete. His control over his blessings was tenuous at best, and the earlier wounds from Olivier and Lucy had taken their toll. He was still vulnerable and he knew it.
The reinforcements arrived swiftly. A small group of allies, led by Pramon, fanned out across the battlefield. Among them were Wei Qi, who had initially hoped to torment Olivier further but now stood frozen in shock at the scene before him, and An and Nishi, their brows furrowed with concern. While Pramon prepared for combat, the others rushed to aid Olivier.
The sight of the archer's battered body made even the most hardened among them falter. A few of the younger, less experienced members turned pale, some doubling over to retch. The ground was littered with blood and shredded earth, a testament to the merciless onslaught Olivier had endured.
Despite the devastating injuries, Olivier clung to life with sheer determination. His grip on the longbow was unyielding, fingers wrapped so tightly around it that they appeared fused to the wood. If the bow had once felt like it was stuck to him, now it seemed like he was the one refusing to let go.
Through the haze of his pain, something strange caught his attention. The elements around him; wind, earth, even the faint flicker of fire, were clearer to him now than they had ever been. Though he could not touch or manipulate them, their beauty left him awestruck, like a symphony playing just beyond his reach.
As the young man approached Lucy, his focus narrowed. But Pramon was faster. With a powerful leap, he closed the gap, launching himself toward the enemy. Pramon's massive frame was a blur of motion, his intent to strike swift and silent. But the young man dodged effortlessly, vanishing from sight only to reappear behind Pramon in a flash. His foot came down hard, the force creating twin craters beneath Pramon's feet.
However, Pramon was ready.
Instead of staggering, he used the muscles in his back to clamp down on the young man's legs in an inhuman display of precision. Twisting at an unnatural angle, Pramon reached with his left hand, grabbing hold of his opponent mid-air. The move was as grotesque as it was brilliant, an act of raw strength and impossible flexibility that defied the limits of living creatures.
Meanwhile, Ziggy, who had positioned herself at a distance, watched the exchange with grim determination. Her gaze flicked briefly to Olivier, assessing his state. It was clear he could no longer fight, yet the cold aura emanating from his longbow told another story. Despite his condition, something within him refused to yield.
The young man snarled, his frustration mounting as he fought to free himself from Pramon's grip. The battle was far from over, and though the reinforcements had arrived, the cost of survival would be steep.
Olivier, barely conscious, tightened his grip on the bow once more. Even as his body teetered on the edge of death, his will remained unbroken. The fight, for him, was not over. Not yet.