44 days and a handful of hours. I've stopped counting. Survival is all that matters now.
Wind magic courses through my legs as I dash toward the inuman. Both he and the elf are still blinded by the ash I conjured moments ago. My blade is poised to strike, ready to impale.
But something in me halts my momentum.
I am not the Dark Deity.
In that split second, I flip my blade, presenting its hilt instead. A decision made out of hope, out of mercy.
A mistake.
Inumen look like humans with canine traits—floppy ears, padded hands, tails, and sharp fangs. But their heightened senses are what make them formidable. As soon as I reversed my blade, the inuman's claws extended. There's no time to react. His claws rip through my arm, slicing from my fingertips to my shoulder.
Pain burns up my arm, but I force it aside. My hilt strikes his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.
No time to breathe.
The elf recovers quickly, his vision clearing as he spreads his hands. A blue glow forms between them, condensing into a shimmering shield of ice. He blocks the pillar of rock I summon beneath him, shattering it effortlessly.
For a moment, none of us move.
We circle each other, wary and calculating. The inuman's claws glint in the harsh sunlight. The elf's sharp green eyes gleam with malice, his lips curled into a smirk.
My heart pounds.
I don't want to kill them. They're here for the same reason I am—desperate to survive.
But this isn't a game. Not for them. Not for me.
The inuman moves first, his aura flaring white as he launches himself at me. There's no hesitation in his charge, no fear. He's putting everything into this attack.
I focus wind magic into my eyes, more than I've ever dared before. Time slows to a crawl, the world sharpening into excruciating detail.
His claws are inches from my face, his timer ticking down furiously with every second.
30 days. 25. 20.
He's burning through his lifespan. He's not holding back.
I can't dodge him without using most of my time. My body screams for action, but my mind forces me still. I notice something—an unnatural glint behind the inuman. A reflection.
The elf is grinning.
The realization hits like a hammer. The elf never intended to fight alongside the inuman. A shimmering spear of ice hovers behind the charging inuman, poised to strike his back. The elf wants to kill us both.
I have seconds—no, less.
I pray the ice spear will reach the inuman before his claws tear me apart. With desperation clawing at me, I pour 10 days into earth magic, hardening my stomach and hands to withstand the impact.
Then, I let time resume.
The inuman's claws graze my cheek, leaving a faint scratch. His momentum falters as the ice spear pierces his back, pushing him into me. The impact drives us both backward, the icy rod cutting deep into my gut before shattering against my hardened skin.
I collapse, the weight of the inuman pressing against me. His breathing is shallow, his blood soaking into my cloak. Slowly, he raises his head and looks at me.
We lock eyes. He smiles. He knows.
His timer reads 12 days.
"Please win this," he whispers, his voice faint. "And tell Dezirae that Chichien always loved her."
Before I can respond, he grabs my hand, the blade still clenched between my fingers, and guides it to his chest.
The motion is deliberate, almost tender.
His timer fades, and my own increases by 12 days.