Chapter 24: Fear
I lay the inuman—no, Chichien—down gently, closing his eyes with trembling fingertips. His smile lingers in my mind, a quiet promise of trust. He believed in me in the end.
The crowd's vile cheers and jeers blur into the background, a distant static.
Across the arena, the elf stands tall, his twisted grin cutting through the sunlit haze. His laughter rings hollow, a mockery of the lives he's stolen.
I rise, gripping my blade tightly, and fix my gaze on the elf. He meets my stare with a sick smile, his expression oozing confidence and malice. His chuckle grates against my ears, a sound as sharp as his magic-crafted weapons. My chest tightens with a searing anger—not at his twisted nature but at the world that birthed it. I owe it to Chichien to make his sacrifice mean something.
I take a step forward. Then another. My pace quickens until I'm sprinting toward him.
Wind magic surges into my legs. My eyes burn with focus.
Snap.
I conjure ash, a screen to obscure his vision, but the elf reacts instantly, clapping his hands and dispelling it with a wave of water magic.
I close the gap, infusing fire magic into my blade. Swing. Dodge. Swing. Miss.
The elf matches my every move. He sharpens his sword with jagged stones forming along its edge. He swings—I sidestep. He swings again—clink. My blade clashes against his.
Then, his free hand rises. A deluge of water rains down on me, soaking me to the bone. My feet slip on the slick ground. He's trying to slow me down.
I channel heat from my fire aura, steaming the water off me instantly. With renewed force, I kick, wind magic driving my leg like a battering ram. The elf staggers but regains his footing.
We're evenly matched.
How?
I know three affinities; he only knows two. Yet, he's keeping pace with me.
The elf's confidence doesn't falter. If anything, his grin widens. He knows he holds the upper hand—not just in skill but in patience. I know it too. He's an elf, a creature born with double the lifespan of humans, a natural compensation for their unparalleled magical prowess. I remember Alondra's words, her voice tinged with wonder and a hint of envy: "Elves like me? We're blessed to start with 200, but we burn through it faster if we use our advanced spells. It's a trade-off, really." The elf's precision in combat now makes perfect sense. For him, every second of lifespan is meticulously calculated, every movement a chess piece placed with care.
The only thing holding him back is The Game's 50-day lifespan cap. I glance at his timer: 78 days.
The dwarf's stolen time keeps him well ahead of me.
Mine reads 46 days, thanks to Chichien.
I grit my teeth. I'll have to sacrifice more than he's willing to. He's meticulous, careful with his magic. His survival hinges on precision.
Mine? On pure audacity.
-----
The plan:
10 days: Wind magic to my feet.
10 days: Wind magic to enhance my eyes.
10 days: Fire magic for my blade.
10 days: Earth magic to shield my vitals.
6 days: Earth magic to heal the inevitable wounds I'm about to take.
That leaves me with 4 hours and 3 and a half minutes.
I launch forward with all the force wind magic can muster. The arena blurs as my body cleaves through the air.
My eyes, sharpened by magic, see everything.
The elf reacts, summoning an earth wall before me, followed by an ice wall behind it. Layers of defense. Layers I'll break.
I channel my last four hours of earth magic, hardening my entire body. Pain is irrelevant. Stopping is not an option.
I break through the earth wall, shards scattering like splinters of defiance. The ice wall comes next, its crystalline surface shattering in my wake, each crack echoing like thunder.
And then I see him.
The elf stands firm, his expression oozing calm confidence, the same twisted grin that has haunted this arena since the fight began. His sword gleams with deadly purpose, its edge sharpened by both water and earth magic, angled perfectly to skewer me through the heart. To him, this is the moment he's calculated for, the perfect execution of strategy against a reckless opponent.
But I do not slow down.
The blade pierces me, a searing pain ripping through my chest as my body protests in agony. My scream erupts, raw and guttural, shaking the air around us. Yet it isn't pain that fuels it—it's rage, the kind of fury that consumes hesitation and leaves nothing but raw determination.
I keep moving.
The elf's smile falters, his confidence cracking like the barriers he erected. The superior gleam in his eyes dims, replaced by something hesitant, something breaking.
My blade inches closer, impossibly slow in the charged tension of the moment. His gaze shifts, his calm unraveling into disbelief. And then, the condescension in his stare collapses entirely, leaving only one thing: raw, unfiltered fear.
The twisted smile he wore moments ago belongs to me now.
I win.
-----
The elf's precision, his calculation, his careful planning—all crumble against my raw defiance. He never expected someone to sacrifice everything just to spite him.
But I didn't sacrifice everything. I calculated too.
Inside, I feel his blade graze my heart, but it doesn't penetrate. My earth magic shields it, absorbing the worst of the damage. The healing magic I summoned fights to repair what his infused sword continues to harm.
It's excruciating. Adrenaline dulls the edges of the pain, but it's there, searing through every fiber of my being.
And yet, I stand.
-----
The crowd falls silent, their earlier fervor replaced with stunned disbelief.
For a moment, I can't move. My chest heaves with labored breaths, each one a reminder of the pain coursing through me. Blood drips from my wounds, pooling at my feet. The elf's lifeless body collapses, his once-pristine timer now an empty void.
Then the king's voice cuts through the silence, booming with grotesque enthusiasm. "YES! THIS IS WHAT WE CAME HERE TO SEE!"
I grip my blade tighter, my knuckles whitening. The cheers resume, louder and more frenzied than before, but I don't hear them. I don't care about the king's approval or the crowd's bloodlust. All I can think about is the twisted smile that had spread across my face in those final moments.
What am I becoming?