Subra crouched low, his breath ragged and uneven. He had killed three elves up until now, their absence a grim testament to the toll the battle had taken. But three more remained—an archer, a swordsman, and the leader—each still standing despite the wounds inflicted by his relentless counterattacks. The survivors moved warily now, their once-flawless coordination disrupted by the loss of their companions.
His supply of spears was gone, all three spent in desperate attempts to thin their numbers. His final option, the lizard-hybrid blood explosion, loomed in his mind—a volatile and reckless gambit that had almost cost him his life. Blood trickled from a gash on his arm, soaking into his sleeve as he tightened his grip on the bone-fang dagger in his other hand.
Around him, the remaining elves encircled him like predators closing in on wounded prey. Their movements, though slowed by injuries, still carried an unnatural fluidity, their glowing golden eyes glinting in the dim torchlight of the maze. The leader stood at the forefront, calm and poised, her gaze cold and calculating, as though appraising an interesting but dangerous puzzle.
Subra's muscles tensed. Every breath, every twitch of his fingers, felt magnified as he prepared for the next inevitable clash. There would be no retreat here, only survival—or death.
"You've fought well, human," she said, her voice low and sharp. "But even the most stubborn prey succumbs in the end."
Subra's mind raced, his instincts sharpened by countless battles and relentless training. He had become an expert in survival, his ability to outthink and outmaneuver opponents often giving him the edge. But this felt different. The elves moved with a coordination he couldn't match, their strikes precise and relentless. His familiar weapons—the tools that had kept him alive so far—had proven inadequate against their enchanted armor and speed. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a drumbeat of fear and frustration tempered by his resolve.
"You think this is over?" Subra growled, forcing himself to stand despite the ache in his muscles. He spun the dagger in his hand, more to steady his nerves than to intimidate. "You're going to have to work for it."
The elf leader smiled faintly. "Amusing." She raised her hand, signalling her warriors to attack.
The elves surged forward, one of them wielding a slender, enchanted sword that glinted with a faint blue hue, while another hung back, his bow drawn with an arrow aimed squarely at Subra. The leader, with her twin daggers poised for an opening, circled Subra with calculated steps, her movements silent and deliberate. The other three elves lay motionless on the ground, their bodies evidence of Subra's survival instincts and relentless combat prowess. Subra ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding a slash aimed at his neck from one of the swordsmen. An arrow whizzed past his ear, embedding itself into the maze wall with a dull thud. He lashed out with the bone-fang dagger, its jagged edge catching one elf swordsman's leg. The elf stumbled but didn't fall, recovering with an agility that made Subra's stomach tighten. He needed to think, and fast.
As he parried another blow, the air around him began to change. It was subtle at first—a faint whisper of wind curling around his arms. Subra barely noticed, his focus locked on the relentless assault. But as the moments dragged on, the whisper grew louder, a low hum that seemed to resonate in his very bones.
Subra's logical mind tried to dismiss it. Not now. Focus. But the sensation was undeniable. The air around him was moving with purpose, circling his hands, pressing against his skin. His eyes darted down involuntarily, and for a brief moment, he saw it: a faint, flickering shape forming around his empty hand. A blade of pure, shimmering air.
"What…?" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of clashing weapons.
The elf leader paused mid-step, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the change. In her hands, two curved daggers glinted ominously, their edges coated with a faint sheen that suggested poison. She moved with the predatory grace of an assassin, her footsteps silent and her eyes locked on Subra. "Ah," she said softly, almost to herself. "So, you've been holding back."
Subra's grip tightened on the bone-fang dagger as he stared at the ethereal weapon forming beside him. His mind rebelled against the sight, though it was not unfamiliar. It still looks too heavy. Why does it feel this way? His arm trembled as he reached for the blade. When his fingers closed around it, he felt a familiar resistance—its deceptive weight pressing down on his muscles, testing his resolve just as it had the first time he had summoned it. But now, desperation drowned out hesitation, and he knew he couldn't dismiss it this time.
He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the weight. He had summoned the Wind Blade before—rarely, and only when other options were exhausted. At times, it had served as a tool to craft weapons or finish off enemies in desperate moments. Then, it had been fleeting and unwieldy, a weapon he used sparingly due to its deceptive weight and his own doubt in its reliability. Now, he had no such luxury.
Subra tightened his grip around the blade, his movements deliberate. He had held the Wind Blade before and knew its deceptive weight well. The hum grew louder, the weapon solidifying into a tool of pure, cutting wind.
The elf leader's expression hardened as she observed the Wind Blade take form in Subra's hands. Her eyes glinted with calculated caution, and her stance shifted, daggers ready to strike. "So, you wield the wind itself," she said, her tone cold but devoid of mockery. "Let's see if your resolve matches your newfound power."
Subra hesitated, his logical mind screaming at him. This isn't right. It's too heavy. It won't work. His first swing was clumsy, the blade's weight dragging him off balance. The elves seized the opening, their strikes forcing him back step by step.
"You're a fool to rely on something you can't control," the leader taunted, her blade flashing toward him.
Subra barely managed to block the strike, the Wind Blade shuddering in his grip. No choice, he thought grimly. If I don't figure this out, I'm dead.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. The blade wasn't just a weapon; it was an extension of the air around him. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, letting the sensation of the wind guide him. The weight shifted subtly, becoming lighter as he adjusted his grip, his thoughts no longer fixated on its heaviness but on its movement.
When he opened his eyes, the elves were upon him. This time, he didn't hesitate. Subra swung the Wind Blade with renewed purpose, its edge slicing cleanly through the air. The nearest elf staggered back, clutching at a deep gash that had appeared in his armor. Subra pressed forward, each strike growing more fluid, the blade responding to his intent as though it had a will of its own.
The elf leader's smile faded as she stepped into the fray, her movements a blur of precision and power. Subra met her strikes head-on, the Wind Blade singing with each clash. The weight no longer hindered him; it flowed with him, its power amplifying his strength and speed.
The fight reached its crescendo as Subra and the elf leader faced off in a flurry of attacks. Her strikes were relentless, but Subra's newfound connection to the Wind Blade gave him the edge he needed. In a final, desperate move, he allowed the blade to guide him entirely, its weight shifting as he brought it down in a sweeping arc. The strike landed true, cutting through the elf leader's defenses and sending her sprawling to the ground.
The remaining elves faltered, their unity shattered as they watched their leader fall. Subra stood over her, the Wind Blade shimmering in his grip, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He could see the disbelief in her golden eyes as she looked up at him.
"You've… proven yourself," she said, her voice faint but steady. "Perhaps… You… are more than just a human."
The leader's eyes closed, and her body went still. The remaining elves hesitated only a moment before retreating, their figures disappearing into the shadows of the maze. Subra lowered the Wind Blade, its glow fading as it dissolved into the air. He dropped to his knees, the adrenaline leaving him as pain and exhaustion took hold.
For a moment, he simply sat there, the weight of the battle settling over him. Then he looked at his hand, still tingling from the blade's presence. A faint smile tugged at his lips, despite the pain.
"Guess I'll have to get used to you," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
And for the first time, he felt a spark of hope—not just for survival, but for victory.
-To Be Continued-