Dylan stood up, surprisingly unscathed for someone who had just been thrown several meters. However, he didn't have the luxury to ponder his unexpected resilience.
Right there, just in front of him, a strange figure was approaching. Was it a creature or an intelligent being? He couldn't say for certain, but its glowing red eyes, brimming with a menacing light, left no doubt—it wasn't here to make friends.
The creature, small and green-skinned, vaguely resembled a goblin or a gremlin. Dylan couldn't precisely identify its race. But who, in this hellish place, could have given him the exact name?
The gremlin advanced slowly, pulling out a makeshift dagger from its belt, crafted from the remains of a broken sword. Dylan instinctively mistrusted it, aware that even a crude weapon could be lethal in skilled hands. Worse still, the creature wasn't alone. Its two companions, however, were still fiercely fighting over the anima gem he had almost managed to retrieve.
As the creature drew closer, brandishing its dagger menacingly, Dylan cautiously stepped back, trying to maintain a safe distance. But his retreat was abruptly halted when his back hit the wall bordering the arena.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. Realizing he had no escape, he quickly adjusted his stance, bracing himself for a hand-to-hand fight against this humanoid foe.
The gremlin let out a guttural cry, accompanied by incomprehensible words in a foreign language, before leaping at him.
For a fleeting instant, Dylan felt as though the creature had vanished like a mirage. Then, in a split second, it reappeared near his head. Its foot slammed violently into the wall beside him, leaving small cracks.
"He can't aim…" Dylan thought, relieved. Because if that blow had landed, his skull would have been reduced to rubble. He had narrowly escaped death.
Seizing the opportunity, Dylan rolled to the side to get away. But the agility of his attacker surpassed his own—the gremlin followed immediately, using the wall as a springboard before raising both arms above its head, ready to drive its dagger straight into Dylan's heart.
This time, Dylan anticipated the attack and dodged skillfully. The creature landed right beside him, narrowly missing its target. Without hesitation, Dylan lunged at it in turn, determined not to lose the initiative again.
But Dylan, of course, had almost no room for error. The creature was physically stronger and more agile than he was—a foe far beyond his current capabilities.
Confronted with this reality, he quickly understood that his options were limited. He had a solid grasp of martial arts, techniques refined to meet the demands of modern warfare. Disarming someone with a dagger was part of the basics taught in the army. But what he hadn't anticipated was facing an enemy with strength equivalent to three highly trained humans.
Dylan wrapped his legs around the creature's arm, desperately pulling at its fingers to disarm it. He gripped its wrist with all the force he could muster. Yet despite his efforts, the weapon remained firmly anchored in the creature's hand, as if its fist were carved from stone.
Beyond anything he could have imagined, the gremlin, unperturbed, began to stand, lifting Dylan along with it as if he were no more than a toy. Clinging to its arm like an octopus gripping an underwater branch, Dylan could only marvel at the raw power of his adversary.
With a guttural roar, the gremlin exerted even more effort, hoisting Dylan more than a meter off the ground. Then, with a swift and precise motion, it slammed the young man into the ground with incredible force, adding the weight of its elbow, which it drove straight into Dylan's abdomen.
The impact was devastating. A wave of pain coursed through Dylan's body, disorienting his mind, unable to decide which agony to process first. Every part of his torso seemed to collapse under the shock.
At the same time, he felt a bitter substance rise in his throat. Unable to hold it back, he spat out a black, viscous liquid that splattered onto the ground. His breathing became labored, his body trembling from the pain and shock.
Still doubled over, Dylan tried to catch his breath, his vision blurred by the pain and exhaustion. Each breath drew a grimace, as though his ribs threatened to break with every inhalation.
Seeing his prey on the ground, the gremlin let out a rough, guttural laugh—a sadistic triumph resonating in the arena. It briefly turned its head toward its companions, who were still fighting over the gem, ignoring their ally for something seemingly more valuable.
Dylan took advantage of this moment of distraction. He quickly wiped the black liquid still dripping from his lips and groped the ground around him for a weapon, debris, anything that could give him an edge. His fingers found a sharp stone partially buried in the arena's sand.
The idea quickly formed in his mind. He couldn't match the gremlin's brute strength, but if he could use this stone at the right moment… he might at least have a chance to slow it down.
The creature turned its attention back to him, striding forward, its makeshift dagger poised to strike again. Dylan gripped the stone in his trembling hand, feeling every muscle in his body tense like a bowstring ready to snap.
When the gremlin raised its weapon to strike, Dylan rolled to the side once more, narrowly avoiding the blow. The dagger crashed into the ground with a dull thud, kicking up a cloud of sand. Taking advantage of the opening, Dylan drove the stone into the creature's exposed flank.
A shrill cry escaped the gremlin's throat, a mix of rage and pain. It staggered back a step, clutching at its wound, while Dylan slowly got to his feet, breathing heavily but filled with determination.
"Not so invincible now, huh?" Dylan spat, his face contorted with pain but lit by a spark of defiance.
The creature, furious, lunged at him with doubled ferocity, sweeping its dagger through the air in imprecise but deadly arcs. Dylan dodged as best he could, his movements slowed by the pain pounding through his body.
But something flickered in his eyes—a fleeting spark, as if he had just grasped a truth or had a pivotal vision.
Dylan had often felt this on the battlefield, during missions where every decision weighed a life, where instinct overpowered fear.
This wasn't about winning, not really. It wasn't a quest for glorious victory. No, it was a simple and ruthless question of who would walk away alive.
The dead were never right. They were doomed to oblivion, eternal losers in history.
And Dylan had no intention of joining thier ranks.