Dylan had no weapons to speak of, while his opponent did—and not just any weapon, but a particularly sharp dagger.
In a fight against such a lethal weapon, it was best to avoid direct confrontation. Disarming an opponent required exceptional mastery of hand-to-hand combat and an unshakable calm.
Dylan also had to remain constantly vigilant, as a single misstep could prove fatal. His life hung by a thread, and he knew it.
Even though he towered over the creature, it was clear it surpassed him in brute strength. It almost seemed supernatural. How could such a frail body, visibly malnourished, harbor such power? It was as if this strength didn't come from its muscles but from something deeper, almost primal.
He had tried everything—kicks, elbows, uppercuts—but every attack seemed to backfire. The creature, despite its frail appearance, had an incredibly resilient body, so much so that Dylan himself felt the pain of his own blows.
When it was the creature's turn to counterattack, Dylan found himself on the defensive. He dodged as much as he could, but each movement became increasingly difficult. At one point, the dagger grazed his cheek, leaving a superficial wound but one painful enough to remind him of the gravity of the situation.
Dylan leapt backward, flipping repeatedly to maintain a critical distance between himself and his assailant. However, he couldn't avoid every attack, and a few strikes narrowly grazed him.
From a distance, their fight looked like a desperate hunt. The predator, armed and relentless, pursued its prey with determination, while the prey fought with everything it had to avoid being caught.
Despite it all, Dylan wasn't as agile as the creature. He couldn't dodge its attacks indefinitely. And though the gremlin wasn't particularly intelligent, it was smart enough to adapt quickly to his movements.
It began to anticipate Dylan's dodges, reading his intentions. It was only a matter of time before it found an opening, and when that moment came, the strike was merciless.
The dagger sank into his back, precisely in his right flank. The searing pain made Dylan stagger, his breath catching from the impact. Yet his survival instincts took over. Gritting his teeth, he immediately reacted, springing backward to create distance between himself and his opponent.
The wound gaped open, oozing blood profusely. Dylan could feel his strength waning, each heartbeat worsening the bleeding. A visceral fear gripped him, twisting his face into an expression of pure horror. For the first time since arriving here, he fully realized he was a breath away from death.
His hand, pressed against the wound, was already soaked with warm, sticky blood. He raised his eyes to the gremlin, and what he saw terrified him even more. The hideous creature wore a cruel smile, almost satisfied. Slowly, it licked the blood off the dagger's blade, savoring the metallic taste of its triumph.
It was too much. Something snapped inside Dylan. Until now, he had been awed by this new world, absorbed by his curiosity and desire to understand this hostile environment. But now, that fascination had evaporated, replaced by a burning anger—a rage he hadn't felt in years.
He could see himself dying. Him, the lieutenant of the 10th platoon of the first regiment, a veteran of hundreds of successful missions with distinction. He was about to perish here, in such a pitiful state, killed by an insignificant creature in a desperate struggle. All his accomplishments, his sacrifices, everything he had endured—only to end like this?
A deep frustration welled up, fueling his desire to fight back. But reality was cruel: his blood kept flowing, and he grew weaker by the second. If he wanted to survive, he had to act immediately, and he had to be ruthless.
Dylan fixed the gremlin with fierce determination. The pain was unbearable, but he used it as fuel for his rage. He had to deal with this creature quickly and definitively.
But how?
He was already less agile than the gremlin. Now, with this wound slowing him down, his chances of landing a decisive blow had dwindled to nothing. Yet staying here, hesitating, was a guarantee of death. He'd bleed out or, worse, the creature would finish what it had started, taking sadistic pleasure in prolonging his agony.
Dylan stepped back a few paces, then, mustering all the strength he had left, he ran. His goal: the corpse of the gremlin he had killed earlier. Maybe he could find something there—a weapon or an opportunity.
The gremlin, amused by this desperate flight, didn't rush. It followed him with a cruel smile, savoring every second. Just as Dylan nearly reached his target, the creature intervened. With a swift movement, it swept his legs, sending him crashing to the ground. He rolled across the dirt, dust clinging to his blood as each movement worsened the pain of his wound.
Then, without hesitation, the gremlin threw its dagger. The blade embedded itself in Dylan's back, eliciting a piercing scream that echoed across the arena. The pain shot through him like lightning, but by some miracle, the wound wasn't immediately fatal. Dylan bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood to keep from collapsing entirely.
But in that attack, the gremlin made a mistake: it had disarmed itself.
Dylan, breathless and trembling, gathered every ounce of strength and willpower he had left. Ignoring the pain that nearly paralyzed him, he grabbed the dagger's hilt. Pulling it out risked worsening the bleeding, but he had no choice. Clenching his teeth, he yanked it free in one sharp motion, a muffled groan escaping his lips.
Crawling across the ground, he left a bloody trail behind him, his focus fixed on the corpse. The gremlin watched him, intrigued. Why was this human stubbornly crawling like this? The anima gem had already been absorbed—what could he possibly hope to find?
The creature's curiosity drove it closer. It walked calmly, savoring the scene. To it, this was a magnificent spectacle, a final act showcasing who deserved to live and who deserved to die.
When it reached Dylan, it planted a heavy foot on his heel, and a sickening crack echoed. Dylan grimaced, a restrained whimper escaping his lips. But he kept moving, crawling like a man possessed by unyielding will.
The gremlin, irritated by this persistence, stepped on his bloodied hand, pressing down slowly but deliberately. A dark smile twisted its hideous face. Another crack sounded, this time more sinister.
But Dylan didn't scream. Instead, he seized the moment. With a speed that caught the creature off guard, he gripped the dagger firmly in his uninjured hand and sprang up in one swift motion, surpassing his pain. Before the gremlin could react, Dylan drove the blade deep into its neck.
The creature thrashed, clawing and striking desperately, but Dylan held firm. His hand, sticky with blood, stayed pressed against the dagger's hilt. He only released his grip once he was sure the gremlin was motionless.
Panting and trembling, Dylan pulled the blade from the corpse. Without wasting a moment, he plunged his hands into the creature's belly, digging until he retrieved a fresh anima gem, still brimming with raw energy.
With a sharp blow, he struck the gem against the dagger's hilt, shattering it into fragments. A wave of pure energy surged through his weakened body, briefly reviving his senses. But the backlash was immediate. His body, already at its limit, couldn't handle the sudden surge.
Dylan collapsed, his breaths shallow, his eyes slowly closing. The world around him darkened, the sounds of the arena fading into the distance. The last thing he saw was the world dimming, as though everything was being enveloped in the cold embrace of darkness.