The first strike came faster than Aeron anticipated. The man's blade sliced through the air with deadly precision, and Aeron barely managed to stumble backward. The sharp edge grazed his arm, drawing blood that quickly seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Pain shot through him, but it was the searing clarity that saved him. His mind worked quickly, analyzing the man's movements, the rhythm of his attacks, and the limits of the frail body he inhabited.
"This body isn't meant for combat," he realized, his breath coming in short gasps. The man, towering and relentless, seemed to revel in the hunt.
But Aeron wasn't just fighting the opponent-he was fighting his own instincts. The instincts to run, to give in to the overwhelming terror coursing through him.
The man lunged again, and Aeron sidestepped, his heart hammering in his chest. The heavy blade slammed into the ground, sending up a spray of dirt and debris.
Aeron seized the moment, his hands fumbling for anything he could use as a weapon. His fingers closed around a jagged piece of stone, small but sharp enough to cause damage.
The man turned, his helmet catching the dim light of the arena. "You think that will save you?" he growled, his voice deep and mocking.
Aeron didn't reply. Instead, he surged forward, using his smaller size to his advantage. The man's blade came up in a wide arc, but Aeron ducked under it, slamming the stone into the gap between the man's armor plates.
A roar of pain echoed through the arena, and Aeron stumbled back, gasping for air. Blood dripped from the man's side, staining the ground.
The man's movements grew erratic, his attacks wild and uncalculated. Aeron used every ounce of his mental prowess to stay ahead, anticipating strikes and exploiting openings.
But his body was failing. His breaths were ragged, his muscles screaming in protest. Each movement felt like dragging himself through tar.
The man charged, shoulder-first, and Aeron couldn't move in time. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, the air knocked from his lungs. The man loomed over him, raising his blade for the final strike.
"Do something!" The voice in Aeron's head was sharp, commanding. It wasn't his own, but the system-the book that had pulled him into this nightmare.
Summoning the last dregs of his strength, Aeron rolled to the side just as the blade came down, embedding itself in the dirt. With a cry of desperation, he thrust the jagged stone upward, plunging it into the man's exposed neck.
The man froze, his eyes wide with shock. Blood spurted from the wound as he gurgled, dropping his blade and collapsing to the ground.
Aeron didn't wait to see him die. He crawled away, his entire body trembling.
The arena grew silent, save for Aeron's ragged breathing. The crimson light dimmed, and the voice returned, calm and indifferent.
"You survived. Well done."
Aeron forced himself to his feet, every step an agony. He stumbled toward the exit gates, which creaked open slowly.
The voice came again, colder this time.
"Leave. Collapse here, and you will not rise again."
Clutching his side, Aeron dragged himself through the gates, his vision blurring. The world beyond the arena was a chaotic sprawl of narrow alleys and distant shouts.
His legs buckled, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward. Step by agonizing step, he moved away from the arena until his body gave out.
As darkness claimed him, the system's voice whispered faintly in his mind.
"You lived today. Don't waste it."