Lazarus's eyes opened to darkness, the faint smell of wet limestone and moss filling his nose. He stretched, stiff from the night, feeling the cave's uneven floor beneath him.
He pushed himself up and walked out, blinking and covering his eyes from the blinding sunlight. The warmth hit his face, sharp and instant, and he then drew a slow, steady breath.
Lazarus: "Only two hours left…" he muttered to himself.
A bush nearby caught his eye, its branches heavy with small, dark berries. He walked over and started picking them carefully, one by one, chewing slowly. Sweet, tangy, a small comfort amidst the chaos. He let the taste linger, savoring it, feeling almost human again for a moment.
The forest waited, alive and indifferent. He ate the last of the berries and began walking through the trees, staying alert of any dangers. Every snap of a twig made him pause, every rustle made him scan the area.
He let out a quiet breath and kept moving forward. Step by step.
The first warmth of the morning brushed against Lya's face, though her wind barrier still flickered faintly around her, whispering of the Essenz she had burnt to survive the night. Her body ached, her reserves nearly empty. She closed her eyes for a few moments, thankful that she had not been attacked during the night grateful for the relative calm.
She rose, careful, testing her strength. Her makeshift bandages, made from pieces of her clothes, torn and dirtied from minor cuts, needed cleaning. She crouched by a small stream, splashing the cold water over her face, letting it wash away the grime and sweat. Her fingers worked methodically, straightening the fabric and tying knots as neatly as possible.
She hummed, while listening to the distant cries of birds, the buzzing of insects, the rustle of leaves in the wind. Her body felt heavy, her Essenz thin, but she quickly patched up her wounds once more and forced herself onward. Each step measured and cautious, conserving the energy she barely had left.
Zephyr's world was a blur of motion and pain. Blood coated his arms, his face, his chest, dripping from his hair. Every muscle ached, every joint burned. The opponent in front of him pressed relentlessly, however Zephyr ignored the pain, he couldn't afford to. He was nearing his limit and even the slightest mistake could cost him his life.
A strike tore across his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and blinked away the stars that danced across his vision. He didn't flinch. He couldn't.
Zephyr: 'Lightning Core: Heartstrike."
He formed his fingers into a gun gesture. A bolt of pure, blinding lightning shot forward, arcing across the clearing. It struck the opponent square in the chest. The man convulsed, foam spilling from his mouth, and then lay still.
Zephyr exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth.
Zephyr: "13 down." He muttered, voice rough, raw with exhaustion. His eyes traveled down to his bruised hands, smeared red and purple with blood and dirt. He flexed his fingers experimentally, ignoring the pain, then finally glanced up.
The sky was lighter now. Sunlight pierced through the trees, illuminating leaves and branches.
Zephyr: "Oh… it's morning."
The weight of the night pressed against him, a reminder of hours spent fighting, moving, and surviving. A night of no rest.
Zephyr: "This event should be over now… guess I should make my way over to the start."
He began walking slowly, each step careful, and deliberate. His body protested, but his mind pushed forward.
The three moved through the same forest, different paths, separate yet connected by the same danger, the same goal: survival.
The sunlight climbed higher, shadows shortening, the first warmth of day scattering the night's fear.
And all four, Lazarus, Aron, Lya, and Zephyr, moved forward, toward the inevitable end of the first event.