Arthur's mind worked twice as fast as his body.
Straight charges. Short recovery. Full commitment when they used the skill.
He took a slow step back, careful, deliberate.
The skeleton lunged.
Arthur dove sideways, then pushed forward as the creature rushed past him. He drove the dagger upward, forcing it into the base of the skull where bone met spine. The blade jammed deep and stuck.
The skeleton froze.
Then it collapsed, bones losing tension all at once.
Arthur wrenched the dagger free and staggered back, chest heaving as air tore in and out of his lungs.
"Two," he muttered. He swallowed. "Maybe three left."
His legs shook beneath him.
This body was reaching its limit. No mana. No reinforcement. No strength beyond raw muscle and stubborn refusal. Every movement felt heavier than the last.
Another skeleton charged.
Arthur twisted aside.
Another followed immediately.
Then another.
Too fast.
His mind tracked the patterns, saw the openings, but his body lagged behind. A blade sliced across his thigh. Pain flared hot and sharp, stealing his breath. He hissed and nearly lost his footing.
"Damn it," he snarled.
He blocked one strike. Barely redirected another. Then something slammed into his shoulder with crushing force.
The world spun.
Arthur crashed to the stone floor.
A shadow loomed over him.
He tried to roll away, but pain locked his body in place. His muscles refused to answer. A sword rose overhead, aimed straight for his chest.
Time stretched thin.
So this was it.
The betrayal on Earth flashed through his mind. The moment of hesitation. The familiar face. The gunshot. The darkness that followed.
Not again.
"I didn't come this far to die like this," he growled.
His hands shook as he raised the dagger.
The sword came down.
Clang.
The impact ripped the dagger from his grip. It skidded across the stone, spinning out of reach.
Arthur gasped as another blade slammed into his side. Pain exploded through him, blinding and deep. Warmth spread beneath his shirt.
Blood.
A third strike caught him across the ribs and sent him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, breath ripped from his lungs.
He coughed.
The taste of iron filled his mouth.
His vision blurred, edges fading in and out.
The skeletons closed in, blades raised, movements steady and unhurried.
Arthur lay there, chest rising and falling in short, broken breaths. He stared up at the gray ceiling of the dungeon.
"So this is how it ends," he muttered weakly.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his sight.
But something inside him refused to go quiet.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't anger.
It was intent.
A single, burning thought that refused to fade.
Survive.
As the skeletons stepped closer, Arthur's body finally gave up.
That was the simple truth.
His arms felt like they were filled with sand, heavy and useless. His legs no longer responded when he tried to move them. Every breath scraped painfully through his lungs, shallow and uneven, as if his chest no longer remembered how breathing was supposed to work.
He tried to lift his head.
Nothing.
Tried to curl his fingers.
Still nothing.
Darkness pressed closer, thick and slow, swallowing sound and thought alike. His awareness wavered, slipping in and out, each moment heavier than the last.
So this is dying, he thought distantly.
No drama. No final stand. Just the body deciding it was done.
But even as his flesh failed him, something deeper refused to lie down.
I can't end like this.
The thought came again and again, raw and stubborn.
His body had reached its limit.
His will had not.
That part of him still burned, ugly and alive, clawing at the edge of consciousness.
He didn't care how he survived.
He didn't care what it took.
He just refused to stop.
This was supposed to be the moment people talked about. The point where fear broke and talent bloomed. Where classes awakened and skills formed in a flash of light and meaning.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
No warmth.
No surge.
No sudden understanding.
Fate, it seemed, had nothing prepared for him.
Not yet.
A weight pressed down on his chest.
Through his blurred vision, Arthur saw white shapes leaning over him. Skeletons. Their hollow faces hovered close, movements slow and deliberate.
They weren't rushing anymore.
They didn't finish him.
A skeletal foot pressed against his ribs, testing the pressure. A sword tip traced lightly along his neck, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
They were watching him.
Enjoying it.
Arthur let out a weak, broken laugh.
"Figures," he whispered. "Even monsters like a show."
The blade struck.
Pain exploded across his neck. His head snapped violently to the side. His vision flared white, then blurred again, but he didn't lose consciousness. The world swayed, stretched thin, yet refused to disappear.
At the same time, screams echoed through the dungeon.
They overlapped and tangled, frantic and raw. Steel rang against bone. Flesh tore. Something wet splattered against the stone nearby.
The dungeon had fully come alive.
Somewhere beyond Arthur's fading awareness, groups of non-awakeners were breaking apart under pressure. Whatever unity they had tried to build shattered the moment death bared its teeth.
Cries rose and cut off abruptly. Orders were shouted, then drowned by panic. Footsteps ran past him, some heavy, some frantic, some never returning.
A corridor not far away erupted into chaos. Voices screamed as a defensive line collapsed. The clatter of bones followed, fast and merciless.
Another desperate voice begged for help.
The answer was the sound of a body hitting the ground.
Then the wet crunch that followed.
Those who ran alone fared no better. Skeletons were faster. Tireless. Arthur could somehow hear them surround their prey, hear steel pierce flesh, hear breath turn into choking silence.
Bones piled up.
Blood soaked the stone floor.
It was despair made real.
And yet, even in the middle of it, something else happened.
Arthur couldn't see it, but he felt the change.
A sudden shockwave rippled through the dungeon air. A sharp, unfamiliar hum followed, then a sound that wasn't steel or bone. A scream of disbelief. Footsteps that ran without faltering.
Elsewhere, mana surged violently. Heat washed through the air for a brief moment. Cracking sounds followed, then the collapse of burning skeletons. Laughter broke through sobs, wild and unsteady.
Awakenings.
They were few.
Scattered.
Born from desperation.
Arthur lay where he was, unable to move, unable to join them.
Lucky bastards, he thought, without bitterness.
A kick slammed into his side.
Pain flared again, sharp and grounding, dragging him fully back to the present.
The skeletons shifted their attention, flickering between him and fresher prey nearby. One pressed a foot down on his wrist, grinding bone against bone.
Arthur clenched his teeth.
He was still alive.
And as long as he was alive—
He wasn't done yet.
A/N:
If you've read this far, please Add to Library.. and enjoy amazing adventure!
It might start out slow, but it's all preparation for the outside world.
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