His escape was chaotic and heavy. It did not look like the retreat of a warrior who knows what he is doing, but like a body refusing to fall even though everything inside it was screaming that it had reached its limit. The ground under his feet was not stable, and even the air felt unusually dense, entering his chest with difficulty, as if this world refused to even grant him the right to breathe. Yet he kept moving forward, driven by something deeper than will… an old instinct, the instinct of survival that does not think, but only acts.
He tried to summon energy as he was used to, as he had lived with for many years, and as he had controlled until it became a natural extension of his body… but what happened was not just failure, it was clear betrayal. He felt the energy gather for a moment, then break apart as if it suddenly lost cohesion, forming and then slipping from his grasp without real response, as if it no longer recognized him or understood his commands. It was not weakness in control as much as a strange feeling that the very laws he knew no longer worked here.
He finally stopped, not because he wanted to, but because his body forced him to stop. He bent slightly, catching sharp, broken breaths, while his chest rose and fell violently. For a moment, there was no fight and no pursuit, just a man standing in a world he did not understand, feeling that everything he once knew was starting to collapse around him.
In a low, rough voice, his question came out without thinking: "What is happening…? Why are you not obeying me?"
The answer did not delay, but it brought no comfort.
"Initial analysis: the energy laws in this world are unstable or incomplete."
"Local creatures have developed alternative control patterns."
"Conclusion: you are fighting with the wrong rules."
The words entered his mind slowly, but they were heavier than any blow he had just received. He was not weaker than the creature… and not less experienced… but he was simply fighting within a system he did not understand. Every movement, every attempt, every use of energy was based on assumptions that were no longer true here.
His fist tightened without him noticing, and a firm expression appeared on his face, not anger, but a harsh realization. This was no longer a fight of power against power… but understanding against ignorance.
He slowly raised his head, and the sharpness in his eyes returned, a sharpness that had not disappeared despite everything. He was no longer thinking of escape as a solution, because the idea itself had become clear: escape would not save him, it would only delay his end. And if he had to die, it would not be while running without understanding.
When the system spoke again, its tone was practical as usual: "Solution: analyze creature patterns through direct combat."
This time, Ares did not need time to think. He did not argue, hesitate, or search for an easier path. He straightened his body despite the exhaustion and slowly turned toward the direction he came from, toward the same danger that had almost killed him moments ago.
He was not returning because he believed he could win… but because he understood that if he did not learn, he would not even have a chance to escape again.
When he returned to the battlefield, the creature was still there, standing almost in the same place, as if it had not moved since he left. Its eyes fixed on him from the first moment, carrying no excitement or anger, but something closer to cold calm… the calm of a being that knows it is in control.
In that moment, Ares understood something else.
The problem was not the amount of energy… but how it was used.
The creature moved first, with speed that was not exaggerated, but frighteningly precise. Ares tried to respond in the same way he was used to, to summon energy and merge it into his movement… but the result was the same. The energy delayed, deviated, and broke apart before reaching a useful form, causing him to take the hit almost directly, if not for his experience that saved him from a fatal injury.
This time, he did not repeat the mistake.
Instead of trying to force control over the energy, he abandoned it temporarily and moved into close combat, where distances disappear and everything becomes faster and more violent. His movements became more primitive, but in return more precise in timing and angle. He dodged claws at close range, used his body as both offense and defense, and relied on his long experience to create small moments of advantage.
But the creature was no less skilled.
It did not fight with overwhelming power, but with a strange fluidity. Every movement seemed simple, but it changed the course of the clash completely. It did not push energy with force, but let it flow with its movement, as if it were a natural part of it. The result was clear: less effort… and greater effect.
Then came the moment when Ares paid the price.
A single strike. He did not see it clearly, he only felt it when it broke through his defense and hit his arm with enough force for him to hear the sound of the bone breaking. The pain was not instant, it exploded inside him like a shock that shook his vision and made his body lose balance before he was thrown to the ground harshly.
He tried to stand, but his arm no longer responded as it should, and blood began to flow clearly, warm and heavy, reminding him that this was not an injury that could be ignored. This was a blow that, if repeated, would end everything.
And yet… his gaze did not change.
On the contrary, it became more focused.
He started observing instead of attacking, noticing small details he had ignored before: how the creature placed its foot before every movement, how it changed its angle with minimal effort, how the energy moved with it instead of being forced. It was not magic… but understanding.
"Recording in progress."
"Analyzing flow pattern."
With each new exchange, Ares began to adapt slightly, barely noticeable, but real. Less delay, better dodging, and some of his strikes began to land, even if not fully effective. This was not victory… but it was no longer complete defeat.
But his body… could not keep up with this progress.
Pain, bleeding, and exhaustion began to accumulate quickly, and with every passing second, he knew that continuing would mean certain death. When the creature rushed again with a sharper attack, he made his decision.
He moved quickly, using a small moment of opening, and stepped back without trying to confront it. It was not a panicked escape like the first time, but a calculated retreat, a conscious decision to end the fight before it became the end.
He moved away, step by step, until he left the danger zone, his body barely holding him. When he was sure the creature did not follow, he finally allowed himself to stop, leaning against a nearby rock, his breathing heavy again as it was before.
He looked at his broken arm, then at the blood covering his hand, before raising his eyes toward the empty space again.
There was no despair in his gaze… but something else.
Understanding.
"I was not fighting to win…" he muttered in a low but steady voice, "but to delay the moment I fall."
Then he closed his eyes for a moment, not to surrender… but to prepare.