"If this is the way I'm going to die, I'll take you with me and die a marvelous death!"
The words left his mouth, raw and defiant. But something inside him wouldn't let them become action.
His fingers loosened. The sword slipped from his grip, clattering against the cobblestones. His knees buckled. He fell forward, catching himself on his palms, gasping as his body betrayed him.
He knew what it was. His Flaw, surfacing at the worst possible moment.
He had used too much Auser. Every drop, every scrap of essence that kept his body functioning, poured into that final enchantment. Now his reserves were empty—a dry well with only dust at the bottom. His sword lay inches away, still glowing with the light he had poured into it, but he couldn't reach it.
His arm wouldn't move.
'Idiot!' he screamed at himself. 'You just used all of your Auser!'
The Calizans rushed toward him. Not just the two—he saw more now, their forms blurring through his fading vision. Elara's arrows flew past him, striking one in the shoulder, then another. But the beasts didn't slow. They didn't even seem to notice.
But they didn't attack him.
They ran past him.
'What?' Eugene's mind struggled to process. 'What is happening?'
The Calizans ignored him completely. Their claws, their teeth, their hunger—all of it aimed at the Pathwalkers behind him. The ones who were still standing. The ones who had survived this long.
He tried to understand, but his thoughts were unraveling. His heart pounded against his ribs like a caged animal. Heat radiated from his skin, waves of it, as if his body was burning from the inside out. He could feel his own temperature rising, rising, threatening to consume him.
But there was no time to think about his body. No time to wonder why the monsters had spared him.
The Pathwalkers behind him were dying.
Elara loosed arrow after arrow, her movements desperate. Another Pathwalker—a swordsman Eugene didn't recognize—was backing away, his blade raised, his face pale with exhaustion.
The Calizans circled them, patient now, savoring the hunt.
A thought surfaced in Eugene's burning mind.
'What if...?'
He grabbed his sword.
His fingers closed around the hilt. The light was still there, bright and terrible, humming with the essence he had poured into it. His body screamed in protest—heat, pain, paralysis clawing at his limbs—but he forced himself up.
Not standing. Not yet. But up.
"Bring them to me!" he shouted.
The Pathwalkers who were engaged in the battle heard him. Confusion flickered across their faces. They didn't understand. Why would he want the monsters brought closer? What could he possibly do in this state?
But they didn't have time to question.
Elara caught his eye. Something passed between them—understanding, or maybe just desperation, a desperate need for survival. She nocked an arrow and loosed it at the nearest Calizan. The shot grazed its leg, drawing a thin line of blood. The beast turned, growling.
The swordsman lunged, his blade scoring a shallow wound across the creature's chest. Not enough to kill. Enough to anger.
The Calizan charged after them.
The rest of them battled the remaining Pathwalkers.
They ran—Elara and the swordsman, leading the beast straight toward Eugene. Past him. Standing now, sword raised, light blazing.
The other Calizan followed. Two of them now, blind with rage, focused on the prey that had wounded them.
They lunged.
Eugene poured everything into his sword. The light intensified, brighter than the sun, casting the plaza in stark black and white. The Pathwalkers behind him felt it—a warmth that wasn't heat, a calm that cut through the chaos. For one frozen moment, there was no fear. No pain. Just light.
'12 seconds.'
The Calizans' claws reached for Elara and the swordsman.
Eugene swung.
His sword was a thrusting blade, designed for precision, not power. But he swung it like a cleaver, putting every ounce of strength into the arc. The light followed the blade, a crescent wave of pure essence that tore through the air.
It caught both Calizans across the chest.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then their chests exploded.
Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, painting the cobblestones black. The upper halves of the beasts flew backward, separate from their lower bodies, crashing against the ground in a tangle of limbs and viscera.
Then whispers flowed into his ears:
[Congratulations. You have slain a Grade 7 Awakened monster, Calizan.]
[Congratulations. You have slain a Grade 7 Awakened monster, Calizan.]
And moments later he heard another whisper, different this time rather than congratulating.
[You have received a boon by slaying a Grade 7 Awakened monster, Calizan.]
Eugene didn't hear the notifications except the last one. His world had narrowed to a single point: the ground rushing up to meet him.
He collapsed.
His sword clattered beside him. His body was on fire—no, worse than fire. Fire consumed. This was his own flesh turning against him, every nerve screaming, every muscle locked in place. His heart pounded so fast he couldn't count the beats. His vision swam with spots of black and white.
Paralysis took him.
His Flaw. Finally. Completely.
He lay on the cold stone, staring at the sky, watching the notifications fade from his vision.
'7 seconds.'
"Auser," he whispered. The word barely left his lips.
Elara understood.
She dropped to her knees beside him, pressing her palm against his back. The swordsman followed, his hand joining hers. Their essence flowed into him—not much. Auser exchange was never efficient. The transfer was clumsy, wasteful; only a fraction of what they gave would reach him.
But it was enough.
Moments passed, each one stretching into what felt like hours. The heat in his body began to ease. The pounding of his heart slowed, fraction by fraction. The paralysis loosened its grip on his muscles.
Elara looked up at the remaining Pathwalkers—the ones still fighting, still surviving.
"Hold them off!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "The rest of you, keep the monsters distracted! We can win this wave! Push forward now!"
The Pathwalkers heard her. Something shifted in them—not just duty, not just desperation. Hope. The kind of hope that came from seeing someone refuse to die.
They charged.
Eugene felt his strength returning, just enough. "This is enough. Thanks!"
Elara and the swordsman released their hands and rushed toward the Pathwalkers to help them in battle.
Eugene sat up slowly, using the dead Calizan behind him for support. His body was weak, his limbs heavy, but he was alive. He leaned against the corpse, grimacing at the warmth of the blood seeping into his clothes.
'Gross.'
But he needed the rest. He watched as Elara rejoined the fray, her bow singing as she loosed arrow after arrow. The swordsman was beside her, his blade finding openings Eugene couldn't have seen moments ago.
The remaining Calizans—three of them, wounded and scattered—met the charge. Blades clashed. Arrows flew. The Pathwalkers fought with something Eugene hadn't seen in them before: purpose.
After a while, Eugene raised his head. The world was still blurry at the edges, his body still weak, but his vision cleared enough to see the plaza.
Elara was in the thick of it.
She moved through the chaos with a grace he hadn't noticed before—bow raised, arrows flying, her feet finding purchase on blood-slicked stone without hesitation. The swordsman who had helped him fought beside her, his blade carving arcs of steel through the air. Together, they held the line against the remaining Calizans.
And they weren't losing.
Eugene watched, bewildered. These were the same Pathwalkers who had been moments from breaking. The same faces that had been pale with fear, hands trembling, voices cracked with desperation. Now they stood firm. Now they fought like people who had something to prove.
Something had awakened in them. Not power. Not skill. Something deeper.
Courage? Perhaps. But it felt like more than that. Eugene had seen courage before—the sharp, fleeting kind that came before a charge or a sacrifice. This was different. This was steady. Unwavering.
Hope.
He saw it in the way Elara's hands no longer shook. In the way the swordsman planted his feet and met each attack head-on. In the way the others rallied around them, covering each other's backs, fighting not as individuals but as something united.
They had hope. The hope to survive. The hope to fight. The hope to live.
And that hope was carrying them through.
Eugene allowed himself a small, exhausted smile.
In the distance, engines rumbled.
'Reinforcements,' Eugene thought. 'Finally.'
Armored vehicles screeched to a halt at the plaza's edge. Pathwalkers spilled out—fresh, armed, ready. They joined the fray without hesitation, their numbers overwhelming the remaining Calizans.
Minutes later, the second wave was over.
Eugene let his head fall back against the dead Calizan behind him. The blood was still warm, still wet. He grimaced.
'Uhh. Gross.'
But he was alive. They were alive.
He closed his eyes and focused on recovery. His Endowment—the one thing his Flaw hadn't taken from him—let him restore his Auser faster than most. The essence trickled back, drop by drop, filling the empty well.
When he opened his eyes again, the plaza was quiet. Bodies lay everywhere—Pathwalkers and Calizans alike. The survivors moved among them, checking for signs of life, calling for healers.
Elara stood a few meters away, speaking with one of the reinforcements. Her bow was slung across her back, her hands finally still.
Eugene forced himself upright, using the dead Calizan as support.
The rift still hovered above the plaza.
The Rift Master was next.
He looked at the swirling blue wound in reality and prayed silently to gods he wasn't sure existed anymore.
'Please. Don't let it be strong.'
The rift pulsed, waiting.