Rune of Immortality

It was not a sight of glory or triumph, nor the kind of moment that demanded admiration or awe. When Mathew gave the order, both mages and knights surged forward without hesitation, each of them fully aware that there would be no retreat and no salvation waiting if they failed. Their lives were already wagered the moment they entered this place, and all that remained was to fight.

Mathew's gaze, however, was fixed on only one opponent, the rank-nine monster. If he allowed that creature to roam unchecked, their small group would not even realize when death had come for them.

So, while the chaos erupted around him, the blinding light of spells, the clash of metal on bone, the echo of explosions rolling through the halls, he began to walk toward it with deliberate steps, his focus narrowing until there was nothing left in his mind but that single enemy.

Through the corner of his vision, he caught sight of Joey following him. It would have been comforting to have him close, to share even a portion of that unbearable pressure, but Mathew knew that if the others fell, there would be no one left to stand at all. He raised a hand, pointing toward the mass of enemies filling the room.

"Leave this one to me," he said firmly. "Help the others."

Joey hesitated for a brief moment, as if searching for a reason to refuse, but then he gave a short nod. The runes behind him flared into sharp brilliance, and with a single motion they unleashed a barrage of energy into the horde ahead, the air trembling from the force.

Mathew turned back to the monster. Its eyes had found him, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then its mouth opened into a smile, far too wide, too human to belong to something so grotesque.

A shiver crawled through him despite his attempts to hold steady. His grip on the katana slackened slightly, his breath caught in his throat, and the clamor of battle around him seemed to fade until all that remained was the sound of his own heart, beating hard and fast.

When the creature took its first step toward him, slow but deliberate, he felt the instinctive pull of terror seize his body. Every nerve screamed for him to step back, to turn away and flee before that thing reached him, to survive rather than stand. His body understood the danger better than his pride did.

Yet, even through the fear, a strange smile began to spread across his face. This feeling, the trembling of his limbs, the weight pressing down on his chest, the thrill that bordered on madness, this was what he had been chasing. That moment when life hung by a thread so thin that it might snap at any instant. That sharp, intoxicating rush that came only from the edge of death itself. He had missed this. He had craved it.

"Come at me!" he shouted, his voice raw and eager, and then he broke into a sprint, his katana low at his side, its edge ready to rise in a single fluid motion the instant he reached striking distance.

But he never reached it.

In the blink of an eye, the monster was there before him, its speed blinding, its arm already raised, the veins beneath its skin bulging with tension, muscles coiled and ready to strike. The space between them vanished in less than a breath, and Mathew felt the world narrow once more, just him, the creature, and the single blow that would decide who survived the next second.

Mathew barely had time to raise his sword before the blow came crashing down. His blade met the creature's fist in mid-swing, the impact jarring through his arms like a surge of electricity. The katana flared crimson as its enchantment activated, heat radiating from its surface while he poured his own aura into the steel, feeding the weapon with everything he could muster.

When the two forces collided, the ground beneath his feet cracked from the strain, and though every muscle in his body screamed in protest, Mathew somehow managed to hold his footing, standing locked against the monster in a moment that felt stretched beyond time.

The beast's mouth opened, releasing a string of sounds that were almost words, guttural and harsh, spoken in a tongue that seemed wrong to even hear. Mathew didn't understand, and in truth he didn't care to, whatever it was saying wasn't meant for him. Instead, he leaned forward, pushing with every ounce of strength he had left, driven by the fragile thought that maybe, just maybe, he could hold his ground against it.

But reality was less forgiving. The difference between ranks, the gulf he had always known existed, was simply too vast. The monster tensed, its muscles swelling beneath its pale, veined skin, green energy pulsing faintly beneath the surface, and the balance between them shattered in an instant. Its strength surged, irresistible and crushing, and Mathew felt himself being forced backward, his wrists twisting under the pressure, his bones groaning as if on the verge of splintering.

He gritted his teeth, his breath coming in short bursts, the strain spreading through his shoulders and down to his legs. The power pressing against him was inhuman, overwhelming, and yet he refused to yield.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

A deep, guttural roar tore from his throat as he forced his aura outward, the air around him distorting from the sheer force of it, every fiber of his being pushed to its absolute limit. For a fleeting moment he managed to stop the retreat, his sword locked once again against the monster's arm, the clash frozen in a fragile equilibrium.

His hands trembled violently. His vision blurred. His body screamed for rest. 'It's only been a few seconds,' he thought, the realization bringing a sharp mix of despair and exhilaration. The gap between them was insurmountable, and yet his pulse quickened with a strange, dangerous excitement, the kind that only came when standing on the knife's edge between life and death.

With no better option, Mathew invoked his aura aspect. At once the temperature around him spiked, his blade glowing brighter, the heat so intense it shimmered in the air like a mirage. He doubted it would do much, but even a moment's distraction might shift the tide. He forced his gaze upward, watching the creature for any sign of reaction, any flicker of discomfort that he could exploit.

"Ah," he muttered under his breath, the faintest trace of frustration crossing his face, "it seems I was being too hopeful."

There was no change. The creature stood unfazed, its expression almost mocking in its stillness. The heat that should have seared through flesh did nothing, confirming what he had already begun to suspect, these things possessed some kind of natural resistance to both fire and heat.

Realizing the futility, Mathew drew his aura back in, extinguishing both enchantment and aspect, and redirected everything he had left into raw strength. If finesse and flame would not suffice, then only force remained.

It opened its mouth once more, releasing another stream of incomprehensible sounds, a guttural chorus of syllables that twisted through the air like broken language. Mathew didn't need to understand the words; the expression on its face, the faint, crooked smile that carried a trace of mockery was clear enough to tell him what it meant.

"Hah… hahahaha! Yes!" Mathew shouted, voice raw and exhilarated, "this is a fight worth dying for!" He leapt backward, the sudden motion creating just enough distance to react, though not nearly enough to escape. The creature's massive hand shot forward, gripping the front of his shirt with crushing force and yanking him toward it like a ragdoll, its other arm already drawn back, fist clenched and aimed straight at his face.

He barely had time to raise his katana before the impact landed. The blow crashed into his face with bone-shattering weight; he heard, rather than felt, the sharp crack of his nose, tasted the iron tang of blood as a few teeth flew loose, his vision flashing white from the pain.

His head rang, his balance faltered, but through the haze he smiled, wild and defiant as his sword moved on instinct, carving a burning line across the creature's face, the edge biting from one eye to the other in a single, precise stroke.

The monster's response was immediate and piercing. It screamed, a sound that tore through the air like a physical force, throwing Mathew backward as it staggered and raised both hands to its head, blood streaming down its face. He was sent crashing into a nearby bookshelf, the wooden frame refusing to yield under the collision. The impact drove the air from his lungs; his back flared with pain so intense he thought for a moment that something had snapped, though he knew it hadn't.

He slid down to the floor with a heavy thud, his body aching from head to toe. Even then, his fingers never loosened their grip on the katana's hilt. Using the blade like a cane, he forced himself to his feet, the effort slow and deliberate, his breath uneven.

Ahead, the creature writhed, still clutching at its head, its pale hands slick with its own blood. Mathew began to move toward it, one unsteady step at a time, his legs heavy and trembling, yet driven forward by the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

"Come on," he muttered, voice hoarse but tinged with excitement, "you can't stop now… let's fight, more, and more…" His grin widened as he spoke, unrelenting and almost feverish, the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

By the time he stood before it, the creature's screaming had faded. Slowly, it turned its head toward him. Even though its eyes should have been blinded by the cut, Mathew felt its gaze, sharp and filled with a hatred so pure it seemed to burn through the air between them.

"Come at me!" Mathew shouted, his voice raw and filled with a strange mixture of pain and exhilaration as he raised his katana once more, the blade trembling faintly in his hands.

"Fight… more… die."

The words came from the creature, and for a brief instant Mathew froze, not because of fear but because of how human it sounded. Its voice, though rough and guttural, carried a disturbingly normal cadence, and what unsettled him most was that it had spoken their language, something he was sure it shouldn't have been capable of.

Before he could even process the thought, it lunged forward, both hands thrust out in a blur of movement. Mathew barely managed to sidestep the strike, feeling one of its hands brush against his side as he twisted away. He exhaled sharply, thinking he had escaped, but then an agonizing pain erupted across his ribs.

He staggered, looking down in confusion, and the answer revealed itself in an instant. The creature's blood, smeared across its hands, had burned through his clothes and was now eating into his flesh, searing through muscle and skin alike. The smell of burning cloth and flesh filled the air, sharp and suffocating.

Before he could even react, the monster was already upon him. Both of its hands came down on his back with brutal force, pressing him against the cold floor. He screamed as the corrosive blood spread, the pain unlike anything he had ever felt. His back felt as if it were dissolving, layer by layer, the molten sting crawling up his spine.

"Die… die… die… die…" it repeated, the words distorted and hollow, like a chant uttered by something that only half-understood their meaning. Mathew thrashed beneath it, his vision blurring from the pain, until suddenly something struck the creature from behind, a burst of power, raw and violent that sent it flying off his body.

He gasped for air, only half aware of the hands gripping him and pulling him up. The world spun in a haze of pain and noise as whoever had caught him began to run.

Mathew turned his head weakly, his blurred vision focusing just enough to catch a flash of orange hair and a face streaked with sweat and ash.

"Joey…" he managed to whisper, his voice cracking, "what about the rest?"

"Dead," Joey replied, the word quiet but final, his expression hard and distant as he kept running, the sound of the monster's furious screeches echoing behind them like a chorus of dying ghosts.