Soren barely caught the movement. His instincts were on high alert. He ducked to the right felt the knife graze his shoulder twisted just in time to avoid a second slash and slammed into a column, his shoulder taking the brunt of it, gasping for breath. Denis stepped back, observing with a smile.
"You're getting the hang of it," he said, his tone cheerful. "But not quickly enough." Soren's knees threatened to buckle. He managed to catch himself. Just in the nick of time. He pressed his hand against his ribs. Warm. Wet. Still bleeding. No miracle. No surge of energy. Just pain.
Denis circled around him slowly, like a vulture hovering over a prey that wasn't quite ready to give up the ghost. "You should've stayed in the crowd, mystery boy," he taunted. "I bet you looked pretty cool just standing there. Watching. Judging. Thinking you were above all this chaos."
He crouched down, just a few feet away now. "But here? Down here? You're nothing." He flashed a grin, the knife resting casually in his hand. "You know what makes this fun?"
Soren stayed silent.
Denis leaned in, his voice smooth yet laced with malice:
"You're clever. I can see that. Probably smarter than everyone else in this arena. But none of that matters. Not here. Not when your muscles are too slow, your bones are trembling, and your blood is spilling out faster than your bravery."
Soren felt his grip on consciousness start to slip. He was swaying. His legs felt ready to give way. His body craved to drop. To curl up. To sleep.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
Denis straightened up and sighed, feigning drama. "Well, I did promise to stab you for honor. I just didn't think you'd make it this dull." He stepped forward again, the knife glinting And Soren did the only thing his body still allowed him to do: He ran. Denis had him cornered against a crumbling section of the arena wall. There was nowhere left to escape. The rough stone pressed hard against his back, and he struggled to catch his breath. His vision started to blur at the edges.
"You fought well," Denis said nonchalantly, twirling the bloodied knife in his fingers. "Better than most. But this is where it all ends." Soren didn't budge. He couldn't. The chilling breath of death was creeping up on him again, the same icy grip he remembered. The same eerie silence from the first time he met his end.
His knees buckled. Denis stepped closer, leaning in as if he was about to share a secret. "But don't worry," he whispered, "you'll look great as a corpse."
And then the blade drove in. Right through his chest. Right through his heart. It wasn't dramatic. No grand explosion. No blinding flash. Just the sickening squelch of metal piercing flesh. A gasp. And then, silence. Soren crumpled to the ground. The world tilted. His cheek met the cold floor, and blood spread out beneath him like ink. His heartbeat faded away.
For a fleeting moment just a moment everything felt like it was vanishing.
Like before.
Like last time.
Like the first time he died.
[CORE SKILL: MANIPULATION — ACTIVATING]
A voice echoed in his mind. Not human. Not robotic. Just there, like a thought waiting for its moment.
User has met fatal conditions.
Determining optimal survival ability...
Unlocking: [SECOND ADDITONAL SMALL HEART]
Duration: 5 Minutes
Side Effects: Residual scarring. Phantom nerve pain. Recoil shock upon expiration.
Soren's eyes flew open. His chest felt like it was on fire. Not from the knife but from the sudden, violent awakening of something new. Deep inside, beneath the torn flesh, a second heart roared to life. His blood surged. Muscles twitched. Wounds began to close in jagged, imperfect lines. The pain didn't disappear it transformed. Shifted. Became electric. The world snapped back into focus. Sharper. Faster. Alive.
Denis loomed over him, grinning. "Poor bastard," he said, yanking the knife out with a sickening squelch. "Didn't even scream."
Then he began to kick him. One, two, three stomps. Each strike echoed. Each one intended to shatter. To humiliate. To ridicule.
And then
A hand clutched his ankle. Denis froze. He glanced down. Soren was looking up at him. Not dazed. Not broken. His eyes were like storm glass cold, sharp, and fully alert. "What the" Soren yanked.
Denis stumbled just enough. Then Soren rose. Not with grace. Not with ease. Like a corpse clawing its way out of the grave. He didn't utter a word. He didn't have to. He simply pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into Denis's gut. A thunderous impact. Denis doubled over, eyes wide, air rushing from his lungs as if someone had knocked the breath right out of him.
Soren didn't relent. He charged forward like a machine running on borrowed time, breath ragged, body spilling steam, blood, and adrenaline. Denis hit the ground hard. For the first time, he looked up in bewilderment. "You were dead," he croaked. Soren's voice came out low, like gravel breaking apart. "I was."
Soren gasped for air, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his chest still throbbing as the second heart pounded fiercely beneath his torn skin. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest this sudden surge of life felt less like a blessing and more like a curse. He had ten minutes of borrowed time, and with each passing second, the cost grew heavier.
Denis lay on the ground, struggling to catch his breath, clutching his bruised stomach, his eyes wide and unblinking. The arrogance that had once filled his face was gone, replaced by confusion… and fear. "...You're... still breathing," Denis managed to whisper, his voice hoarse, as if he had just witnessed a ghost clawing its way back from the grave.
Soren didn't respond. He couldn't. Not yet. His limbs felt heavy and clumsy, like a newborn fawn taking its first shaky steps. Each movement sent sharp pangs through his ribs and arms the scars from his healing wounds pulsing with phantom pain. With great effort, he pushed himself up. His gaze remained locked on Denis's steady and unyielding, but there was a flicker of uncertainty behind those eyes. This body wasn't his yet. It felt foreign and strange, and while the core skill had kept him alive, he had no idea how long it would last.
Denis, still sprawled on the blood-slick floor, tried to scramble backward, his eyes darting to the gleaming knife just out of reach. His confidence had crumbled. The hunter had become the hunted, but he was uncertain what that truly meant anymore.
The silence between them stretched out, thick and suffocating, broken only by Soren's slow, uneven breaths and the distant murmur of the crowd, blissfully unaware of the deadly shift in their dance.
Finally, Denis found his voice low, cautious, and cracked. "You... shouldn't be alive." Soren's lips parted, his voice gravelly yet steady. "Neither should you." The weight of those words hung in the air. Neither was eager to make the first move, both waiting for the other to slip up. Soren's second heart beat like a war drum beneath his ribs a countdown, a warning. He had five minutes, five minutes to turn the tide.
His legs shook, but he stood his ground. This wasn't the end. Not yet. The heavy silence of the arena pressed down on them, only interrupted by the distant sound of blood dripping onto the cracked stone. The metallic scent of iron filled the air, mingling with sweat and dust, a stark reminder that death was just a breath away.
Soren's dark, unfocused eyes locked onto Denis's quivering form. Each breath Denis took was a shallow rasp, his body waging war against itself. The second heart thudded relentlessly, a strange rhythm that wasn't his own, echoing in his chest and mind like a maddening drumbeat counting down the moments.
Denis lay sprawled out, one hand weakly pressed against his abdomen, the other reaching out in vain for his fallen knife. His chest heaved in erratic gasps, his sharp features slackening under the weight of disbelief.
Neither man moved. Time seemed to stretch, each second dragging on into eternity as they studied each other predator and prey, hunter and hunted both uncertain of who truly had the upper hand.
Soren's legs trembled as he pushed himself up, muscles quaking beneath torn flesh and fresh scars. His vision blurred at the edges, but his gaze remained steady, unwavering.
Denis shifted slightly, a flicker of desperation flashing in his eyes. He swallowed hard, his voice rough and low. "You don't belong here." Soren's lips twisted into a faint, bitter smile. "Neither do you." They were frozen in that moment two warriors entwined by fate, survival, and the cruel game unfolding around them.
A distant roar from the crowd shattered the stillness, but it felt like it was miles away, a faint echo in a void. Soren's pulse thundered, the second heart's timer ticking down, each beat a reminder that time was both his ally and his executioner. He clenched his fists, knuckles turning white, every part of him itching to move, to fight but for now, he just stood there, wrestling with the storm raging inside him.