The Begotten Fiend

Chapter 34: Death’s Embrace

His words rattled me to my core. My hairs rose, my body spiked up. "Y-you... what do you mean."

"Exactly what I said." He raised his hand to his chest, flattening it. "Let’s see how you fare against this."

In a single moment, the air went from light to heavy. My entire body dragged down--though this was nothing like Intimidation. No, it wasn’t a skill at all, I could tell that much.

His cold glare, the sirens blaring in my head, warning me of danger. No, this was something else.

This was his bloodlust.

As sweat pearled down my cheeks, I took a step back, grunting from the tightness in my body.

"W-wait..." My words didn’t matter, his quiet steps turned into a full sprint. Mana gathered at the ends of his fingers, forming a sort of mana blade.

And at a single glance I could tell. One touch, and I was dead.

’Zenith, you’re going to have to help me out here.’ Of course, my words fell on deaf ears. It didn’t respond.

This is getting quite annoying. It seems to be more silent than helpful.

Whatever, I don’t need Zenith anyways.

I walked towards Diethard, meeting his assault. "I won’t die here," I said.

I meant it, gritting my teeth. I would embrace his attack in full.

As I broiled my fist over with power, I watched Diethard’s movements carefully. His body was swaying, like he would dip down and pivot into a different direction any minute now.

I’m not entirely sure it was intentional, but it made reading his movements significantly harder.

Still, if there’s anything I know, it’s that the greatest defense is good offense.

When he got within arm’s length, I bent my elbow back, lowering my back foot. Then, transferring all the mana I could muster into my punching arm, I released it all in one movement.

The room lit up with an intense cyclone of mana, cluttering my Mana Sense. My fist had crashed into Diethard--and the floor, with it. Its mana-absorbing tiles clanked, shaking from the force of my fist. frёeωebɳovel.com

But when the air cleared, all that remained was me and my fist.

A gutting, squelching sound came from my stomach. Blood shot from my throat, my body going cold. My vision unfocused, and all the strength I’d just felt disappeared.

What the fuck...?

I wanted to talk, but my throat was drowning in blood. My airways were clogged as well, so I was doing my best just gasping for air.

My heart twisted into a thousand pieces. I can’t talk, I can’t breath, I can’t see, I can’t even move.

I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to see the source of my pain. At the center of my stomach, there was a hand?

No, that wasn’t it. It was going through me.

Diethard had somehow punched his hand through me from behind.

I... I can’t believe it. Is that my stomach?

He pulled himself back, wrenching his hand free.

Empty space filled where my organs once were--blood rushing to occupy it. It gushed out, pulsing like it were being pumped by my heart.

I’m... hemorrhaging...

I think I fell to my knees, and once I did, someone started talking. But it all blurred together.

’Zenith, please... help....’

[Severe damage found. Activating Regeneration.]

"Did I not tell you? If you heal yourself, you leave yourself open to another attack." I could more clearly see that it was Diethard who spoke, standing in front of me. "I suppose it was the only choice you could make, though." freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

He was right. When using a skill, it takes up most of my mental bandwidth. It makes using regeneration, and defending myself virtually impossible.

But I couldn’t tell him that I wasn’t the one who used it.

It took several minutes, but eventually my skin closed, blocking off the blood loss. My body still felt deathly cold, but there wasn’t any time to cry out in discomfort. "Why? Why did you just try to kill me?"

"To give you a taste of what’s to come." Diethard flicked his hand in the air, splattering blood on the ground. "I’ll tell you what. Turn around now, take the proper channels to become an adventurer, and don’t look back."

What he said sounded good. My head--it kept turning to the rabbit, what it did to me. Each time, a cold, spiked pit formed in my chest.

My entire body seized. The pain, the chill, the sense of finality. That is what it meant to die.

But, unlike the last time, I probably won’t be brought back. No, my acquisition of Merciless is what revived me, but here, if I die, that’s it.

My heart pushed against my ribcage, racing. My breath grew uneven, each inhale shorter than the last. I clutched my chest, then my stomach, but it didn’t do anything.

"You’re hyperventilating," Diethard said, crouching down. He held his hand to my shoulder. "Don’t push yourself past what you’re capable of."

Capable of?

That’s it. Those are the words.

Every single day of my life, everybody around me spat at my weakness and cursed my lack of resolve.

Not just father and Illias. Nobles, friends, even...

No, but I’m not talking about her. This is the exact thing I staked my entire life on. My weakness, and how I would burn it, and everything else in this world.

I keep forgetting. The hatred that festers within me. This world that I detest, and the people who I wish were dead.

So it’s exactly that. If death is final, then failure is even worse than death, for it persists far past my life. My name shall forever be ridiculed, just as Lucifer was.

"I won’t quit," I said, smacking his hand away. "I’ll survive whatever it is you throw at me and grow even stronger. To me, you’re just a stepping stone, so I refuse to let you stop me here."

"Hahahaha!" Diethard laughed out, grabbing his belly with both hands. "You’re even more amusing than I’d anticipated!"

Balling both of my hands into fists, I stood up. "Then prepare yourself, because this time, I’m putting you on the defensive--"

What?

Diethard, he’s upside down. And why is he falling?

Wait, no, the world’s spinning now. And that’s--

My body. That’s my body, right there. And yet...

My head isn’t there.