Time resumed with the violence of a snapping bowstring.
Marcus's wind spear, coiled and ready to punch through Aeon's chest, lashed forward with killing force. But instead of finding flesh, it struck something that shouldn't have been possible—a barrier that existed in the space between spaces, made from the concept of endlessness itself.
The compressed air simply... stopped. Not deflected, not absorbed, but halted as if it had struck an immovable object that existed beyond physical law. The wind magic dispersed harmlessly, its energy bleeding away into nothingness.
Marcus stared in shock, his confident sneer replaced by something approaching fear.
"What—how did you—"
But Aeon wasn't listening. The barrier had manifested instinctively, born from desperate need rather than conscious will. He could feel the infinity attribute flowing through him like liquid starlight, ready to be shaped but requiring focus he didn't yet possess.
Move. The barrier won't last forever.
He scrambled to his feet and ran deeper into the forest, his broken body protesting every step. Behind him, Marcus's voice roared with renewed fury.
"Stand still, you little bastard! Face me like a man!"
The sound of pursuit followed immediately—not just footsteps, but the howl of wind magic being woven into something new and terrible.
Aeon risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Marcus moving with inhuman speed, wind currents wrapped around his body like invisible wings. The bandit wasn't just using his magic as a weapon anymore—he was enhancing himself, making his movements faster, his leaps longer, his entire body a projectile powered by supernatural force.
He's learning. Adapting.
A compressed air blade whistled past Aeon's head, close enough to draw blood from his ear. He threw himself sideways, rolling behind a tree just as another projectile shattered bark where he had been standing.
Need a barrier. Need protection.
The thought crystallized into reality—another wall of infinite resistance materialized between him and his attacker. Marcus's next wind blade struck it and vanished into mathematical impossibility.
But the bandit was already moving, circling around the barrier's edge with wind-enhanced speed. Aeon tried to extend the protection, but the effort left him dizzy and nauseous. Creating infinity required more energy than he possessed.
Can't maintain this. Need to run.
He abandoned the barrier and sprinted through the undergrowth, branches tearing at his wounds as he crashed through the forest with Marcus in pursuit. The bandit's laughter echoed behind him, wild and vicious.
"Running won't save you! I can move faster than any slave!"
To prove his point, Marcus launched himself through the air on a cushion of compressed wind, landing directly in Aeon's path. His sword gleamed in the moonlight as he brought it down in a killing arc.
Another barrier snapped into existence, the blade striking infinite resistance and stopping dead. But Marcus was already adapting again, using his wind magic to pivot around the obstacle before Aeon could react.
The pommel of the sword caught him across the temple, sending him sprawling. Stars exploded across his vision as pain drove coherent thought away.
Get up. Move. Barrier. Something.
But Marcus was faster now, enhanced by magic and years of combat experience. Before Aeon could summon another defense, a wind-powered kick caught him in the ribs, lifting him off the ground and sending him tumbling through dead leaves.
He tried to create a barrier, but the bandit was already there, sword raised for another strike. Only desperate rolling saved him from decapitation, the blade carving gouges in the earth where his neck had been.
This isn't working. He's too fast, too experienced.
Another kick, this one powered by enough wind force to crack ribs. Aeon gasped, blood filling his mouth as he struggled to breathe. His vision was starting to tunnel again, but this time from trauma rather than oxygen deprivation.
Marcus grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air with one hand, his wind magic making the feat effortless.
"Clever little rat," the bandit snarled. "Whatever trick you're using, it won't save you. I've been killing awakened slaves for decades. You think you're special because you manifested some defensive barrier?"
The pressure on Aeon's throat increased, cutting off what little air he could manage. But through the haze of approaching unconsciousness, he became aware of something else.
Sound. The distant roar of rushing water.
They had been fighting their way through the forest for several minutes, moving steadily in one direction. And that direction led to—
The ravine.
His memories from this body's time as a slave provided the knowledge. A deep gorge cut through the landscape perhaps a mile from the bandit camp, with steep cliffs and a river running through the bottom. Dangerous enough that even the patrol routes avoided it.
But Aeon was no longer listening to the sound of water. His broken hand had found a sharp stone among the leaf litter, and with the last of his strength, he drove it upward into Marcus's wrist.
The bandit screamed and released his grip, wind magic flaring wildly as pain broke his concentration. Aeon dropped to his feet, gasping for air, but Marcus recovered faster than expected.
"You want to play with sharp objects?" Marcus snarled, raising his sword. "Let me show you how it's done!"
The blade swept across Aeon's chest in a vicious arc, opening a deep gash that ran diagonally from his left shoulder to his right hip. Blood sprayed across the forest floor as Aeon stumbled backward, his vision blurring from pain and blood loss.
The edge. I'm at the edge.
His foot found empty air where solid ground should have been. The ravine stretched behind him, a yawning chasm filled with darkness and the distant sound of rushing water.
Marcus advanced with his sword raised, confident in his victory. "Nowhere left to run, little rat. Time to—"
Aeon made his choice.
Instead of trying to fight, instead of attempting another barrier he wasn't sure he could create, he threw himself backward off the cliff.
Marcus lunged forward, trying to grab him, but caught only empty air. The bandit's eyes widened in shock as he watched his prey choose to fall rather than die by his blade.
"What kind of madman—"
But Aeon was already falling through darkness, the wind rushing past his face as he plummeted toward the sound of water far below. The last thing he saw was Marcus's silhouette against the sky, growing smaller with each passing second.
Then he hit the river with bone-jarring force and disappeared beneath its dark surface.
Above, Marcus stared down into the ravine for a long moment, listening for any sign of life from below. When only silence answered, he sheathed his sword and turned back toward the forest.
The slave was dead. No one could survive that fall.
But as he walked away, he couldn't shake the memory of those eyes—not the terrified gaze of broken property, but the calculating stare of something that had chosen its own fate rather than accept the one offered.
It was probably nothing.
Probably.