Arthur's mind worked twice as fast.
Straight charges. Short recovery. They commit fully when using the skill.
He baited the next attack, stepping back deliberately.
And the skeleton took it.
Arthur dove to the side, then lunged forward as the creature overshot. He stabbed upward, driving the dagger into the base of its skull. The blade jammed, stuck fast.
And the skeleton went limp.
Arthur yanked the dagger free and stumbled back, chest heaving.
"Two," he muttered. "Maybe three left."
His legs trembled.
This body was failing him. No mana. No reinforcement. Just flesh and stubbornness.
Another skeleton charged. Arthur dodged. Another followed immediately. Then another.
Too fast.
His mind kept up but his body lagged. A blade sliced his thigh. He hissed and nearly fell.
"Damn it," he snarled.
He blocked one strike, barely redirected another, then felt something slam into his shoulder. The world spun.
He crashed to the ground.
A shadow loomed.
Arthur tried to roll but pain locked his body in place. A sword descended, aimed straight for his chest.
Time slowed.
So this was it.
He thought of the betrayal on Earth. The moment he had hesitated. The bullet. The darkness.
Not again.
"I didn't come this far to die like this," he growled.
He raised his dagger with shaking hands.
As the sword struck.
Clang!.
The impact tore the dagger from his grip and sent it skidding across the stone.
Arthur gasped as another blade slammed into his side. Pain exploded through him. He felt warmth spreading under his shirt.
Blood.
A third strike caught him across the ribs and flung him backward. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him.
He coughed and tasted iron.
His vision blurred.
The skeletons closed in, blades raised.
Arthur lay there, chest heaving, staring up at the gray ceiling of the dungeon.
"So this is how it ends," he muttered weakly.
But even as darkness crept at the edges of his vision, something inside him refused to go quiet.
Not fear. Not anger.
But Intent.
A single, burning thought.
Survive.
As the skeletons stepped even closer.
Arthur's body had given up.
That was the simple truth.
His arms felt like they were filled with sand, heavy and useless. His legs no longer listened when he tried to move them. Every breath scraped his lungs, shallow and uneven, as if his chest no longer remembered how breathing worked.
He tried to lift his head.
Nothing.
Tried to curl his fingers.
Still nothing.
Darkness pressed in from the edges of his vision, thick and slow, swallowing sound and thought alike. His awareness wavered, threatening to slip, each second heavier than the last.
So this is dying, he thought distantly.
No drama. No last stand. Just the body deciding it was done.
But even as his flesh failed him, something else refused to lie down.
I can't end like this.
The thought came again and again, stubborn and raw.
His body had reached its limit, but his will hadn't. That part of him still burned, ugly and alive, clawing at the edge of consciousness.
He didn't care how he survived.
He didn't care what it took.
He just refused to stop.
This was the moment people talked about. The point where fear broke and talent bloomed. Where classes awakened and skills formed in a flash of light and meaning.
He waited for it.
But nothing came.
No warmth. No surge. No sudden understanding.
Fate, it seemed, had nothing planned for him. Not yet.
A weight pressed down on his chest.
Arthur's blurred vision caught white shapes looming over him. Skeletons. Their hollow faces leaned close, movements slow and deliberate now.
They weren't rushing anymore.
For some reason, they didn't finish him.
A skeletal foot pressed against his ribs, testing. A sword tip traced along his neck, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
They were watching him.
Enjoying it.
Arthur wanted to laugh. The sound came out as a weak rasp.
"Figures," he whispered. "Even monsters like a show."
The blade struck.
Pain exploded across his neck and his head snapped violently to the side. His vision flared white, then blurred, but he did not lose consciousness. The world swayed, stretched thin, yet stubbornly remained.
At the same time, screams echoed through the dungeon, overlapping and frantic. Steel rang against bone. Flesh tore. Something wet splattered against stone nearby.
The dungeon had fully come alive.
Somewhere beyond Arthur's knowledge, groups of non awakeners were breaking apart under pressure. Whatever unity they had tried to build shattered the moment death showed its teeth.
Cries rose and cut off abruptly. Orders were shouted, then drowned in panic. Footsteps ran past him, some heavy, some frantic, some never returning.
A corridor not far away erupted into chaos. Voices screamed as a line collapsed. The clatter of bones followed, fast and merciless.
Another desperate cry begged for help, answered only by the sound of a body hitting the ground and the wet crunch that followed.
Solo runners fared no better. Skeletons were faster. Tireless. Arthur could somehow hear them surround their prey, hear steel pierce flesh, hear breath turn into choking silence.
Bones piled up.
Blood soaked the floor.
It was despair made real.
And yet, in the middle of it, miracles happened.
Arthur couldn't see them, but he heard and felt the change when it came.
A sudden shockwave rippled through the dungeon air. A sharp, unfamiliar hum followed by a burst of sound that wasn't steel or bone. A scream of disbelief, then running footsteps that didn't falter.
Elsewhere, mana surged violently. Heat washed briefly through the air, followed by cracking sounds and the collapse of burning skeletons. Laughter broke through sobs, wild and unhinged.
Awakenings.
They were few, scattered. Born from desperation.
Arthur lay where he was, unable to join them.
Lucky bastards, he thought without bitterness.
Another kick slammed into his side. Pain flared, sharp and grounding, dragging him fully back to the present.
The skeletons shifted again, their attention flickering between him and fresher prey nearby. One pressed a foot against his wrist, grinding bone against bone.