They're… still there. Groaning, clawing at the dirt, staring at me like I'm some kind of monster. And I… I can't. I can't finish them. I just… can't.
Blood smeared everywhere. My hands, my arms, the dirt beneath my boots. Smells like iron and fear. My fists still sting. My body screams at me to stop, to collapse, to do anything but think. And yet… I'm thinking. Too much.
I shouldn't even be alive. One second I was sitting in a classroom, staring at lights and stupid papers. The next… this. Dirt. Blood. Screaming men. And now… silence except for their pathetic whining.
Everything is wrong. The air, the sky, the ground under my feet. Nothing makes sense. Nothing.
And I… I don't know what to do. Can't stay here. Can't go anywhere. Can't kill them, but they'll get up, and then what? Then I die. Or worse. I don't even know what worse looks like here.
I'm not from this world. I don't belong here. And yet… here I am. Alive. Bloody. Terrified.
My head's pounding. My chest burns. I hate this. I hate everything about this place. Everything.
I swallow hard. Dirt and Blood mixed in my mouth. My hands shaking. And still, I can't stop thinking. Can't stop wondering… why me? Why here? Why now?
I glance at the scarred leader. He's sitting on his heels, one hand gripping his sword, the other rubbing a cut across his jaw. He's breathing heavy, angry, alive. And I can't help it—I can't stop the words from escaping.
"Why?" I croak. My voice is rough, broken, but it's there. "Why the hell did you attack me? What did I do?"
The leader blinks, then chuckles, low and bitter.
"Fun," he says simply. "We're bottom feeders. Can't compare to knights or mages, but it doesn't take much effort to do this here. We thought you'd be… convenient."
I raise an eyebrow, chest heaving, and grin—sarcastic, bitter, exhausted. "Convenient, huh? That's why you're on the ground instead of standing tall like some knight?"
He blinks, surprised for half a second. Then his crooked grin returns, uglier than ever. "Lucky you we're lazy. Otherwise…" He shrugs casually. "Well, you wouldn't even be standing right now."
I scowl, tasting blood. "Yeah, lucky. Super lucky. Guess I should thank you for underestimating me, huh?"
He leans back, shaking his head with that twisted grin. "Doesn't matter. Easy's enough. That's all we need. That's us."
I look down at my hands. Blood. Sweat. Dirt. And the sharp, bitter truth slices through the panic: I'm still alive. Somehow. And maybe that's the only thing that matters.
My legs shake when I try to move. Everything is alien—every breath feels thick, every sound too loud, every shadow a threat. I glance at the other men sprawled on the ground. Some clutch wounds, others moan, all of them alive. I should finish them. I should. But I can't. Not today. Not like this.
I wipe blood from my lips. My tongue tastes like iron and dust. The world spins, loud and cruel. I swallow hard, forcing my chest to rise. My fists clench and unclench, useless, itching to act. But I have no idea what to do next.
"Look," I mutter, voice low, hoarse, almost to myself. "I don't know what this place is. I don't know what's real. I don't… I don't know anything. But I'm not—" I swallow hard, heart hammering "—I'm not just going to die here because you feel like it. Not today. Not ever."
The scarred leader watches me struggle to my feet, silent now. No laugh. No comment. Just eyes that judge, that measure. And still… I'm standing. Bloody, exhausted, terrified. But standing.
I stumble a few steps, trying to put distance between myself and them. The ground is uneven, dirt soft in patches, rocks sharp in others. Every step feels like a battle. My legs threaten to give way. But I force them forward. One step. Then another.
The scarred leader leans back slightly, watching me with a crooked grin. His voice is low, calm—but it carries weight.
"You fight… well," he says, almost approvingly. "Better than I expected. If you want to grow, head toward the academy. There, you'll learn what strength really means. Out here… in this wilderness… you wouldn't even know how you died before it happened."
I blinked. Wait. He's… complimenting me? And warning me at the same time? My chest tightens. Confusion mixes with exhaustion. "Academy?" I mutter. "What the hell…?"
"Focus on surviving first," he continues, shrugging, eyes still on me. "Then maybe one day, you'll understand. But out here… you'll be prey before you know it."
I stagger, my voice barely holding together. "Wait… how—how can I go there? The academy… what are the conditions? What do I… have to do?"
He blinks at me, then laughs—sharp, disbelieving, like I just said the stupidest thing in the world. "What the fuck, boy? Did you live under a stone or something?"
I flinch. My chest tightens. "I… I don't know. I've never—"
He cuts me off, shaking his head, eyes flashing. "How far we've fallen… to get a Betan like you by an idiot."
I glance at the fallen men again. Some still twitch, some moan, some stare blankly. I can't—won't—finish them. Not now. I force myself to step around them, careful not to slip in blood, careful not to stumble, careful not to give them any excuse to rise.
The world is spinning. My chest aches. My head throbs. Every nerve screams at me to collapse. But I force one foot in front of the other. One. Then another. Step. Step. Step.
I look back at the leader one last time. He's still watching, eyes calculating, voice quiet but heavy. And despite exhaustion, fear, and confusion… I'm still standing.
Lucky. Maybe not. Maybe just… alive. For now.
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