Chapter 73: Deja Vu
Chapter 73: Deja Vu
The nonstop pinging was the only thing keeping him alive.
[+1 Vitality]
[+1 Vitality]
[+1 Vitality]
The notifications pulsed in the corner of his vision, a relentless rhythm that matched the frantic hammer of his heart.
Each ping was a heartbeat the poison was trying to steal. Each point of vitality was a thread keeping him tethered to the world.
But the threads were fraying. The poison was spreading faster than the system could fight it. Blood poured from his nose, his ears, his eyes—thick and dark and wrong, spilling down his face in rivulets that dripped onto the blood-slicked wood below him.
The Numidian was in the air. Both hands on the gladius. The blade descending toward Alex’s skull like the final note of a death hymn.
Alex moved. Not with skill. Not with precision. With the animal desperation of a body that refused to die even when every signal told it to stop. He rolled sideways, the gladius burying itself in the platform where his head had been, and he kept rolling until his hand found the grip of his own fallen sword. His fingers closed around it. The familiar weight. The worn leather.
He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. His muscles were stone. His bones were lead. The poison was turning his body into a cage, and he was trapped inside it.
The Numidian wrenched his blade free and turned. His scarred face was a mask of disbelief. He had watched Alex bleed from every orifice. He had watched him drop to one knee, choking on his own blood. He had delivered the killing blow, or so he thought. And yet the Ghost was still moving. Still clutching his gladius. Still staring at him through a haze of crimson with eyes that held no fear.
"You still haven’t fallen?" The Numidian’s voice was incredulous, almost admiring. "You truly are something." His grin returned, wider now, tinged with something that might have been respect. "But not for long."
He lunged again.
Alex reached for Temporal Dilatation. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Because the alternative was death, and he wasn’t ready to die.
The system responded without hesitation, without punishment, without the petty silence it had offered him for weeks. It just worked.
[7...]
The world slowed to a crawl. The Numidian hung in the air, suspended mid-lunge, his gladius extended, his scarred face frozen in that confident grin. The roar of the crowd dropped to a low, distant hum. The thrashing of the crocodiles became a slow, rhythmic pulse.
[...6...]
Alex moved. His body screamed at him. The poison was still there, still burning, still spreading. But in the slowed world, he could push through it.
[...5...]
He rolled sideways, the Numidian’s gladius passing through the space where he’d been, and he tried to strike back. His arm came up. The gladius felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. His muscles trembled and failed. The blade clattered against the platform inches from the Numidian’s frozen leg. He couldn’t do it. Even with time bent to his will, his body was too weak.
[...2, 1]
The countdown elapsed. Time snapped back.
The Numidian stumbled past him, his gladius slicing empty air.
He spun around, his eyes wide, his grin gone. "What the fuck just happened?" He stared at Alex, still on the ground, still clutching his sword, still bleeding from every orifice. "How the hell did you—you should be dead! That poison kills men in seconds! How are you still—"
Alex couldn’t answer. His throat was closed. His tongue was thick and heavy. Blood bubbled past his lips and ran down his chin.
He tried to push himself up, but his arms wouldn’t hold him. He collapsed onto his chest, gasping, choking, drowning in his own blood.
He started to crawl. Not toward anything. Just away. Just to keep moving. Just to prove to himself that he was still alive.
The Numidian watched him for a long moment. The confusion on his face hardened into something colder. More dangerous. "Whatever stupid tricks you’re using," he said, walking toward Alex with slow, deliberate steps, "it ends here."
He stood over the Ghost. His shadow fell across Alex’s crawling form. He raised his gladius for the final blow.
And Alex got a brilliant idea.
He reached for Temporal Dilatation one more time. The system responded and the world slowed.
The Numidian froze above him, the gladius poised to strike, his lips still forming the words of his death sentence. Alex’s body was failing. His vision was darkening at the edges. The vitality points were still pinging, still fighting, but the poison was winning. He had maybe seconds before his body shut down completely.
He didn’t waste them.
He pulled the dagger from his belt. His fingers were slick with blood, but he held on.
He crawled to the Numidian’s feet, each movement a symphony of agony, and he dragged the blade across the back of the man’s ankles. The Achilles tendons parted with a wet, tearing sound.
Then he crawled away. Just a few feet. Just enough to be out of range.
And he waited.
[...3, 2, 1]
Time snapped back.
The Numidian’s scream was a raw, primal thing that tore through the roar of the crowd and echoed across the water.
His gladius clattered to the platform as his legs buckled. He dropped to his knees, his hands flying to his heels, blood pumping through his fingers in thick, arterial spurts. "You fucking son of a bitch! I’ll fucking kill you, you white freak!"
He screamed words now—curses, threats, Alex’s name tangled with every obscenity he knew. His feet hung uselessly from his ankles, the severed tendons leaving him crippled, helpless, a predator reduced to prey.
Alex looked at him. The world was swimming. The blood was still pouring from his eyes, nose and mouth. The poison was still burning through his veins. But the cold rage was still there. He gathered every ounce of strength he had left—every point of vitality the system had given him, every breath his failing lungs could hold—and he kicked the Numidian in the chest.
It wasn’t a strong kick. It was barely more than a shove. But it was enough.
The Numidian toppled backward. His arms wheeled.
But as Alex’s kick connected, the Numidian’s hand shot out and clamped around his ankle.
The grip was iron, his scarred face twisted into a final, triumphant grin even as he fell.
"If I die," he spat, "you die with me!"
The weight of the falling man yanked Alex off balance. He hit the platform hard, his chest slamming against the blood-slicked wood, the breath driven from his lungs.
His fingers clawed for purchase, found a groove in the wood, and held on. The Numidian’s body swung beneath him, dangling over the water, his grip slipping from Alex’s ankle. The crocodiles below surged at the scent of fresh blood, their massive bodies thrashing in the dark water.
The Numidian tried to hold on for a little longer, but his blood slick palms failed him.
His scream as he hit the water was cut short by the snap of jaws. The feeding frenzy lasted three seconds. Then the man was gone. Just another body in the Pool of Death.
Alex’s fingers kept scrambling for purchase on the platform. The groove he’d found was shallow, barely enough to hold his weight.
The poison was still burning through his veins. The vitality pings were still pulsing in the corner of his vision, still fighting, still keeping him tethered to the world. But his strength was gone. His arms trembled. His breath came in short, wet gasps.
He tried to pull himself up, but his body refused. The weight on his muscles was too heavy. The poison had taken too much.
He reached for Temporal Dilatation, the world slowed, the water became a gentle ripple, the distant roar of the crowd became a whisper. But his fingers still slipped, the poison still burned and the weight still pulled. Slowing time didn’t give him strength.
The realization hit him like a blade to the chest. His greatest weapon was useless here. The system couldn’t save him from this.
Time snapped back. His fingers slipped another inch.
The cold splinters bit into his fingertips as his arms trembled.
The crocodiles snapped, their jaws closing inches from his hanging body.
One finger slipped, then another. His grip was failing. The weight was too much. The poison was too strong. The Ghost, who had survived the crocodile pit and the Gaul and the poisoned blade and everything the arena had thrown at him, was about to fall.
His last fingers held for one agonizing second. Then they slipped.
And Alex plunged toward the dark water below.
This feels like deja vu
He thought, closing his eyes in acceptance.