He stabbed the hoe at the next construct’s face, causing it to flinch backward into the construct behind it. Dakota slid sideways and cracked both grey-men across the face with two short blows.

Air brushed his neck. He spun to see a construct go flying past him, fist nearly kissing him. That was lucky. He backslashed, digging a deep gouge in its neck.

A crunch of rock beneath feet behind him. He turned just in time to eat the sixth construct’s fist straight to the face.

He stared at the crystal wall, despair threatening to engulf him. He placed his hand on the circle again. No time to think, no time to feed the pit inside of him. There was only forwards.

Dakota spat a wad of grass from his mouth only for his face to be smashed back into the earth. He twisted onto his back and grabbed the construct by the neck. There were only five left…but he was running out of steam.

He wrenched its head down, angling his forehead to crush its nose. Unfortunately, another construct pulled on his leg at the same time, resulting in a forehead-to-forehead collision which sent both the construct on top of him and Dakota reeling.

Blindly thrashing, he freed himself from the heap. A mixture of white light, encroaching blackness, and tears rendered him blind. He thrashed, feeling a foot connect with flesh before suddenly blinking, the crystal wall staring back at him.

He placed his hand in the circle again. Only forward…only forward.

The first two waves breezed by. The constructs almost appeared to move a half-step slower than normal. His instincts must be improving.

The third wave proved a challenge like normal; however, not as challenging as before. Which was normally the opposite of his previous training times. Dakota’s first couple of attempts were normally his strongest but this was certainly his strongest performance yet.

It gave him just enough hope to truly try on the fourth wave. He had started fighting to not lose rather than fighting to win. But not this time. This time he was going all in…

He still died.

But it was the closest attempt yet. The constructs just appeared to be moving a half step slower than him.

Dakota slammed his hand into the circle again. Only forwards.

He calmly sidestepped a haymaker from a construct. The grey-man still moved lightly but it was like watching a video at 75% speed. His hoe connected with the back of its skull and it faded into nothing.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Fifteen grey-men coalesced on the hillside, their blank faces boring into him. Showtime.

Dakota staggered beneath a heavy punch, the constructs were moving slower, but that didn’t appear to affect their power at all. He had run himself ragged, picking constructs off one by one. Four were left but he didn’t have the energy to keep running. He needed to finish this. Thus abandoning the gorilla tactics and stepping inside the pocket with all of them. He dropped his hoe and delivered a devastating uppercut to the offending construct’s jaw, snapping its head back. The others moved to attack but still in that odd slow-motion as before. What was causing the decrease in speed? Not that he was complaining. It was the only reason he had made it this far.

He batted aside another wild haymaker and returned a straight right into its mouth.

Teeth crunched as his knuckles smashed an imprint on the construct’s face.

The last two backed up. It appeared they could feel hesitation. Dakota swung his hoe across his torso. Too late.

His improved war hoe carved a hole in the last construct’s head. It faded, leaving him with a dizzying sense of bewilderment. Had he finished the fourth wave? Some part of him didn’t believe. Surely there was still another construct waiting to pounce once he let his guard down.

Twenty days of continuous attempts had left him feeling like the challenge was insurmountable. Now that he was here, he didn’t know how to feel.

Of course, he wouldn’t have made it this far without the construct’s inexplicably slowing. He racked his brain, trying to determine what he had done differently this time around. Had he placed his hand on the circle Differently? Maybe he accidentally adjusted a gauge on the secondary screen?

No, neither of those made any sense. He had placed his hand on the circle like normal and he hadn’t opened the secondary screen since he discovered it. What was different…

A minute later, he still couldn’t think of anything. Why weren’t there any grey-men spawning? The lack of combat was making his neck itch. Every second he had been in this valley was typically accompanied by violence. He found the lack disturbing.

His eyes traced the hillside, scanning for coalescing forms. There! Mist was beginning to draw together at the very top. One, two, five forms. Then ten, then fifteen…then twenty.

Sweat formed on the small of his back. Twenty. Twenty was a lot. He supposed it depended on the situation. Twenty push-ups wasn’t too bad. Twenty potatoes was nice but twenty grey-men, each the equivalent of an average-sized guy? That was a lot.

They charged down the hill, faces unchanging. Dakota shook his arms out, bending his neck left, then right. What was five more…

*thud…thud…thud

Dakota’s head bounced against the cool crystal. Twenty was a lot. He had only lasted a few minutes, worn out as he was from the previous waves. He could taste victory. It was sooo close. But he was running out of mental steam. While his body reverted to its previous state once he died, each attempt drained him…mentally, spiritually, he didn’t know. What he did know was that it took far more gumption to repeatedly face your own death than he had initially anticipated. He had assumed he wouldn’t mind dying in the simulation since it didn’t permanently affect him. News flash, it did.

He raised weary eyes to stare down the circle on the wall. Only forward.

His hand raised and then planted itself onto the circle, almost of its own volition. No more half-measures. He was at war and wasn’t about to lose to some stupid robot, cloud-men.