[ CRITICAL ROLL. ]

The words are vibrant and bright, almost impossibly clear in my fading vision — like it's intruding directly on my mind. I don't have the energy to process what it means. There's more to rolling for a stat-skill than I thought there was, clearly, but whether the possibility of a crit is influenced by the amount of credits banked, pure luck, or something else, I have no idea.

I'm waiting for the list of skills to appear. It takes agonizingly long, and I have to hold on to consciousness for every precious second it takes.

When the interface finally shows up, the sight is almost beautiful.

[ Critical Bonus! All existing Durability skills will be improved. ]

[ Tough Skin (Rank F) has evolved to Tough Body (Rank E)! ]

[ Select between:

CRIT: Post-Battle Recovery (Rank C) —> Second Wind (Rank B)

CRIT: Improved Healing (Rank D) —> Rapid Healing (Rank C)

CRIT: Empowered Block (Rank D) —> Momentary Shield (Rank C)]

I'm not nearly coherent enough at the moment to think through my choices. I can practically feel my life ebbing out of every open wound. It's a struggle just to keep my eyes open.

Highest rank.

[ Second Wind obtained! ]

All around me, Firmament thrums. It's heavy enough to make my teeth ache, and force tears out of my eyes; the sensation is not unlike having freshly cut onions pressed directly against them.

But that thrumming is drowning out the pain, and I realize what this is.

Tough Skin — Tough Body, now — is activating, and just like before, it's closing every open wound across my body. It's a relief when the pain from my missing arm begins to fade, and even more of one when I find the rest of my aches and pains being smoothed away.

It doesn't give me back my arm, but that doesn't matter. I can move my legs again, and I now have one more skill up my sleeve.

Second Wind.

The skill clicks into place like I'm meeting an old friend, and an invigorating rush of energy pours into my body. I'm on my feet before I'm even conscious of the fact, rushing straight towards the harpy that had tried to kill me.

And then something unexpected happens. The skill continues. A phantom arm manifests, pure Firmament forming into a perfect replica of my old arm, though colored a transparent blue-gold; its hand is formed into a fist, and it is thrumming with power.

The harpy doesn't turn around in time. She's too busy with this distorted cackle as she prepares for yet another scream, this time aimed at a hapless crow that's lying motionless on the ground; a small part of me can't help but notice that she's being much more thorough about killing the crows than she had been about me.

I'm not a priority.

It's good to know, at least, even if it's another scrap of fuel to feed to that burning flame of anger.

My phantom arm connects with the spot on her back right between her wings. It's not the best punch — my strength is still baseline human, after all — but the Firmament does something, and it's enough to disrupt her own technique and knock her forward. The scream peters out as a pathetic puff of dust and dirt on the ground.

My scythe is still stuck in her chest, and it wobbles awkwardly in place as she spins around to face me. I try to reach for it, but she claws at me, sharp talons glinting in the sunlight.

I raise my phantom arm, gritting my teeth. I half expect those talons to dig straight into the false flesh, tearing it apart.

But it holds. Her talons glance off like she's struck at iron, and for a moment, she looks surprised; it's the most expression I've seen on any of their faces thus far. It doesn't last for long — but it doesn't need to.

I grab her by the arm, my Firmament hand buzzing strangely against her skin, and yank. She's off-balance enough that she puts up almost no resistance. My remaining arm makes a grab for the scythe in her chest, and I twist, forcing it deeper, towards her heart.

[ You have defeated an Elegy of the Lost (Rank E)! +1 Strength credit. +2 Durability credits. +2 Reflex credits. +3 Speed credits. +3 Firmament credits. ]

Less Firmament this time. I spare a brief glance for the crow she'd been about to scream at, but they're nothing more than a corpse, now. There's not a hint of movement in those feathers.

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His spear is lying next to him, but it's broken, a useless pile of sticks and twigs with one small, particularly pointy stick near the end.

I move on.

There are a dozen harpies. I've killed two of them; that means there are ten more, all across the village. I see perhaps four of them, stalking around the homes, peeking into each hut. They haven't noticed me yet. I hear another three — the echoes of pained cries from the crows, and more screams from the harpies. I hear the sounds of desperate battles breaking out and ending shortly afterward.

The other three are likely hidden in the huts themselves. I don't waste any more time on observation — I rush forward again, not bothering to hide my presence. Stealth might be smart if this were my last chance, but it isn't. If anything...

I make as much noise as possible, trying to draw their attention, but it doesn't seem to work. Whatever reason they had to fight me before, they seem to have lost it, now; their targets are in front of them, and they're more interested in their prey than in me.

The closest harpy is poking and prying at a crate on the ground. I can hear soft whimpering sounds coming from within the box, and I see the harpy cackling wildly as she stabs her talons in through the wood. Before I can reach her, she gives it a hard kick, sending the box soaring into the air and tumbling down.

Despite everything that I've already seen, I'm not quite prepared for what I see after.

There's a kid hiding inside. Of course there is; none of the adult crows could have fit into a box of that size. He's sent sprawling out, clutching on to a little brightly-colored stick that looks like a toy — it's sent flying as he frantically flaps his wings, trying to stabilize himself in the air.

It doesn't work. He's upside-down, and his legs are tangled in the box. I can already see what's about to happen, and I veer my course, sprinting as hard as I possibly can.

It's the wrong thing to do, perhaps, to get distracted by this. But you're never quite prepared. Not even when you've seen it before — and I haven't. I've seen the aftermath. I haven't seen it happen.

He hits the ground before I can reach him, and I hear a sharp snap; the box crashes down over him, and his body goes still.

I grip my scythe hard enough to turn my knuckles white, and turn my attention to the harpy.

She seems to recognize me as a threat.

Good.

A burst of speed takes me to her, and she only barely deflects my scythe with her talons in time; I don't bother trying to correct my course, instead twisting it to lock down her hand and sending my spare hand towards her face. It's my flesh hand. I feel bone crack underneath my knuckles, sharp and satisfying in the wake of my anger. It sends her sprawling.

My phantom arm flickers, and a certain exhaustion begins to return, but my anger flares bright still.

I remember reaching the hospital too late. I remember bursting through the door just a moment after the doctor declares my brother dead. I remember how still he was, lying in that bed.

She's back up on her feet, too fast for it to be anything other than a skill. She throws herself at me, a certain manic glee in her eyes; her talons are red with blood. I swing the scythe at her, and she weaves out of the way, but I turn it into a kick that cracks two of her ribs.

I know how to fight. I've taken the lessons. I needed something to distract me, after...

[ The last of the Cliffside Crows have died. You have failed the raid Lost Harpies (Rank E). Resetting. ]

I feel a familiar thrum rising around me.

This time, it's attacking me. I feel it squeeze down on me with a pressure beyond anything I've felt before.

Intellectually, I can guess what's happening. The interface is killing me, because that's how time resets. Why it doesn't do that directly is a mystery for a less angry, less adrenaline-filled version of me.

All I care about is that this child-killer isn't dead yet.

Fuck you. Second Wind.

I half expect the skill to fail. I half expect the interface to stop me, to prevent it from circumventing its rules; instead, a familiar, opposing thrum grip me in its threads, filling my body with vigor and raw, rushing Firmament.

At the same time, a dizzying force grips my skull, making me stumble. I'm not supposed to use the skill like this, I can tell — I'm straining it.

My lips twist. I don't care. I advance on the harpy, and her expression turns into something approaching fear; she tries to move, but she seems locked in place by the pressure, too. The interface presses down harder around me, an immense force pushing down on what feels like my very soul. I see a blue-gold aura rising out of my skin, the same color as the phantom arm that Second Wind had created earlier.

I take another step forward, but my vision's already fading. Second Wind, I insist again, and I feed something to the skill; it responds by brightening the aura around me, resisting. I'm almost close enough. She isn't moving now. It's like time is standing still. If I can just push the scythe through her eye—

The interface pushes down a third time, and this time, it brooks no resistance. I feel an immense force open up, and for a split second it's as though I'm gazing upon something impossibly large. An open sky, an unending mountain.

The weight of a planet.

It crushes me like I'm little more than a gnat, even with the thrum of Second Wind around me, and I die for the sixth time.

[ You have died. +6 Strength credits. +15 Durability credits. +2 Reflex credits. +12 Speed credits. ]

[ Loop 6 terminated. ]

[ Status:

Name: Ethan

Durability Skills: Tough Body (Rank E), Second Wind (Rank B)

Firmament Skills: Temporal Echo (Rank D)

Credit Distribution:

Strength: 21

Durability: 17 (47 banked)

Reflex: 30

Speed: 37

Firmament: 9 (2 banked) ]