Go get help? Was that what she was saying? Why would he do that when he could continue firing Spirit Blasts at the humans? He couldn't block all of the attacks, sooner or later that Gary guy was going to go down.
Alwin continued to launch his Spirit Blasts, every time he felt that his mana pool was about to become a mana puddle, he swallowed a Small Mana Pill that Uchronia. His mana slowly filled up, just barely outpacing how much he was using for his attacks.
Crap. Why hadn't he gone down yet? Gary Stew somehow still held on. Did it have something to do with when he was fiddling away with a status screen that had popped out earlier? After he messed with it, something changed. Despite all of the damage he had sustained he was moving faster, the frying pan was connecting with the Spirit Blasts more often, and he was even swatting away the mini Spirit Blasts from the Spirit Scatter Blast and the mana from Spirit Burst Blast—not all of it, but enough to make a difference.
Alwin swallowed the last mana pill he had. Gary continued to smack away the incoming attacks using Pan-demonium. The grass bindings along his legs and the two young masters had disappeared when the alternate Uchronia vanished. Even Slow had worn off. The young masters had transitioned from cowering behind Gary to dragging Uchronia to where Gus was. The way they manhandled her filled Alwin with even more rage. They each grabbed her leaf tail, lugging her along the ground back to where Gary stood and kicking her limp body over to Gus.
Why wasn't he dying! Alwin was running low on mana, a splash compared to how much mana he could hold, and that Gary Stew didn't look close to kicking the bucket. Should he go get help just like what Uchronia said? Did she even say that? It was a different version of her plus he had difficulty hearing her. But there was a chance he might be able to get rid of Gary right here and right now. Should he just stay and fight?
Memories of the fight against Gu Jia flashed in his mind. He had been mentally bashing Uchronia for staying by his side, putting up a futile bid against the bone blade. If she had just gotten help, she wouldn't have had to risk her life like that. It was a stupid move by a not-so-stupid girl.
Now Alwin understood why she did that. He understood why he had been launching Spirit Blasts like there was no tomorrow. The thought of abandoning your squad mate—no, your friend—like that was too much to bear. The action would be impossible. Stupid emotions! The most logical solution would be to run and get help, so why was he wasting time and mana arguing with himself?
If Gary got to him, they all died. If Alwin went into mana exhaustion, they all died. If Alwin went to get help, maybe they all live—huge emphasis on maybe.
Alwin stopped launching his Spirit Blasts and banged his head against the tree. He wasn't crying because he was leaving his friends to a bunch of cruel humans on the off chance that he might be able to get help and return back in time to the possibility where they hadn't been cooked to a tender golden brown, he was crying because the tree had attacked him.
He dashed away from the battlefield back towards the army camp. This was the fastest he had ever ran in his life. Faster than the time when the young masters' men were chasing them. Faster than when he raced Gus to the cafeteria after the morning lectures. He wasn't running for his life, he was running for theirs.
No matter how fast he ran it wouldn't matter. Why couldn't he have Gus' Devour ability? If he had that he would've absorbed Lei Mao's Lightning Legs skill. With that, he could've zipped back to camp in record time. Or maybe he could've defeated Gary Stew, right there. Shut up, brain! This is no time to go spiraling. Be useful! Come up with a way to run faster! If you want to spiral, then spiral into creativity, not negativity.
Stolen story; please report.
Who said running was the answer? If running wasn't feasible—it was more like a flurry of rapid hops in Alwin's case—then he had to come up with another way to travel faster. Fortunately for him, he already came up with one. Unfortunately, mana was an issue. Curse Gary for being so hard to kill, and curse him for being an idiot thinking that Gary would succumb under a torrent of different types of Spirit Blasts. Because of that, he was low on mana. He could summon five pairs of Spirit Hands only once. After they'd throw him, they'd inevitably disappear once he flew too far away from them. There had to be a better way to. That Spirit Hand launching technique of his wasn't a single-use product—they were going to be reusable like a paper bag. Think! Reduce! Reuse! Recycle! Alwin was grasping at straws—paper straws.
The dots began to connect in his mind. They were forming a picture, an extremely messy one that looked like a bunch of scribbles made by a baby. But, he had to zoom out, to see the bigger picture. There was one way he could reuse them—hopefully. The sling bag that had been bumping against him as he hopped as fast as he could was the solution.
Alwin conjured up his Spirit Hands, just two for now. They hovered beside him, keeping pace with his fervent hops, and went to work. They grabbed the bag and began tugging on the straps, lengthening them. The other pair gathered whatever rock or twig that Alwin was hopping past and dumped them into the bag. When the straps were stretched to their maximum, he ripped apart the threads that connected the strap to the bag, but only on one side. The sling bag basically became a rope with a very heavy bag at one end. With that the preparations were complete.
He summoned the remaining Spirit Hands—there were five in total now—and he felt his mana levels plummet to dangerously low levels. Why couldn't he absorb mana faster? His vision was beginning to become hazy, his speed declining and his thoughts were losing their coherency, but through whatever willpower he could muster he ordered the hands to get into position. They lined up in front of him, the straps in between each pair, with the bag end of the strap furthest away from him.
The first set of hands cradled him, while the second pair stuffed one end of the straps into his mouth and made sure to clamp it shut. Time for liftoff. The hands threw Alwin, each set that he passed through only made him travel faster. After the hands had tossed Alwin, they scrambled to grab the strap and held on for dear life. Alwin soared through the air. It was relaxing. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and drift off to slumberland. Screams of Gus and Uchronia flashed through his mind, they were restrained with string, being cooked alive. The nightmare was enough to jostle him awake. He needed to act fast.
Before the strap became taut, he used all of the slimy muscles available in his body, to twist his body. Visions of the first time he had a conversation with Uchronia and Gus came back to him. Alwin was on his bed and the two had come up to talk, the problem was that they were on opposite sides. He had to keep twisting and turning just to talk to them. He channeled all of that energy, the same amount of effort, into twisting himself.
The rope began to rotate, spinning faster and faster, along with Alwin and the bags both on opposite ends, and the Spirit Hands in the middle all grasping on for dear life. The joke was getting old but good thing he had already emptied his stomach earlier in the day. Why did he even cause the bag and rope to spin? It's because it would probably fly further than if he had just let momentum carry him, his bag, and his hands fly in a straight line. He wasn't a physicist, he was just going by his gut!
Alwin crashed into the ground. It was still just trees, bushes, and rocks scattered around him with no signs of any Monster Army Camp yet, but he knew that he had covered substantial ground. The Spirit Hands lined up and threw him again. Once again, he went sailing through the air and he twisted the rope that was in his mouth, bringing the Spirit Hands, his bag, and himself into a spinning frenzy only to come crashing down into the ground seconds later.
Exhaustion had long since clouded his mind, he was acting on instinct, trusting that the same methods would continue to yield the results he wanted. The hands kept throwing him, and Alwin kept twisting the rope to make all of them spin. Crash on the floor and repeat. That was all he knew right now.
Alwin was hurling through the air when a flash of light caught his attention. He crashed into... something. It wasn't the ground that's for sure. After crashing into it multiple times he understood the feeling of dirt grinding against his face. The Spirit Hands had disintegrated into a sparkle of magical particles. Someone was approaching him. But his eyes betrayed him, lacking the ability to focus anymore. Please Cor let it be a monster.