Chapter 22: Whispers Of Envy

Daniel staggered backward, the weight of his exhaustion pulling at his limbs. His breath came in ragged bursts, each breath scraping against his lungs like shards of broken glass.

Faelar’s spear hovered, glinting with deadly intent as the elf advanced in a blend of desperation and feral elegance.

Daniel’s fingers trembled against the shaft of his own spear. Sweat dripped from his brow, blurring his vision, but he kept his gaze locked on Faelar.

Something was off about the elf's stance—his usual grace had become jagged, as though something primal now guided his hand.

Faelar’s eyes, usually cold and condescending, glimmered with an emotion Daniel couldn’t place. Rage? Fear? No, it was something darker, something more insidious.

Envy.

The two fighters circled one another in a deadly dance, each step crunching against the loose gravel.

Panic scratched at the edges of his mind, each breath more ragged than the last. His limbs felt like lead, his thoughts slipping through the cracks of exhaustion. Faelar’s eyes locked onto every stumble, ready to pounce on any mistake.

"You don’t deserve to stand here," Faelar hissed through clenched teeth, his spear slicing the air in quick feints. "You show up late and think you can stand beside us? You're a disgrace. A fraud."

Daniel gritted his teeth. “Faelar, listen to me! You’re not yourself—this isn’t who you are!”

They danced in a deadly rhythm—attack versus defence, predator versus prey. Daniel’s heart pounded, not just from exertion but from the sense that something was deeply wrong.

He didn’t want to fight. He could see the cloud of corruption that clung to Faelar, twisting the elf’s thoughts and movements. But even if he wanted to fight back, could he?

Every parry, every desperate dodge drained what little stamina Daniel had left. His breath came in ragged bursts, his limbs heavy with fatigue.

He was quick, but not quick enough—each movement stole more energy than his body could recover.

If Faelar didn’t snap out of it soon, Daniel knew how this would end.

With his death.

A flicker of fear gripped him, but then the thought of his children cut through the panic—Diana’s curious questions, Felix’s infectious laughter. Their faces weren’t just memories; they were promises. He couldn’t let them down.

He wanted nothing more than to survive for them, to protect them in this strange, hostile world. He knew Faelar wasn’t in control, but that didn’t change what was happening.

Dying here, without even trying, wasn’t an option. His family needed him.

Faelar’s lip curled in disgust, his expression hardening as he readied his next strike. Without another word, the elf lunged. His spear cut through the air, a blur of cold steel aimed straight for Daniel’s chest.

Time stretched, every second dragging as if in defiance of the danger. Daniel’s instincts screamed at him to move, but exhaustion dragged him down, slowing every thought and action. He shifted just enough to avoid the killing blow, but not enough to escape unscathed.

The spear’s tip grazed his side, slicing through leather and skin. Pain burst along his ribs, sharp and unforgiving, as blood welled from the wound.

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He stumbled, gasping, and saw Faelar's expression twist with triumph.

In the chaos, a flicker of memory surfaced—a moment from his training with Roderic. The old warrior’s voice echoed in Daniel’s mind: “Every fight ends with a single thrust. Make that thrust count.”

Something clicked.

Daniel felt a strange sensation bloom within his chest—a gathering of energy, not unlike the hum of a storm gathering strength.

It wasn’t external magic but something deeply rooted, instinctual, and raw. Daniel’s aetherial system thrummed with a remarkable sensation of power.

Deep within his class node, an unbidden gift.

Knowledge filled his head immediately as the skill node solidified after taking form. The name of the skill and its capabilities flashed through his mind.

Skill Unlocked—Thrust: A basic single-target attack with high armour penetration.

Do I have a choice? The thought flickered through his mind—a question without an answer. He wasn’t even sure who he was asking: Faelar, himself, or the gods of this twisted world.

With that brief thought, Daniel seized the moment. His body moved before his thoughts could catch up—muscle and instinct melding into one. His spear shot forward, a perfect thrust honed by countless hours of practice and sharpened by desperation.

He thrust his spear, his grip tightening with newfound precision. The weapon’s point shimmered and shot toward Faelar with terrifying speed, guided by both technique and necessity.

Faelar's eyes widened in shock, his attempt to parry coming a full second too late.

The spear pierced through the elf’s armour, slipping between ribs with sickening ease. Daniel felt the blade sink deeper, an almost surreal sensation as the resistance gave way to warm flesh.

Faelar’s breath hitched, a sharp intake that sounded more like disbelief than pain. His spear clattered to the ground, forgotten. For a moment, they stood frozen—two fighters locked in a tableau of violence, their laboured breathing the only sound.

Daniel’s gaze locked on the tip of his spear, now jutting from Faelar’s back, slick with a dark crimson sheen.

Faelar gasped, a soft, broken sound, stripped of the arrogance and scorn that usually sharpened his voice. His knees buckled, and he collapsed against Daniel, his body going slack as the spear slid free with a wet, metallic hiss.

Daniel staggered back, breath hitching in his chest. The spear sagged in his grip, its weight no longer just wood and steel but the unbearable gravity of his own actions.

Faelar slumped to the ground, his expression frozen in something between anger and bewilderment.

And then, the colour began to drain from Faelar's form.

Daniel watched in horror as a strange, purple hue spread across the elf’s skin, the veins beneath his pale flesh darkening with unnatural energy.

He dropped to his knees beside Faelar, panic clawing at his chest. He hadn’t meant to kill him. Not like this. The fight had been about survival, not… this.

"Faelar, I…" Daniel reached out, as if his touch could somehow undo what had been done. But the moment his fingers brushed against the elf’s arm, Faelar’s form flickered violently, and a sharp jolt of energy shot through Daniel’s hand, sending him reeling backward.

The elf’s body convulsed, the purple energy intensifying until it became blinding. Daniel shielded his eyes as the light erupted, filling the clearing with an eerie glow.

When the light faded, Faelar lay still, his once-proud form diminished to a husk. His skin, now an ashen grey, looked brittle—like porcelain on the verge of cracking. And yet, his eyes remained open, staring vacantly into the sky, empty of the life they once held.

A shiver ran down Daniel’s spine.

He had seen many things since arriving in this strange world, but this… this was different. There was no finality, no peace—only the sense that Faelar’s soul was trapped, tangled in this corrupted energy.

The spear slipped from Daniel’s grasp, hitting the ground with a dull clang.

He sat there, knees drawn to his chest, staring at the lifeless form before him. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, suffocating. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. He hadn't wanted to kill Faelar—he hadn't wanted any of this.

But it was done.

The world around him felt distant and muffled, like being underwater. The jagged walls of the cavern seemed to pulse with an unsettling silence, the faint drip of water echoing through the chamber like the ticking of a distant clock.

In the darkness beyond, a low wind moaned through unseen crevices—a haunting, hollow sound that felt both mournful and indifferent in the wake of what had just transpired.

Daniel buried his face in his hands, trembling with exhaustion, grief, and guilt. He had fought to survive. But survival had come at a cost to his own soul.

For a long moment, he remained like that, curled on the ground beside the fallen elf, lost in the storm of his thoughts as the rest of his team remained unconscious.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed something.

He was not alone.