Channeling every iota of my mana into [Eyes of Terror Evocation], I stood there, uncertain of what I had expected.
Fear and terror, while closely related, were distinct entities. Fear, a general emotional response to perceived threats, could be transient. In contrast, terror was its more extreme counterpart, immediate and acute.
Fear could cause one to experience increased heart rate, elevated blood pressure, heightened alertness, and the activation of the "fight or flight" response. Whereas terror was a bizarre mix of extreme panic, hyperventilation, and a sense of paralysis driven by sheer fear.
As I gazed upon the trembling forms of Zach and Elena, their eyes bleeding and their bodies seemingly paralyzed by an overwhelming sense of terror, I realized that it wasn't just fear I had invoked. It was a crescendo of terror pushed to its extreme.
In that moment, a fleeting moment where their vulnerability stood starkly before me, the voice within returned.
They weren't knights.
They weren't pursuers.
They were PREY!
MEANT TO BE HUNTED!
MEANT TO BE KILLED!
MEANT TO BE SLICED APART!
The intoxicating desire to surrender to the thrill of the hunt.
The urge to plunge my dagger repeatedly into the FLAILING BODIES of MY PREY.
Oh, to RELISH the sensation of their FEEBLE SKIN AND FLESH yielding to the sharp edge of MY BLADE!
THE SHEER URGE TO FEEL THE WARMTH OF THEIR BLOOD!
But, my ever-persistent rational side once again dominated my instincts. I closed my eyes, turned away, and chose the path of retreat.
My instincts SCREAMED at me. But I paid them no heed as I ran.
The echoing screams of predatory instincts, drowned out, by the resolute beats of my retreating footsteps.
[Fleet Footed Sprint] refused to play along, as if it too succumbed to the lack of mana. The piercing pain in my shoulder heightened with every step, and even [Adaptation] remained dormant, no longer whispering—likely due to my drained mana reserves.
I couldn't gauge how long I ran or in which direction I fled, but the one certainty was that no one was pursuing me anymore. I halted when my feet could no longer bear my weight, leaning against a nearby tree to catch my breath.
In the quiet respite, I noticed something peculiar on my hand – a spell matrix. Once intricate and pulsating with darkness, it now lingered in a dulled state, almost unnoticeable. Realization dawned upon me – I had left [Twilight Veil] activated during the attack, perhaps in the frantic rush to escape.
With a focused effort, I dispelled the rune, watching the matrix vanish. I attempted a sigh of relief, but the sharp pain in my shoulder brought me back to the grim reality. It was then that I felt something wet across my cheek. A quick swipe revealed blood. Tracing it toward the source, my fingers led me to my eyes. I was bleeding from my eyes.
Oh boy, I really fucked it up this time, hadn’t I?
So, I just did what I was supposed to do, I kept my eyes peeled open, just in case something tried to sneak up on me once again and waited for my mana to be recovered.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
***
Summoning the determination of a particularly lazy sloth, I convinced myself that extracting this arrow was the next logical step.
Then with all the confidence of a toddler trying to tie shoelaces, I reassured myself that it wouldn't take much time, just one pull, as if I were plucking an oversized splinter.
Taking in deep breaths, I eyed the arrow shaft in disgust.
About two hours had elapsed, and my mana tank hovered around half full. [Adaptation] chimed in once again, like a backseat driver providing unwanted commentary. Yet, before I could indulge its whispers, I had to deal with the pesky arrow.
Sure, I might not feel fear, but the irony of not wanting to feel pain while acknowledging I needed to endure more pain for relief wasn't lost on me.
As my fingers hesitated around the arrow, I pondered the consequences of activating [Adaptation] with the projectile still lodged in my shoulder.
Yeahhh, nope.
Mad scientist vibes aside, I wasn't exactly in the mood for a questionable experiment on my own body.
With a resolve that screamed more of desperation than bravery, I tightened my grip on the arrow shaft, a piece of my cloak clenched tightly in my other hand. I knew I'd bleed once I pulled it back, so applying a bit of pressure at the wound seemed like a wise move.
Or not.
I wasn't exactly the go-to person for medical expertise. That role belonged to [Adaptation]. My knowledge on such matters barely scratched the surface.
In a moment of self-administered tough love, I metaphorically slapped myself to snap out of any lingering procrastination. Then, with a deep breath, I yanked the arrow free.
Pain erupted, a familiar sensation of warmth being drained away, replaced by an invading cold before my skin erupted in goosebumps. The warmth returned, bringing with it an intensified wave of pain.
Quickly shutting my eyes, I applied pressure to the wound with a piece of my cloak and triggered [Adaptation].
Floodgates opened. A deluge of information flooded my mind.
[Adaptation] detailed the aftermath of the arrow's unwelcome visit. The initial penetration had left its mark, causing an entry wound. The arrowhead had encountered some serious resistance, but it pierced through various layers of my shoulder – the epidermis, dermis, subcutaneous fat, and even the muscle and deeper tissues were not spared. It was a powerful shot.
I frowned at the detailed terms [Adaptation] was delivering to my brain. How it conjured such intricate descriptions, I couldn't fathom. But I knew it was sifting through the dusty archives of my memories. Perhaps it was pulling out every bit of information related to human body that I had unknowingly accumulated over time.
Regardless of the source, I played the role of a captive audience as [Adaptation] took charge.
Like a ruthless commander, it barked orders within my body. Blood vessels in the wounded area underwent vasoconstriction, minimizing immediate bleeding. Platelets rushed to the scene, forming a makeshift plug to staunch the flow.
Under [Adaptation]'s relentless command, neutrophils rapidly migrated to the wound site, their efficiency supercharged to combat potential infection and clear cellular debris.
I felt the chaos as the inflammatory response kicked in.
[Adaptation] barked orders for cytokines and growth factors to be released, whipping cells into immediate action to initiate tissue repair.
I couldn't help but sense [Adaptation]'s annoyance at the perceived inefficiency of my body. It was a peculiar thought – how could a skill possibly feel annoyance?
Nevertheless, the internal perfectionist hurried through my body, metaphorically grabbing dormant fibroblasts by their imaginary necks, threatening them to start creating a provisional matrix posthaste.
Healing unfolded. The overall size of the wound swiftly started contracting, [Adaptation] keeping a hawk-eyed watch as nervous myofibroblasts and specialized cells worked their magic.
Finally, collagen fell into line, laboring away under the intense gaze of [Adaptation], excess cells were removed, and scar tissue formed.
Not one to tolerate imperfections, [Adaptation] glared at the emerging scar tissue, issuing orders for immediate remodeling. Only when satisfied, perhaps still a tad annoyed at the whole ordeal, did I sense [Adaptation] finally surrendering to dormancy.
What the actual fuck?
The change in nature of [Adaptation] left me with a lingering suspicion. It felt different. While, I could always attribute it to the vivid realms of my hyperactive imagination, but in a world where wandering comets played peek-a-boo with ten-year-olds, imagination seldom sprouted from the solitude of one's own mind.
Yet, even if [Adaptation] was evolving into something resembling sentience, what recourse did I have? I adopted a laissez-faire attitude, leaving it to its own devices.
Checking my mana reservoir, I found about one sixth remaining. Healing an arrow puncture apparently cost more mana than fixing a few fractured ribs.
Curiosity nudged me to touch my shoulder, and to my amazement, the wound had vanished. I used [Adaptation] once again, unnaturally contorting my neck to see the wound. Not a single trace, not even a scar remained. Snapping my neck back, I moved my shoulder, half-expecting a lingering ache or twinge of pain, but there was nothing.
Even the fatigue in my legs and the slight ache in my eyes had evaporated into the ether.
Adaptation was bullshit.