Luke clenched his daggers, knuckles white, forcing himself to keep moving. "Just… don't think about it," he muttered, though the command felt futile. How could he not? The sensation of the blade tearing through him, the suffocating blackness that followed – it was all still too vivid, too real.
~ Tutorial Tip: The First Cut is the Deepest ~
(Figuratively speaking. Subsequent deaths may vary in perceived severity based on method and duration.)
"Oh, shut up," Luke growled, dismissing the notification with a frustrated thought.
The soldier beside him fell with a guttural scream, an arrow suddenly sprouting from his throat like some grotesque flower. Luke froze, watching the man crumple, blood pooling rapidly beneath him. His instincts screamed at him to run, to hide, to find cover anywhere – but there was nowhere safe.
Another green-clad soldier barreled toward him out of the swirling dust, sword raised high. Luke dodged, barely avoiding the heavy swing. He slashed wildly with his daggers in return, desperation lending speed but not accuracy to his clumsy attacks. One blade nicked the soldier's arm, drawing a shallow cut.
*~ Progress: 2/10 hits landed! Maintain aggression! ~
The soldier retaliated with a brutal strike, their sword crashing against Luke's side. Pain exploded through his ribs, sharp and blinding. He cried out, falling to one knee, the world tilting sickeningly.
~ Damage Taken: 25. Current Health: 10/35 ~
Before he could recover, a second blow ended it. The sword seemed to move with impossible speed, cleaving through his neck in a single, horrifying motion. Everything went black.
Luke respawned with a jolt, gasping for air, hands instinctively flying to his throat, feeling for the wound that wasn't there. His vision swam, and he staggered, the memory of the blade shearing through bone still searingly fresh. "Again?" he croaked, voice trembling.
~ Tutorial Tip: Death Frequency Analysis ~
Your current mortality rate suggests suboptimal combat performance. Consider alternative strategies.
Luke ignored the unhelpful advice, his chest heaving as he surveyed the chaos. His legs felt like jelly, but he forced himself to move, ducking and weaving through the swirling melee, trying to stay on the periphery.
The next few minutes, or maybe hours, time had lost all meaning. It was a blur of panic, pain, and repeated failure. He was burned alive by a fireball that left him screaming as phantom flames consumed him even after respawning. Impaled by a spear that pinned him to the muddy ground, choking on his own blood. Crushed beneath a charging soldier's shield, the impact shattering bone and stealing breath.
Each death was faster than the last, but no less agonizing. He lost count of how many times he’d fallen. Five? Ten? Twenty? It didn't matter. Every time he respawned, the weight on his soul grew heavier, the shock replaced by a grim, weary acceptance. His hands shook as he gripped his daggers, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.
"This is insane," he muttered, stumbling away from another close call. "How is anyone supposed to survive this?"
But somewhere in the haze of fear and adrenaline, something began to shift, subtly at first. The pain was still there, sharp and unforgiving with every blow, but the raw panic started to recede, replaced by a cold, focused awareness. With each brutal death, his movements grew fractionally sharper, his dodges more precise, less purely instinctual. He began to notice patterns in the chaos: the rhythm of attacks, the fleeting openings in enemy defenses, the way soldiers shifted their weight before striking.
A soldier in green lunged at him, sword aimed for his chest. This time, Luke sidestepped smoothly, the blade missing by inches. He countered automatically with a quick slash, his dagger finding a small gap between the soldier's arm plates.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
*~ Progress: 3/10 hits landed! Improved technique detected! ~
He felt a flicker of something new inside his head, a connection forming, knowledge settling not just in his mind but in his muscles.
*~ New Skill Unlocked: Basic Evasion (Passive) ~
Grants a minor increase to reaction time and dodge speed when under duress. (Note: Still advisable to avoid getting hit.)
A flicker of hope ignited within Luke as the notification appeared. "Finally," he muttered, a small, grim smile touching his lips. "Something useful."
Time passed as the battle raged on. Luke couldn't tell if it had been minutes or hours since his first agonizing death. His body was miraculously whole each time he returned, but his mind felt frayed, stretched thin, cracking under the relentless pressure. Every death chipped away at him, leaving scars deeper than flesh. The slow ones – the stab wounds that let life ebb away, the arrows that pinned him, the burns that lingered, were the worst. The pain echoed even after respawning, phantom sensations making his stomach churn and his hands tremble.
He bellowed, a sound halfway between a war cry and a scream of frustration, as he rolled desperately to avoid another whistling sword swing. His daggers flashed as he lunged at his attacker, the blade scraping harmlessly against thick armor.
~ Progress: 4/10 hits landed! Minimal damage. ~
Luke's attacks were still clumsy, lacking precision or real power, but he was surviving longer between deaths. Barely. Pain had become his harshest teacher, desperation his strongest motivator.
A green-clad soldier charged, sword raised high, the blade glinting cruelly. Luke's heart raced, instincts screaming move. He sidestepped just in time, the heavy swing slicing empty air inches from his shoulder. The soldier's momentum carried them past, but they pivoted with alarming speed, bringing the sword back around in a sweeping arc aimed at his legs.
Luke ducked low, knees buckling as the blade whistled over his head. "Too close," he muttered, breath ragged. He slashed out with a dagger, aiming for the soldier's exposed side as they recovered balance. The blade connected, but the strike was shallow, barely scratching the armor.
~ Progress: 5/10 hits landed! Maintain pressure! ~
The soldier snarled, eyes narrowing as they lunged again. Luke stumbled backward, raising his daggers defensively to block. The impact rattled through his arms, sending sharp pain lancing up to his shoulders. "Come on, come on," he hissed, desperately trying to find an opening, any opening.
The soldier gave him no chance. They pressed the attack relentlessly, movements fluid and practiced where Luke's were still born of panic. Another swing came at his midsection. He twisted, trying to avoid it, but wasn't fast enough.
~ Damage Taken: 15. Current Health: 20/35. ~
Luke cried out as the blade grazed his ribs, searing pain forcing him to stagger back. He clutched his side, hand coming away slick and warm with blood. "Keep moving," he chanted silently, forcing his legs to obey.
The soldier advanced, implacable. Their blade came down in a brutal overhead strike. Luke barely managed to roll aside, feeling the rush of air as the sword buried itself deep into the dirt where he'd been standing.
This time, Luke didn't wait to be attacked again. He surged forward from his roll, slashing wildly with both daggers. The first blade missed entirely, swinging wide. The second found purchase, cutting into the soldier's thigh just above the knee guard. The green-clad warrior faltered, stance shifting as they recoiled.
~ Progress: 6/10 hits landed! ~
~ Experience Gained: 15 ~
Luke didn't have time to feel relief. The soldier let out a furious roar, raising their sword again despite the leg wound. Luke tried to dodge, pulling back, but his foot caught on a loose rock hidden in the mud. The world seemed to slow as the blade descended, slicing into his shoulder with brutal, agonizing precision.
~ Damage Taken: 20. Current Health: 0/35. ~
~ Critical Damage Sustained! ~
~ Respawning… ~
Luke's vision dissolved into familiar blackness. The pain lingered, sharp and searing, before vanishing into the void. A moment later, he jolted back to life, gasping, clutching his shoulder reflexively. Whole again. The pain replaced by that odd, disorienting sense of disconnect.
"Still alive," he muttered, voice shaky. "Sort of."
A chime echoed:
~ Tutorial Tip: Persistence Pays (Sometimes) ~
You are demonstrating improved survivability. Continue analyzing enemy patterns and refining evasion techniques.
Luke clenched his fists, knuckles white around the dagger hilts. The memory of the last fight burned – the successful dodge, the shallow cut he'd landed, the soldier's roar, his own clumsy stumble leading to death. Yet, his movements had felt sharper, more deliberate. The way he’d dodged, even if it hadn't saved him, felt less like luck and more like… developing instinct.
He shook his head, forcing himself to refocus. The battlefield hadn't paused for his brief demise. Soldiers still clashed, blood still spilled, and the green-clad soldier who had just killed him was already charging toward another blue target further down the line.
"I can do this," Luke muttered, more to convince himself than anything. He tightened his grip, his breathing steadying, becoming more measured. "I'll figure it out."
He stepped back into the chaos, mind buzzing with a strange mix of residual fear and burgeoning determination. He wasn't winning. Not even close. But he could feel it – the faintest spark of improvement, like the first flicker of a stubborn flame refusing to be extinguished in the dark. For the first time, the relentless cycle of death didn't feel quite so hopeless. It felt like… training. Harsh, brutal training, but training nonetheless.