An arrow whistled through the air, slamming into the Undead Knight's armpit just as his silver sword reached its zenith above my face. The impact caused him to stagger slightly, his rusted armor creaking as his balance shifted. The silver blade jerked out of alignment.

  If this animated corpse was only five levels lower, Eva's Tri Force Shot would probably have pushed him a couple of feet away by the sheer force. At level forty though, the best the arrow did was just stagger him slightly, buying me a couple more seconds before the blade came down.

  When Andy’s sword swung downward at me weeks ago, I had three seconds before the blade on fire hit me. Now thanks to Eva I had double that, six seconds thanks to the arrow. The undead adventurer had to reposition his blade again and then raise it a second time for a downward thrust.

  And just like that, my high Intelligence stat pointed out all the ways I was screwed just like last time in slow motion. My mind was working at light speed to solve an unsolvable puzzle. This time I didn’t have a ability which was going to get me out of this.

  I could see Duncan already slamming a foot on the ground to run towards me, I considered the possibility he could use Vanguard Thrust to save me and instantly discarded the idea. He was grabbing the sword hilt to pull it out, the sword was sheathed so he could guzzle Heal Potions. He’d never get the blade in proper position in time.

  No spell Hellen had could be chanted fast enough to save me. And Eva, bless her, literally gave it her best shot but it wasn’t enough. I wasted the first second doing nothing beyond thinking of all the methods which wouldn’t work. Then I wasted the following second comprehending I was going to die.

  Let’s be honest, deep down I always thought I was on borrowed time.

  More than once I wondered if Andy had pulled off killing me and this was just some crazy lucid dream I was having before death got me. Other times I felt like I had tricked fate and it was going to get back at me hard for fooling it. Whatever the case, I could at least make sure I was the only casualty.

  I had four seconds left. Four seconds to make my death mean something.

  The Champion was still pinning me, but my upper body was free enough to move. With a desperate lunge, I swung my hook hand upward, feeling it catch the edge of the Champion's helmet. The rusted metal groaned as I yanked with every ounce of strength I had left.

  To my shock, the helmet tore free, revealing a grotesque skull with patches of leathery skin still clinging to yellowed bone. Those glowing yellow eyes now floated in empty sockets, somehow more terrifying without the helmet to contain them.

  A fleeting thought crossed my mind—I could never have done this with a normal hand. The hook's curved shape had caught perfectly where fingers would have failed.

  The Champion's yellow eyes blazed brighter in what almost looked like surprise. Above me, the Knight's blade was coming down in an inexorable arc which would end my life.

  With my free hand, I thrust Blood Thirst downward with all my might, aiming for the Champion's newly exposed eye socket. My higher Dexterity stat gave me just enough speed to make my stab happen first. The blade sank deep with a sickening crunch, dark ichor spraying across hand.

  I heard a roar of rage from Duncan somewhere in the distance. The Knight's blade was inches from my face now, its silver gleam the last thing I'd ever see.

  I closed my eyes, I know it was a chicken move. If I was Duncan or his father, I’d stare death head on. But sometimes a guy just wanted to not see the ending coming.

  The silver tip plunged downward into my closed eye, and blinding pain erupted for a single, agonizing instant.

  Then nothing but blackness.

  ***

  Duncan felt the rage build inside him like a physical force, hot and terrible. He couldn't think about what had just happened—couldn't process the horror of what he saw. There would be time for grief later. Right now, there was only vengeance.

  He leaped forward with a roar that didn't sound human, launching himself directly at the Champion. The massive undead was vulnerable, exposed skull and shoulders slowly lifting up with Will's dagger still protruding from his eye socket. Duncan angled his jump perfectly, bringing his leather boot down with all his weight onto the dagger hilt.

  The impact drove Blood Thirst deeper into the undead's skull with a sickening crunch. The blade punched through the back of the rotted cranium, its tip emerging in a spray of dark matter. Spider-web cracks spread across the yellowed bone, fragments breaking off as the skull began to collapse inward.

  Without pausing, Duncan pivoted to face the Knight, who was hastily trying to raise his silver longsword for a parry. Too slow. Duncan's blade connected with the Knight's shoulder, severing rusted armor straps and biting into whatever lay beneath.

  The smell of fresh blood filled the air—Will's blood—but Duncan refused to look down. He couldn't. Not yet. The pool of crimson was growing larger by the second in front of him.

  Duncan felt something beneath his foot—a slight quiver of movement. Looking down, he saw the Champion's massive body still twitching, his gauntlet hands clawing weakly at the stone floor despite the catastrophic damage to his skull. Will's dagger had nearly split the rotted brain in two, yet somehow the abomination still clung to his unnatural existence.

  A memory flashed through Duncan's mind—when his father was teaching him to climb a cliff, one of many memories he held onto dearly.

  "Your legs," his father had said, "have three times the strength of your arms. Remember that when you need power, not precision."

  Duncan raised his boot again, positioning it directly above the protruding dagger hilt. With a savage cry, he brought his full weight down, driving his heel into the weapon with all the force his powerful calf muscles could generate.

  The undead Champion's skull exploded beneath the impact. Bone fragments scattered across the stone floor like broken pottery, and something wet and foul splattered across Duncan's boot—rotted brain matter mixed with the dark ichor which passed for blood in these creatures.

  The Undead Knight didn't give him time to process what had happened. With inhuman speed, the undead warrior launched a flurry of strikes which forced Duncan into a desperate defense. Each swing of the silver longsword came faster than the last, the blade whistling through the air with deadly precision.

  Duncan's arms burned with fatigue as he parried blow after blow. The Knight was stronger and faster, no surprise since he was three levels higher than Duncan. He found himself giving ground, backing away from the onslaught without landing a single counterattack.

  With each step backward, Duncan became increasingly aware that he was moving away from Will's body. Part of him was grateful—he couldn't bear to look at his friend, couldn't process the horror of what had happened. But another part understood the tactical advantage Will had given him by removing the Champion from the fight. He wouldn't waste the sacrifice.

  Behind him, Duncan heard the familiar cadence of Hellene's chanting, the words of her spell rising and falling with practiced rhythm. He also caught the sound of scuffling—Eva engaging the remaining undead rogue with the short sword. He couldn’t give any support beyond hopeful thoughts. The challenge in front of him didn’t allow for even a second of distraction.

  The Knight pressed forward relentlessly, his yellow eyes burning with hatred. Each clash of their blades sent jarring impacts up Duncan's arms, threatening to knock his sword from his increasingly numb fingers. Blood from earlier wounds trickled down his forearms, making his grip slippery and uncertain.

  [HP: 160/315]

  "For Liora," Duncan muttered through gritted teeth, invoking his former goddess despite everything. Old habits died hard, and he needed whatever strength he could find.

  The Knight's next strike came down with such force that Duncan's knees nearly buckled. He managed to catch the blow on his blade, but the impact drove him back another step. The undead warrior seemed to gain strength with each exchange while Duncan felt his own ebbing away.

  The blade clashes probably had only lasted a couple of minutes, but it felt like an hour for Duncan. His arms burned with fatigue, muscles screaming in protest with every parry. The Undead Knight pressed forward relentlessly, yellow eyes gleaming with malevolent purpose beneath his helmet.

  Another silver blow caught Duncan's guard at an awkward angle, sending a shockwave of pain through his wrist. The Knight pressed his advantage, following with a vicious upward slash which forced Duncan to leap backward. His foot caught on an uneven stone, and for a terrifying moment, he teetered on the edge of falling.

  The Knight didn't hesitate. With inhuman speed, he lunged forward, silver blade aimed directly at Duncan's exposed chest.

  Duncan twisted desperately, but not fast enough. The silver tip punched through his shoulder guard, piercing flesh and muscle beneath. White-hot agony exploded through his body as the blade slid between his collarbone and shoulder joint.

  [HP: 133/315]

  He hissed in pain, yanking himself free of the blade with a wet, tearing sound which made his stomach turn. Blood poured from the wound, soaking through his tunic beneath the armor. The Knight advanced relentlessly, those hateful yellow eyes fixed on him with predatory focus.

  Duncan's vision blurred slightly, whether from pain or exhaustion, he couldn't tell. His HP had dropped below half now. The realization struck him with crushing force—he might not win this fight. Will's sacrifice might be for nothing.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  He felt moisture gathering in his eyes, shame burning alongside the physical pain. After everything they'd been through, after Will had given his life to help defeat the Champion, Duncan might still fail. His grip on his sword hilt tightened as he blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision.

  Suddenly, something large and dark flew through the air behind the Knight. The Undead Scout flailing, limbs desperately trying to grab something before slamming into the Knight with surprising force. Both undead tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and rusted metal, the Knight's silver sword skittering across the stone floor.

  Duncan stared in momentary shock before his combat instincts took over. Once, he would have stepped back, allowed his opponent to regain his footing. The old Duncan—the knight who served Liora with unwavering faith—would have considered it dishonorable to strike a fallen enemy.

  That Duncan died when he read the words ‘Fallen Knight’.

  With grim determination, he stepped forward, raising his sword high above his head, the tip pointed downward in a perfect mirror of the position the Knight had taken over Will just minutes ago. The irony wasn't lost on him as he aimed for the Undead Scout's exposed skull. He had to take out the more vulnerable one first.

  His blade plunged downward with all his remaining strength, punching through bone with a satisfying crunch. The sound of his weapon piercing rotted brain matter was revolting, but Duncan felt only cold satisfaction as he drove the sword deeper, twisting it slightly to ensure maximum damage.

  He pulled his blade free with a wet sucking sound, dark ichor dripping from the steel as the Knight struggled to disentangle himself from the Scout's limbs. The undead warrior managed to roll towards his sword, an obviously practiced move showing the corpse remembered all his old fighting training even after death. The silver sword was quickly grabbed as the Undead Knight got up.

  The two raised their blades to continue their fight, but before metal could clash against metal, the Undead Scout's corpse suddenly lifted from the ground as if pulled by invisible strings. It flew through the air, slamming into the Knight with enough force to send him staggering sideways.

  Duncan's mind raced to comprehend what had just happened. Then he saw Hellene at the edge of his vision, her fingers splayed in a familiar gesture, eyes narrowed in concentration. She was using her Telekinesis spell on the Scout's corpse, manipulating it like a grotesque puppet even after death.

  Their eyes met across the chamber, and an unspoken strategy formed between them. Duncan nodded almost imperceptibly, understanding immediately what she intended.

  The Knight had barely regained his footing when the Scout's corpse crashed into him again from another angle. Duncan seized the opportunity, lunging forward to deliver a punishing strike to the Knight's exposed side. His blade bit deep, carving through rusted armor to the decaying flesh beneath.

  He danced back as the Knight swung wildly, yellow eyes blazing with fury. He didn't have time to look for Eva or wonder why no arrows flew to his aid. Something cold settled in his gut at the absence, but he forced the thought away. He couldn't afford distraction now.

  The Knight charged again, but Hellene was ready. The Scout's body hurtled through the air once more, catching the Knight mid-stride. The impact threw off his attack, giving Duncan precious seconds to reposition.

  This dance continued—Hellene flinging the corpse to create openings, Duncan exploiting them with increasingly desperate strikes. But even with this advantage, the Knight was relentless. A glancing blow caught Duncan's thigh, then another sliced across his forearm.

  [HP: 78/315]

  Duncan's breath came in ragged gasps now, each movement slower than the last. His blood slicked the stone floor beneath him, his vision narrowing to just the Knight and his gleaming silver blade. He was down to a quarter of his health, each beat of his heart pumping more precious lifeblood from his wounds.

  The Knight raised his sword for what might have been the killing blow when Duncan spotted it—a weak point in the ancient armor. Where the Knight's sword arm connected to his shoulder, the rusted metal had worn particularly thin, the leather straps beneath frayed and rotting.

  As the Knight's blade descended, Duncan didn't parry. Instead, he pivoted, bringing his own sword around in a powerful horizontal slash aimed directly at the vulnerable spot.

  Metal screamed against metal, then gave way with a sickening crunch. The Knight's sword arm separated cleanly at the shoulder, both limb and weapon clattering to the stone floor with a sound which echoed through the chamber.

  The undead warrior staggered backward, yellow eyes blazing with impossible fury. Without hesitation, Duncan positioned his sword at the creature's chest and activated Vanguard Thrust. His blade punched forward with supernatural speed, skewering the Knight through his torso. The undead's remaining hand lashed out, metal fingers clawing at Duncan's face.

  The claw strike burned across Duncan's face, but the pain was nothing compared to the wounds he'd already suffered. With a grunt, he kicked hard at the undead creature's midsection, his boot connecting with a solid crunch against the rusted armor.

  At the same moment, a blast of frost magic from Hellene's staff struck the Knight, coating his entire form in a layer of glistening ice crystals. The combined impact of Duncan's kick and the magical frost sent the creature toppling backward, landing with an ungainly clatter of frozen armor.

  The Knight's glowing yellow eyes stared upward, burning with hatred even as ice spread across his armored form. Duncan stepped forward deliberately, positioning his sword tip directly over the narrow slit in the helmet where those unnatural eyes glowed.

  Without hesitation, he drove the blade downward with all his remaining strength. The sword punched through the visor, cutting through whatever remained of the creature's face beneath. Decayed flesh and bone gave way with minimal resistance as the blade sank deep into the skull.

  The Knight's body convulsed, limbs twitching with unnatural spasms that sent ice crystals flying from his frozen form. For several agonizing seconds, the creature continued to move, then abruptly went still. The yellow glow in his eyes flickered once, then died completely.

  Duncan wrenched his sword free, dark ichor dripping from the blade as he stepped back. The Knight's body collapsed fully onto the stone floor, the rusted armor settling with a final, hollow rattle.

  His brain finally noticed pop up messages the System supplied at the corner of his eye.

  [Level Up! Level 37 → Level 38]

  [Level Up! Level 38 → Level 39]

  [Level Up! Level 39 → Level 40]

  He stood motionless, sword hanging limply at his side, breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood from his numerous wounds pooled at his feet, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

  For nearly a full minute, he remained frozen, staring at the fallen Knight. Turning around meant acknowledging what had happened behind him. Turning around meant facing a reality he wasn't prepared to accept.

  A soft, broken sob shattered the silence. Hellene's voice, stripped of its usual sharpness, reduced to something raw and wounded. Duncan had never heard her cry before—had never imagined the formidable enchanter could produce such a vulnerable sound.

  He knew he should move, should see what was causing her such distress, but his body felt leaden, unresponsive. Finally, with tremendous effort, he forced himself to turn.

  The sight which greeted him drained what little color remained from his face. Hellene knelt on the stone floor, her gray robes stained with blood which stretched across the ground. Beneath her trembling hands lay Eva, her small form unnaturally still.

  Eva had suffered a massive stab wound directly in her stomach, blood pooling beneath her in an expanding crimson circle. Duncan didn't need to check for a pulse to know she was gone—the lifeless stare in her once-fierce green eyes told him everything. The amount of blood on the stone floor made it painfully obvious she hadn't survived the hit.

  Duncan shuffled forward on legs that felt like lead, each step sending fresh waves of pain through his wounded body. He reached Hellene, whose face was covered with salty tears, eyes pressed shut as she squeezed Eva's shoulder with trembling fingers.

  "I couldn't... I wasn't fast enough," Hellene whispered, her voice shaking.

  Duncan couldn't find any words. What could he possibly say? Instead, he turned his gaze to where Will lay, and his mind finally acknowledged what he'd been desperately avoiding—the face covered in blood and dark ichor, the body not moving. The silver blade had done its work with terrible efficiency.

  His chest tightened with an invisible vise. Two friends lost in a single battle. Duncan knew Hellene might need comfort, but first, he had to do something else. He couldn't leave Will in such a state.

  With painful steps, he walked over to what remained of the Undead Champion and Will. With a grunt which was half effort and half grief, Duncan rolled the Champion's massive corpse off his friend's body. It wasn't right to leave him in such a position—pinned beneath the monster that had trapped him for the killing blow.

  Duncan looked around the chamber, his eyes landing on the tattered cloak still clinging to the Scout. He limped over, yanked it free, and returned to Will. Carefully, reverently, he laid the cloth over Will's body, covering the face that had moments ago been filled with desperate courage. It would have to do until he found something more proper.

  Only then did he return to Hellene. Her sobbing had subsided into quiet, shuddering breaths. Duncan sat on the ground beside her, his own wounds forgotten as he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  "I should have taken the boots," Hellene said suddenly, her voice hollow.

  Duncan remained silent, waiting for her to continue. He had no words of comfort to offer, not when his own grief threatened to overwhelm him.

  Hellene turned to look at him, her face tear-stained and devastated. "It was stupid to let Eva keep those Boots of Blinking Step," she continued. "She refused to use them when it mattered most."

  Duncan watched as Hellene's fingers curled into fists, knuckles white with tension.

  "She knew I wouldn't get my spell cast in time," Hellene's voice cracked. "Knew I could never outrun the Scout. So instead of using the boots to save herself, she... she tackled the Scout to stop him from reaching me."

  “A single thrust was all it took," Hellene whispered, her voice breaking as she stared at Eva's lifeless form. "The Scout's blade went straight through her. Right here." Her trembling finger hovered over the terrible wound in Eva's abdomen, not quite touching it. "She didn't even scream."

  Duncan watched silently as Hellene's shoulders shook with quiet sobs. Her hands moved restlessly over Eva's body, as though searching for something to fix, some way to undo what had been done.

  "Only after she was already gone did I finally complete my Telekinesis spell," Hellene continued, her voice hollow with self-loathing. "I grabbed that bastard and threw him at the Knight. Used his body like a weapon after Eva died stopping him."

  She looked up at Duncan, her eyes red-rimmed and desperate.

  "If I had just insisted on taking those damn boots myself, none of this would have happened. I could have teleported away, had time to cast my spell. And Eva-" Her voice caught. "Eva was quick enough to evade on her own. She always was."

  Duncan didn't contradict her. What was the point? She might have been right—the boots could have changed everything. But dwelling on it wouldn't bring either of them back. Mistakes were always clearer in hindsight, paths not taken always seeming better after disaster struck.

  He stared down at his blood-covered hands, his mind numb with grief and exhaustion. Two friends gone in minutes. Will's sacrifice, Eva's bravery—both had saved lives at the cost of their own.

  A sudden creaking sound echoed through the chamber, startling them both. Duncan's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt as they turned toward the noise.

  The massive boss room door was slowly swinging open, grinding against stone as it moved. They hadn't touched it, hadn't approached it—the dungeon itself was reacting to the death of the final foes.

  "What now?" Duncan muttered, too drained to even stand.

  Before Hellene could answer, a sizzling sound filled the air from the opposite side of the chamber. They both turned to see a shimmering portal materializing against the far wall, its edges crackling with blue energy as it stabilized into a doorway-sized oval of swirling light.

  Duncan let out a bitter laugh. "Must be the portal to the goldfish," he said, making no move to rise from his position beside Eva's body. "The dungeon's grand prize for our suffering."

  "Who gives a fuck about the goldfish," Hellene spat, her grief momentarily giving way to rage.

  The sound of footsteps near the door made them both freeze. Soft, measured steps echoed from the darkness beyond the open doorway.

  Duncan turned wearily, wondering what fresh hell the dungeon would unleash upon them. They were in no condition to face another challenge.

  Before either could react to the sound, the chamber erupted in flames. Brilliant orange fire filled the air, the heat intense and immediate. Duncan raised his arm instinctively to shield his eyes from the blinding light, but it was too late—his vision white from the blazing flames.