Tower of Paradise

The Guardian didn't even try to dodge my blows. No, he simply received each impact as if they were caresses and counterattacked immediately with lethal precision.

His i head was pushed slightly to one side by one of my most powerful punches. But, even before I could correct my posture, a sharp and precise counterblow flew toward me like a black lightning bolt.

I covered myself to receive the blow, however, I staggered like a drunk after the impact. If I didn't have armor of my own, I felt that my arm would have been broken by the enormous force. This time, the Guardian took a step back, as if evaluating the damage inflicted.

After he kicked me in the stomach, my body bent forward, becoming completely exposed.

— Keok! —Blood gushed from my mouth, splattering the ground in front of me. Each of the Guardian's attacks hurt a lot, as if I were being hit with a rain of stones. On the other hand, my attacks barely seemed to affect him, as if I were hitting a mountain hoping to knock it down with my bare fists.

I wasn't going to get out alive if I kept taking direct hits. The Guardian was insanely strong even without a sword, and I was reaching the limit of my resistance.

How could I even fight decently against a monster like this? I was desperate to find a viable strategy.

I closed the distance in an instant and hit the knight's black armor with my right fist, trying to find a weak point in his shell. The Guardian counterattacked with an elbow aimed at my head. However, before he could connect, I raised my arm over my head to receive the blow, deflecting part of its force. I took advantage of the opportunity to destabilize his posture and continue hitting his armor with a barrage of fists, looking for some crack or weak point I could exploit.

Our exchange didn't last much longer after that. I felt how my legs began to fail, my body to betray me. I staggered unsteadily, fighting to maintain balance while a horrible realization settled in my mind: I had miscalculated the time.

I fell heavily to the ground, exhausted and beaten. The time limit of my private attribute had ended, and with it, enormous fatigue and tearing pain flooded my body like a tsunami that I had been containing for too long.

Every fiber of my being burned as if it were being consumed by invisible flames. I had never experienced the backlash because I had always managed to finish my battles before the time limit ran out.

I tried to get up again, my mind ordered my limbs to respond, to move, to do something, anything. But my legs flatly refused, as if they were molten lead adhered to the ground. My body, which had always been my most reliable tool, now betrayed me at the most critical moment.

— Euh-euk... —A choked sound escaped my throat as I struggled to breathe. My mask, full of mud due to the rain that had previously fallen, made my breathing even more difficult. The air entered in small insufficient quantities, causing my brain to begin to cloud from lack of oxygen.

Through the blurry vision I had left, I observed my opponent standing in front of me.

Surprisingly, he stopped attacking. He looked at me without saying a word for a moment that seemed like an eternity, as if he were contemplating the final moments of his adversary with macabre curiosity. His silence was more intimidating than any verbal threat he could have uttered.

Then, the Guardian extended his hand toward the sword he had driven into the ground at some distance. The sword automatically flew toward him, as if attracted by an invisible magnet. The knight grabbed it with both hands and walked to where I was, defeated, helpless, like a bird with broken wings, unable to fly.

Soon, the tip of the blade pointed toward the sky, ready to descend upon me in a final blow. It wasn't just another attack; it was an execution. I knew it by the way he held the sword, by the posture he adopted, by the deliberate slowness with which he prepared. This bastard certainly lived up to his title of Guardian of the Corpses, and seemed willing to add me to his collection.

At that moment, as death loomed over me, my mind worked frantically. Not out of fear —though I certainly felt it running through my veins like liquid ice— but out of survival instinct. I couldn't die here, not like this, not while I had the will to live. There had to be a solution, there was always a way out, an angle I hadn't considered.

When it seemed that resistance was impossible, that my body was completely at the mercy of my executioner, the knight proceeded with the execution, lowering his sword with relentless force, cutting the air with an ominous whistle.

With a final effort, born of desperation, I tried to turn my body at the end. My brain sent desperate orders to muscles that barely responded. After turning and before I could react adequately, the sharp tip hit the chest of my armor with the force of a siege ram, threatening to pierce me completely.

Thanks to this quick decision, the armor resisted. I wasn't pierced in the heart or impaled by the sword, which would have been an instant death.

However, it was small consolation, an ephemeral triumph in the midst of a crushing defeat. The force of the blow was enough to make the earth on my back sink along with my rib cage, forming a small crater. The impact resonated through my body like a shock wave, breaking bones and tearing internal tissues.

My body felt strange, alien, as if it no longer belonged to me. I couldn't breathe, each attempt became a painful and futile struggle. Something bitter flowed from my mouth and made me choke, obstructing my throat and filling my lungs. It was blood, my own blood. I was drowning in it, a hot and metallic liquid that rose up my throat with each weakened beat of my heart.

Weakly, I tried to move, to give some sign that I was still alive, that I wasn't defeated, not completely. But my limbs wouldn't listen to me, they had surrendered long before my will. Only the Guardian was listening to me, a silent witness to my final moments.

I'm hurt... I thought, with surprising clarity. What a ridiculous euphemism to describe my state. I wasn't simply hurt; I was dying.

With my thoughts moving ever more slowly, as if submerged in a dense fog, I looked upward, hoping to see the stars one last time. I had always found comfort in them, in their constancy, in their distant coldness that somehow reflected my own nature.

Instead, I saw two burning crimson eyes that were in front of me from the darkness that seemed to look directly into my soul.

I closed my eyes, finally allowing the pain and fatigue to flood my mind.