Battle with F-class High-level!

The moment the massive spectral palm vanished into thin air, thick swirls of yellow smoke coiled behind James. Without warning, a bony foot, clad in worn straw sandals, shot out of the haze and slammed into James's back.

"Ugh!" James let out a sharp, choking gasp. Pain gripped his chest as the air was knocked from his lungs. The force sent him flying, his body twisting awkwardly through the air before he hit the ground in a rough tumble.

"Not bad... not bad at all." A raspy voice echoed through the clearing. The yellow smoke slowly coalesced into a figure; Mathews, his gaunt frame materializing exactly where James had just stood. He dusted his hands off casually, eyes gleaming with a mixture of surprise and admiration as he studied his target.

"You're just an F-grade undead," he mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Yet, somehow, you sensed my attack. Impressive. Your awareness far surpasses others of your kind... but," his voice darkened, his tone growing ominous, "don't mistake this for strength. Crushing you now would be as simple as stepping on an ant."

James, still sprawled on the ground, coughed again but managed to lift his head. His eyes locked onto Mathews, and despite the pain, a twisted grin spread across his face. "If you're so eager to learn, I can teach you."

Mathews's golden eyes flickered, suddenly gleaming with interest. "Seriously? Teach me?" His voice betrayed excitement, the prospect of gaining forbidden knowledge thrilling him. But behind his eagerness lurked something darker, greed, ambition, and a flicker of deadly intent.

James sneered at the sight of those greedy eyes. "Yes, come closer," he beckoned with a wave of his hand, his smile stretching into something feral and dangerous.

Mathews hesitated, a momentary flash of doubt crossing his mind, but confidence quickly returned. After all, he was certain that his Yellow Smoke Technique would protect him. Slowly, cautiously, he stepped closer.

James's grin widened as Mathews entered his range. "You really are a fool," he hissed. With a burst of speed, James leapt to his feet, a sickle appearing in his hand in one swift motion. With all the strength he could muster, he swung the gleaming blade straight for Mathews's neck.

Mathews's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly reacted, his body dissolving into yellow smoke to evade the strike. Yet, something flickered in James's eyes; a flash of deep, sinister red. Mathews felt it immediately. His heart skipped a beat, an unfamiliar sensation of dread crawling up his spine.

It was fear.

In that split second, his escape faltered. His concentration broke, just long enough for the blade to find flesh. The sickle whistled through the air and bit deeply into his arm instead of his neck. Blood sprayed in an arc, staining the ground crimson.

Mathews let out a pained growl, his golden pupils wide with shock. He had barely managed to twist his body at the last second, avoiding a lethal strike, but the sickle had embedded itself deeply into his bony arm. His muscles, thin as they were, clamped down around the blade, preventing James from pulling it free.

"Tch," James clicked his tongue in frustration. "I missed."

Mathews grimaced through the pain but didn't lose his composure. His breath was ragged, and he could feel his life force slipping away, his life force had been nearly drained, down to a mere fraction of what it had been. Yet, he wasn't done. Gripping the handle of the sickle with trembling fingers, he turned his head slightly and rasped, "Mental attacks? You filthy beast."

With a snarl, Mathews yanked on the sickle, pulling James off balance and sending him crashing to the ground with a brutal thud. The force of the throw sent a shockwave through James's body, but before he could recover, Mathews's shadow loomed over him.

"You won't get away this time!" Mathews growled, his hand morphing into the form of a spectral weasel as he prepared his next strike.

"Yellow Wolf Strike!" He roared, his arm descending with vicious speed, the weasel's sharp claws slashing towards James's back.

With a sickening thud, the blow landed squarely, driving deep into James's body, and for a brief moment, the world stood still. The tension in the air was thick, both combatants knowing that the endgame was near, but neither willing to back down.

"Cough!" James gasped as a tremendous force crashed into his back, sending him crashing to the ground with a resounding thud. The impact left a sizable crater in the hard earth, a testament to the brutality of the strike.

Mathews stood over him, a cold smirk curling his lips. "Humph," he scoffed, looking down at James sprawled on the fractured ground. "Go ask anyone in the world. They'll tell you; Mathews is a master of physical combat."

A warning flashed in James's mind: [Warning! Physical damage 53% permanent damage 13%]. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to rise, only to feel the weight of Mathews's foot pressing down on him.

"You think you can intimidate me?" Mathews hissed, his golden eyes blazing with a mix of murderous intent and unspoken fear. "I've battled for years and taken down over a hundred of my own kind, upper-grade F-level fighters. And here I am, held in check by a lower-grade F-level undead! I'm giving you one last chance. If you die here, I'll feast on your life force!"

James managed to turn his head from the ground, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Another chance? Spare me your hypocrisy, you old weasel!"

The twisted advantage of his undead form allowed him to turn his head nearly 180 degrees, an unsettling sight. Mathews's face flushed with anger. "Good! Good! Then prepare to meet your end!" he shouted, a yellow glow igniting in his hand as he aimed a punch directly at James.

But James wasn't about to back down. Ignoring the incoming fist filled with lethal intent, he activated his straw binding, wrapping it tightly around Mathews's ankles. With a wild twist of his body, he seized the sickle and swung it towards the old man's legs.

Realizing the danger, Mathews's eyes widened. The yellow light around his fist flickered out as he broke free from the bindings. He leapt aside just in time, transforming into a puff of yellow smoke and vanishing from sight.

[Host makes F-class creatures feel fear, growth value +3 points.]

"Hahaha!" James laughed, scrambling to his feet. "You could have ended me just now! What are you afraid of? Death? Or perhaps me stealing your life force? Hahahaha!"

"Shut up!" Mathews snapped, regrouping at a safe distance, his face twisted with frustration. Deep down, he knew James was right. His earlier hesitation had stemmed from a primal fear of the sickle; a weapon that could snuff out his life in an instant.

As James's laughter echoed, Mathews's expression darkened. Despite his bravado, facing James's reckless fighting style had unnerved him. Just moments before, he had the perfect chance to deliver a fatal blow, yet he chose to retreat instead.

Once the laughter subsided, James fixed his gaze on the grim-faced Mathews, determination radiating from him. "Get ready, because I'm coming for you," he taunted, holding the sickle horizontally with renewed vigor.

An odd thought crept into his mind: Why do I look like the villain in this story? I'm the one being hunted, yet here I am, facing him down.