Ah, Shit!

Dark clouds loomed above the ruined battlefield...

The sun was absent, there was a pungent stench in the surroundings, and the earth trembled at the march of numerous footsteps.

On the battlefield, several figures wreathed in shadowy cloaks could be seen writhing towards a certain place. Their dilated eyes seem to be attracted to a faint light that's flickering in front of them. They raised their hands, shaking as they did so as if trying to get hold of that tiny light.

Heavy groans escaped from their lips as they marched slowly towards the light. As they got closer, they seemed to hurry even more. Their disfigured faces seem to express urgency to be one with that light, desiring it even though it might hurt them in the process.

These figures could not speak words, they could only utter unintelligible groans and moans as they walked. As they got closer to the light, the shadowy veil that hides their features vanished, revealing the true state that they're in...

As it turns out, these things were Undead...Zombies, as they're more commonly known.

The Zombies eventually made contact with the light, and the moment that they touched it, their bodies promptly burst into flames, causing them immense deal of pain, turning them into ashes mere seconds later.

Some of the more resistant Zombies thrashed around in pain, but that only caused the fires on the body to be inflicted on others as well, spreading the flames even further. Still, despite their comrades bursting into flames, the other Zombies didn't seem to mind, they continued approaching the wildfire as if they were moths attracted to it.

Behind this wall of fire, another figure could be seen. It was a man who looked like he had his wits about him.

He panted and wiped the sweat dripping on his face. The sword that he was holding a few moments ago was now being used by him as a support so that he may continue to stand.

His pair of obsidian eyes glanced at the Zombies that were trying to come close to him. If it wasn't for the ring of fire around him, he might've already been sieged by their great numbers.

Clutching his chest, the man coughed and splashed water on his face. The fumes of flames around him were making it difficult for him to breathe properly, which also defeats the purpose of why he created them in the first place.

He thought that through this, he could earn a little bit of respite from the endless horde of undeads but the fumes were filling up his lungs so it was somewhat useless.

'It'll be dumb to rely on this for the rest of the run too...' he mused to himself as he judged his surroundings.

Clenching his jaws, the thought of another failure filled his mind. And although he tried his best to ignore this and instead focus on the task at hand, he just...couldn't for some reason.

With how many times he had failed so far, this shouldn't have made a difference, yet the feeling of frustration bubbling up his chest couldn't be ignored even if he wanted to.

'Weak...'

'Why am I so weak?' The man lamented, his eyes losing focus for a moment there.

It hasn't even been long since he began yet he's already like this, panting in exhaustion and completely out of breath. His limbs were trembling, and as much as he would like to, he didn't have enough energy left to wield the sword in his hands anymore.

He glanced above and saw a transparent screen of light floating there. The information displayed in it reads:

[Time Left: 02:49:30]

It seems to be mocking him. Saying words like: 'Really? 11 minutes passed as you're already like this? Give up, brat. Why don't you just consider dying peacefully and you might end up in heaven?'

Clenching his teeth, the man groaned and tried to stand up straight. He squeezed out the remaining strength he had to do so. He grabbed his sword which was struck on the ground with trembling hands. His legs wobbled in weakness as he glanced at the dying flames around him.

He coughed stiffly as the charred Zombie remains wafted through his nose. He knows that he doesn't have much time left. What he's about to do is nothing more than a last-ditch attempt at surviving, yet deep down, he already knows of his ending.

Again, just like his many attempts before, he was destined to fail.

But at the very least, he could take out one or two more zombies, right? That should amount to something, yeah?

So, as the last embers of flames dissipated around him, he roared and raised his sword. He mustered enough strength to at least cleave the nearest zombie to him.

Alas, despite his bravery, his rather heroic action amounts to a useless effort in the end.

He didn't even have the sufficient strength left to properly cleave the zombie. His sword just got stuck on its rotting flesh, unable to proceed from halfway through its body.

The man gritted his teeth and tried desperately to finish the act, but it all amounted to nothing. He's all out of strength, his body failed to produce more.

It was then that he felt a sharp pain in his back. He gasped as he tried to thrash around, hoping to shake the zombie off from his body but he ultimately couldn't.

He was bitten, and it didn't take long before another set of jaws clamped around to his other body parts.

'Please...at least, just one more...before I die!'

Desperately calling out to his body, he continued struggling around. His fists flew everywhere, hitting zombies left and right as he repeatedly prayed to at least kill one more zombie before he died.

In his fierce struggle, he didn't even notice that his left arm was already ripped off from his body. He could swear that he was still swinging that around just now.

What followed was his right leg, this one he felt since it hurt too much. He also felt chunks of flesh being ripped off from his body. Then, his right leg was also torn off, followed by his right arm.

At this point, he had nothing to hit the zombies with so he resorted to his last weapon, which was his mouth.

Since the zombies didn't mind feasting on his body? Why can't he do the same?

And so, in his maddened state, he summoned every last ounce of his strength and bit off a chunk of flesh from his nearby victim.

Judging from the lack of reaction, it was clear that this did absolutely nothing to his target.

Really, who was he fooling here? This mad and desperate attempt to kill a zombie by biting a chunk of their flesh? What a joke! They're Undeads! Missing flesh never bothers them! Something so trivial like that meant absolutely nothing to them.

And deep down in the man's mind, he knows this too. He's painfully aware of it yet he still did it anyway.

If it's for his last bit of pride or he had truly gone mad, only the man himself knows. Ultimately, however, nothing changes...

As the man's life flashed past his eyes, he remembered faces that he once knew. He remembered their voices as life drained from his body while the zombies around feasted on it.

It's funny how familiar this all felt. How many times had he experienced the sensation of death? Though in the end, there's getting used to it.

Coldness started spreading on his chest, drowning him in a sense of exhaustion. The man didn't want to disappear like that but there's no helping it.

In this state, he started hallucinating. So much so that he could almost hear Death itself whispering sweet nothings in his ears, which didn't make sense since he was sure that his ears were already bitten off by one of the zombies around him.

He once again lamented his weakness. His unfocused eyes glanced at the time display floating above him.

'Twelve minutes out of the required three hours. Damn, how pathetic...' He mused.

He cursed his weakness again and again with his dying breath. Lamenting at the fact that he wasn't born with a greater talent or resources. If he had any of those, then his life would've been so much better.

The man cursed this world for being like this. Forget talent or resources actually. If he had been born on another plane of reality that did not deal with demons like this, then he would've been so much more.

Alas, all of this was just the babbling of a dying man. The reality of his situation doesn't change.

'...another failed attempt.'

This was the man's last thought before life slipped away from his body completely.

Then, in a different world, in a rather humble-looking room, the bed suddenly creaked dangerously. It was then followed by a pained gasp.

Here, we see the same man gasping to wakefulness on his bed, clutching his chest where his heart beats vigorously, signifying that he is indeed alive.

The man panted for a good while before calming down. His eyes then had that lifeless look as he unceremoniously got up from the bed to get breakfast downstairs.

'Shit...here we go again.'