Gambling!

James ignored the searing pain from the wound Mathews had inflicted on him. Blood trickled down his side, but his focus remained razor-sharp. Gripping the sickle of death tightly in his hand, his face twisted with cold determination as he charged toward Mathews.

"Damn monster!" Mathews spat, his voice laced with fury. He stepped back, and in an instant, his body dissolved into a swirling cloud of yellow smoke, spreading throughout the room like a sinister mist.

James skidded to a halt in the middle of the hall, his eyes darting around as the thick smoke coiled and hissed around him, enveloping the space in an eerie silence. He could feel the tension in the air, but Mathews was nowhere to be seen. The old man had vanished into the smoke, leaving only his presence lingering like a shadow.

James's chest rose and fell heavily as he assessed the situation. He knew that striking blindly at the yellow smoke would be futile. But he had a trump card 'Life Desire', his unique ability that allowed him to sense the faint flickers of life force. Even if Mathews was hiding in his smoky form, the moment he reappeared, James would feel that vital pulse and be ready to strike.

Time stretched out, and the yellow smoke drifted lazily through the room, circling like a predator sizing up its prey. Still, no attack came. Not a whisper. Not a movement.

"What are you waiting for?" James grinned, his voice dripping with disdain as he scanned the smoky air. "Afraid to make a move? Even when I'm like this, you're too much of a coward to face me. Pathetic! You cowardly old weasel!"

He knew he was bluffing, but it wasn't without purpose. Though he had a final trick up his sleeve, he realized it wouldn't be enough on its own. His mental attacks and straw bindings were still in a cooldown phase, leaving him vulnerable for the time being. He couldn't rely on just his reflexes to defeat someone like Mathews, whose skills had been honed over decades.

To survive this encounter, James needed to stall for time, buying every precious second until his fear-inducing abilities were ready again. And that was the key; Mathews feared him. Feared the ruthless, life-for-injury tactics James employed, and especially the mental assault that could leave him wide open. If James could keep the pressure on, make the old man second-guess himself, he might just live long enough to turn the tables.

Inside the yellow smoke, Mathews's face twisted into a grimace of frustration. His golden eyes glared at James from the mist, rage simmering beneath the surface. How had it come to this? For years, Mathews had dominated opponents with ease, his mastery of physical combat combined with the elusive nature of his smoke-transforming technique made him an unstoppable force among upper-class F-rank fighters. But today, facing this lowly undead, he found himself... stuck.

James had rattled him. It wasn't just the undead's relentless attacks or his ability to endure pain that bothered Mathews. It was the unpredictability. That reckless, almost suicidal fighting style that gambled life for injury, coupled with his eerie mental attacks, had thrown Mathews off balance. He couldn't read this opponent the way he had others. And now, even hidden within his smoke, he hesitated.

The silence between them stretched, the tension thickening in the air like the yellow smoke itself.

James could feel it; Mathews's frustration, his growing uncertainty. He smirked, keeping his sickle raised and his stance steady. "What's the matter, Mathews? You were so eager to crush me a moment ago. Where's that fire now? Come on, show me those legendary physical skills of yours! Or are you waiting for me to die of boredom?" His mocking tone was a deliberate taunt, meant to chip away at whatever confidence Mathews had left.

Within the smoke, Mathews's grip on his rage tightened. He 'could' attack, but the thought of being trapped by that sickle, or worse, succumbing to another of James's mental assaults, gave him pause. Despite his superior skill set, the old man was genuinely unsettled. And the fact that James knew it made his anger burn all the hotter.

"You'll regret that, boy," Mathews muttered under his breath. But even as he said it, he could feel the doubt gnawing at him. That hesitation, that split-second delay, could be his undoing.

James's grin widened. He could sense it now, the old man was slipping, his confidence faltering. And that was exactly what James needed. His own survival rested not just on power, but on patience, cunning, and a ruthless understanding of fear. He could almost feel his abilities returning, the cooldown ticking down with each passing moment.

"Get ready," he said softly, his voice low but filled with menace. "I'm coming for you." His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as he adjusted his grip on the sickle, the weapon now feeling like an extension of himself. He could feel his trump card ready to tip the scales once again.

And for the first time since the battle had begun, Mathews felt the slightest tremor of fear run down his spine.

Mathews didn't dare risk using his physical strength to block James's strange sickle. That cursed blade unnerved him, and his Mathews Physical technique, though excellent for defense, lacked any offensive power. This left him feeling cornered and deeply frustrated. He couldn't afford any more mistakes; every misstep with this undead could cost him dearly.

His thoughts drifted back to the terrifying hallucination James had inflicted on him during their earlier exchange. In that vision, he had seen his own body, lifeless and broken, sprawled out on the ground. James had been standing over him, slowly slicing away at his flesh with that sickle, piece by piece, as if savoring the moment.

It wasn't just the fear of pain that gripped Mathews. He had spent decades, nearly half his life; obsessing over ways to extend his years, trying every dark method to cling to life just a little longer. The idea of losing it all, of dying in this forsaken place at the hands of an undead monster, made his very soul tremble.

Mathews clenched his teeth, barely resisting the urge to lunge at James. But his caution held him back, what if there were more tricks up the undead's sleeve? He couldn't risk it, not yet.

"Hey! Are you listening?" James's voice broke through the tense silence, snapping Mathews out of his thoughts. "I'm practically losing my voice here, waiting for you to say something."

James raised a hand, rubbing his throat dramatically as if exhausted. He coughed lightly, adding, "Cough... by the way, old man, you've got quite the weasel look going on. But your eyes... what's up with those golden eyes? Is that hereditary? Nah, can't be. I've never seen a weasel with eyes like that."

The taunt hit its mark, and Mathews's eyes flared with murderous intent. Rage simmered beneath the surface as he glared at James, his every instinct screaming to lash out, to tear the mouthy undead apart. He wanted nothing more than to rip open James's face and see what strange anatomy allowed him to spout such insolence.

Then, an opportunity presented itself. While James continued his mockery, distracted and seemingly relaxed, Mathews struck. The yellow smoke swirling around the room thickened, then quickly condensed near James's side. From the mist, a skeletal hand emerged and shot forward, clamping around James's waist with a bone-crushing grip.

For a split second, Mathews felt victorious. But then he caught sight of something unexpected; James's lips twisted into a smile. A smile of triumph.

Mathews's heart lurched. Fear surged through him like ice water. The smile meant something. 'It was a trap'.

Realizing his mistake, Mathews's eyes widened in shock. He immediately released his grip, retracting the hand back into the protective yellow smoke as fast as he could.

James sighed in visible relief, feeling the tension lift as Mathews's attack faltered. There was still time; just two more minutes until his fear-inducing ability cooled down and became usable again. He had narrowly escaped this time, but had Mathews followed through with his attack, he might not have been so lucky.

As the smoke continued to swirl around them, James couldn't help but grin inwardly. Mathews had become so skittish, so fearful, that even when he had the upper hand, he hesitated. The once-dominant fighter had been reduced to a jittery wreck, second-guessing his every move. And that was the key to survival in this fight.

James's gamble had paid off.