• The One Who Failed

"Ngh!" Jarren groaned, trying to force the sword out of the muddy earth. 'This thing won't budge. It's so heav—Why is it so heavy!!? It feels like it weighs a ton!'

The Gatekeeper, assured in himself, advanced towards Jarren with a cold glare in his eyes. Rather than leaving the ponderous sword and scrambling away, Jarren decided to keep pulling, hoping to pull a last second miracle just before the Gatekeeper reached him.

However, in a flash of an eye, the knight closed the distance between them. And in that same flash, Jarren saw a fist encased in glowing silver metal coming for his face.

The Gatekeeper connected with Jarren's face, and the punch was jaw-shattering. This was in the literal sense as well, because with the silver-fisted steel hitting his jaw, Jarren felt a thousand vibrations through his face, blood clogged in his mouth and he staggered backwards uncontrollably until he collapsed to the ground.

When he held his jaw and looked up at the knight, Jarren could swear that he was smirking at him—a bastard, smug smirk as though amused by his weak, desperate effort.

The knight had this smirk on his opaque countenance when he picked up the sword from the earth without any difficulty, as though laughing at Jarren's own face.

The shattered extra sat there in shame and distraught, rain beating him, disguising what could be tears of desperation on his face. But there was no time to pity himself now, especially if he still wished to live.

The Gatekeeper was coming again.

He lunged forward, sword flashing to strike. Still sitting on the mud, Jarren picked a handful of the wet soil and hurled it at the knight instinctively—not that it could harm him in a million years, but to throw him off rhythm, to interrupt.

The move didn't stop the Gatekeeper, but it forced him to sidestep for just a fraction of a second, as he too was half-confused by the action.

Nonetheless, that was all Jarren needed to get up and dive away, once again tumbling into another area of the mud.

He had just realized that there was no actual way he could kill the Gatekeeper, and in his futile attempts to do so, he had lost the only weapon he had to defend himself.

His escape barely even did anything but delay his suffering and death as the Gatekeeper struck again, but faster, too fast for his body to jump out of the mud and run.

A sharp, excruciating pain stung on his arm as the Gatekeeper's sword sliced the air then tore out a good amount of flesh from his lower shoulder, almost peeling to the bone.

Jarren crashed into the mud with a plop, crying in pain, yelling as he rolled and circled, pulling himself away from the Gatekeeper. He was terrified, completely terrified. He'd always written about death in the face of his characters, but he had never expected to face death like this. Nothing at all like this.

Thankfully, the Gatekeeper seemed to be somewhat entertained by Jarren's unskilled cowardice and took his time with his attacks, making the process of his death as slow as possible.

At least, that was what Jarren believed was happening. Even through his fear, pain and tears, he still wasn't ready to die, even if his body was giving up,— 'My pride hasn't! I will not die to some overpowered piece of shit plot character!'

He grabbed tightly to his leaking hand, and found his feet. Frantically, he stumbled toward a nearby rise in the ground, his boots slipping as he climbed.

The Gatekeeper followed, unfazed by his persistence, but Jarren knew this was the only way he could stretch the fight. Let the knight fight the elements too. Let him struggle through the mud and rain just like him. If he could keep it moving, keep him off balance, he might just last long enough.

The Gatekeeper swung again, and again, and again. All three strikes found Jarren's flesh and the participant dropped to the ground, his body hitting the earth hard. Blood stained the mud.

The silver knight loomed above Jarren's sprawled, lifeless body, then he raised his sword high, finally prepared to end it. But before his eyes, he saw the participant move—a finger first, then, his knee dragged up and he pulled himself to a kneeling position while the Gatekeeper watched, sword raised high.

"I won't die," Jarren muttered. "Not again. I'm not—I'm not going to die."

He fell to a crawling stance and began to pull himself. Lightning flashed through the expanse of green grass, the darkness gave way to light for a moment, and the image of the knight standing above the desperate extra was illuminated.

"Death is horrible! It's hollow! The pain, the confusion! I'd do anything not to feel it ever again!"

Jarren continued to drag his bleeding body through the wet grass, towards something the Gatekeeper couldn't quite discern. Lightning struck again, to Jarren's left this time, striking the same patch of ground it had before.

The weak participant lifted his chin, and he could see the scorch marks from previous strikes. The lightning was touching the earth with every crackle and the burnt earth was a telltale sign.

So what was he trying to do? Kill himself? If he got any closer to that area, the thunder would kill him!

The Gatekeeper's sword was lowered low, but he followed Jarren, walking nonchalantly beside him as though relishing his pathetic effort.

To his surprise, Jarren found a burst of energy supplied to him by adrenaline, fear, desperation? Whatever it was, he was suddenly on his feet, clutching his hand as he sprinted toward the spot where the lightning had just struck, his legs burning with exhaustion.

'Come on!' Jarren's thoughts cried at the silver knight. 'Come on, you glowing bastard! Follow me!'

The sword sliced through the air as the Gatekeeper chased him, unrelenting. But Jarren wasn't dodging randomly anymore. He was leading the knight, pulling him toward the thunderstorm.

Even if the knight would kill him, at least he could drag him into the storm first! A powerful blast of lightning would be enough to fall the knight and he would defeat the Trial! His Soul Core would awaken just before he finally gives in to death and he would be rejuvenated.

That was it. That was Jarren's plan. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. A true move of desperation.

As he ran closer to the eye, he could feel the charge in the air, the way the storm seemed to build up right before the lightning came. It wasn't just luck—he was counting the time between the flashes.

Another bolt struck in front him, lighting up the field. The Gatekeeper didn't even flinch, but Jarren's heart leapt. 'Almost there.'

The scorched ground ahead was his target. It had been hit twice now—he was sure it would strike again. He just needed to survive long enough to get the Gatekeeper there. He threw himself forward, stumbling but not stopping, keeping the knight just close enough that he couldn't stop chasing him.

But the Knight was just too fast. His sword came down again, and this time, he didn't dodge out of the way. He dropped low, letting the blade whiff over his head, and then, with a guttural cry of pain and true, horrible desperation, Jarren somehow found his feet again, he scrambled away toward the burnt patch of earth.

It was now or never.

His chest ached, his legs screamed, but he reached the spot just as he counted the last few seconds in his head. The storm roared above, the clouds swirling with energy, and he could feel it—the next strike was coming.

He turned, facing the Gatekeeper, who was already bearing down on him. The man-monster raised his sword high, ready to finally end all of it.

But Jarren wasn't finished. He looked to the sky and saw the heavens opening, and in front of him, the Gatekeeper charged forward, sword raised, stepping directly onto the scorched patch of ground.

He had to jump now! And so he did. He darted sideways at the last second, throwing himself just outside the danger zone. The Gatekeeper's sword, however, was too fast and caught his leg, slicing off his foot in the same brisk second.

Nevertheless, his judgment came. In a heartbeat, everything was silent except for the cry of pain from Jarren. Then, the world exploded in light.

A bolt of lightning ripped from the opened sky, striking the earth with a deafening crack, right where the Gatekeeper stood. The force of it knocked Jarren off his single foot, sending him splashing into the mud. His ears rang, his vision blurred, but he forced himself to look up.

Everywhere was engulfed in a blinding light, not just from the lightning strike. The Gatekeeper had been hit, and the lightning coursed through his silver armor, electricity crackling and sparking, locking the knight in place.

The silver armor reflected everywhere, alongside the flash of lightning and the echo of a furious thunder. Jarren covered his eyes from the blinding luminance and peered from below.

The Gatekeeper's sword fell from his grasp, sinking into the mud as he stood there, twitching under the violent surge of energy. Then it came to an end. The light dissolved away and the dark clouds returned.

Like a leaf, the knight's body fell to the ground, the armor steaming from the lightning strike. Jarren was wide-eyed as he gazed, his breath was shaky, heart was pounding.

Every part of his body ached, and he was losing so much blood. But the important thing was that he was alive. He had outsmarted the Gatekeeper, and used the storm as his weapon.

He won.

He pulled himself up with his only foot and hands, groaning in pain. The rain was still pouring, though much calmer now that the beast was dead. Jarren hopped towards the body of the Gatekeeper with one leg, still clutching his bleeding hand as well.

When he was close enough, he gazed down at him, disdain in his eyes. "You don't look so tough now that you're dead," he grunted, watching the vapor rise from his steel armor.

Slowly, his eyes moved to the sword beside him. It would havd been a very helpful weapon to defeat the rest of the Trials, if only he could lift it.

Letting out a determined humph, Jarren made a move to reach for it, to attempt lifting it again. But, with wide eyes and a flare of his senses, he saw the Gatekeeper's hand move. That was when he realized something in that second:

The Inquisitor! The Inquisitor did not announce that he had killed the Gatekeeper! The Trial wasn't over. The silver knight wasn't dead!

Jarren couldn't do anything at all to save himself. No move of desperation could rescue him from this situation as he was right in the Gatekeeper's point of kill.

The knight grabbed the hilt of the sword and lifted it high above his body, plunging the blade straight into Jarren's heart. It sunk so deep that the tip of the blade stuck out his back.

Jarren's eyes widened, blood spurred out of his mouth, his chest spewed out even more, tainting his black shirt to crimson. He was dying... again.

The Gatekeeper pulled out the sword, and consequently, Jarren's body fell backwards and dropped into mud and grass. Not because he was escaping an attack this time, but because he was dead.

His arms were stretched at both sides, his eyes still wide open, only a foot left, body filled with slashes and bruises, mouth retching out more blood while the mud around him stained with the same red liquid.

[Your adversary has defeated you] The Inquisitor's voice came alas.

[You failed].