Smile! Tomorrow will be worse .3

Aico's anguished cries reverberated through the scene, his body wracked with pain as he doubled over, a searing sensation coursing through his abdomen. Each cough felt like a blade, each breath a struggle against an invisible weight pressing down on him. He teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness, grappling with the onslaught of agony that threatened to consume him.

Summoning his necromantic powers, Aiken commanded forth an eerie assemblage of undead beings. Twelve skeletal figures emerged at his call, each adorned with weaponry and armor, ready to heed their master's commands. Aiken's grasp over the dark arts granted him the ability to command these spectral minions, a unique power reserved for black magicians like himself. The skeletal horde stood as a testament to Aiken's mastery over his chosen path, a chilling display of the arcane forces at his disposal.

Yet, the cost of wielding such immense magic was not lost on Aiken. As the battle raged on, he keenly felt the strain on his own being, a searing reminder that his avatar's abilities were tethered to his own physical state. The surge of magic that had fueled his skeletal army had exacted a toll, leaving him drained and vulnerable. Aiken's health plummeted to a precarious 34%, a stark reminder that even in the virtual realm, the consequences were all too real.

Amidst the chaos and tumult, Althea's desperate pleas echoed like a haunting refrain, a voice of reason amidst the tempest of battle. Her words were a dire warning, a reminder that the boundaries between the virtual and the corporeal were perilously thin. Aico and Aiken, locked in their own conflict of ideals, grappled with the weight of their decisions, each path fraught with uncertainty.

Aico, battered and wounded, his body pushed to its limits, found himself at a crossroads. The pain was tangible, a visceral reminder of the stakes at hand. Despite his dire circumstances, a flicker of determination gleamed in his eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to be defeated, not when his life hung in the balance. With a surge of willpower, Aico rallied himself, drawing upon every ounce of strength he could muster. In this pivotal moment, a resolve blossomed within him, transcending the confines of the game and echoing with the resolute heartbeat of a soul fighting for survival.

"MIO!" Aico's voice boomed, a desperate plea infused with determination. Mio, attuned to Aico's unspoken intention, swiftly acted. With a swift motion, she hurled her katana towards Aico, the blade slicing through the air like a projectile in a high-stakes game of skill and precision. Aico's outstretched hand intercepted the weapon, his fingers closing around the hilt with a sense of urgency. The exchange was a testament to their unspoken bond, a connection that transcended the confines of the game.

Undeterred by the turn of events, Cziell stood resolute, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. The challenge that Aico presented was met with an equal measure of determination. The battle, now more intense than ever, unfurled before them like a tempestuous storm, that Maine is still maintaining.

Aico surged forward, his feet carrying him with purpose towards a group of six skeletons poised for combat on the left flank. The katana became an extension of his will, each swing a testament to his unwavering resolve. With each strike, the hollow echoes of bones breaking filled the air, a macabre symphony of destruction. The satisfaction of his blows was mirrored in the triumphant grin that graced Aico's features, a defiant taunt aimed at his opponent.

Cziell's response was a smile, one that spoke of a strategist's confidence. A master of tactics, he deftly anticipated Aico's movements, orchestrating a defense that showcased his cunning. A skeletal warrior clad in imposing armor emerged at Cziell's command, intercepting Aico's strike with an unyielding shield of bone and metal. The clash of metal against metal resonated through the virtual battlefield, a testament to the strength of Cziell's conjured guardian.

However, Aico's determination was unwavering. He leaped back, a calculated retreat that spoke of a keen tactical mind. His eyes remained locked on Cziell, a silent vow etched in his gaze. The battle raged on, an intricate dance of skill and strategy that defied the boundaries of the game. The outcome remained uncertain, a culmination of their choices and abilities.