Excerpt 23

  (Page 1, Section 1)

  Why do they struggle? I’ve asked that question to countless prey as their blood cooled beneath my hands. Their answers varied, but the desperation in their eyes was always the same—feral, clinging, irrational. Over time, I collected their final words, their last excuses, and shaped them into a grotesque litany of purpose.

  The first, and most common, is survival. They want to live. As if existence itself is eternal. Yet every creature dies. Every heartbeat marches toward decay. So what is it they fight for? Another breath? Another sunrise? How absurd—to fear the inevitable and worship the fleeting.

  Then there’s family. Some beg for mercy not for themselves, but for those bound to them by blood. “If I die, they’ll suffer.” That shows a hint of reason. But why build a world where others must die for your weakness? Why not teach them to fight? Let the fragile perish and end the cycle of dependence.

  Dreams. Ah, now that reason I find... amusing. They claim they cannot die because their dreams remain unfinished—as if a completed ambition grants permission to slip into the void. Once, I let one finish their dream. I gave them time. I even gave them the blade. When their dream was done, they still begged to live. Fascinating. Pathetic.

  There are others—revenge, redemption, fear—but all crumble beneath the same truth: death comes. It doesn’t care for your goals, your kin, your trembling will. It does not bargain. Still, they scream. They claw at the light like rats in a drowning pit.

  And I... I watch. I ask. I kill. And still, I do not understand.

  Source: The Anatomy of Struggle – Ragryxnos, Death’s Last Word

  Excerpt 23 End

  It was the thirtieth bush he had checked, and not a single snake had emerged. He was letting his guard down. Maybe they were rarer than I thought, or maybe they had all learned to stay hidden.

  After a quick inspection that revealed nothing but leaves and twigs, he turned his back. Maybe I should try a new spot—

  Shh.

  What was that—

  Argh!

  Pain exploded at the nape of his neck, sharp and immediate. Something had struck him before he could even flinch. His sword-stick and shield fell from his hands as he clawed wildly behind him, fingers fumbling against slick scales and tightly coiled muscle.

  Get off! Get off!

  After a struggle that felt far too long, he finally yanked it loose. There it was—a small branch snake. The very thing he’d been hunting all this time.

  But there was no thrill of success. Only pain. His fingers came away wet with blood, and worse—he could already feel a cold, creeping numbness setting in. Poison... no—venom. Of course it’s venomous.

  He didn’t know if it was lethal, but he wasn’t about to find out the hard way. He triggered the system return. Sixty seconds.

  Let’s see if your bite kills me before the countdown ends. If not, I’ll be back. And next time... you die.

  He snatched up his sword-stick and shield, muscles trembling but still working, and lunged toward the snake.

  But the serpent didn’t flinch. It simply stared—head raised, tongue flicking lazily—as if it already knew he’d lost. Then, without a care, it slithered back into the bush.

  Really? That’s how this ends?!

  The snake had retreated as if its job was done, as if it knew the venom would finish him off. It wasn’t running—it was waiting. Confident. Arrogant.

  Hassan’s vision blurred at the edges. His balance faltered. A cold sweat rolled down his back as the numbness spread. It’s working... damn it, it’s really working.

  Going into the bush was out of the question. If he survived and came back, he would return inside the bush. He’d be wounded by the thorns and die helplessly.

  No. I’m not dying quietly.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He scanned the ground. Rocks—small, smooth, throwable. He picked them up and hurled them with what little strength he had left, trying to provoke the snake into lunging again.

  Miss. Another. A third bounced weakly off a branch.

  Come on... just one more—

  His arm drooped. His legs buckled.

  Fifteen seconds.

  He couldn’t see straight.

  Ten seconds. His thoughts scattered.

  Five seconds.

  Darkness.

  #####

  You have perished

  Exiting System Training Space

  #####

  Light returned—followed by heat, breath, and annoyance.

  Damn it... why did I drop my guard again?

  The same mistake. Wide open back. No camouflage. And for what? A few easy bush pokes?

  As the anger dulled, reason settled in. Wait... what if the snakes didn’t strike before because I wasn’t vulnerable enough?

  The first time, the snake struck while he was distracted by a lizard. This time, it had waited until his guard was completely down.

  They might be ambush predators. They only go for the kill when they’re sure of it.

  A theory worth testing—just not today. Time to get back to the routine.

  #####

  Why did I have to jinx it...

  Hassan’s eyes narrowed as the familiar old Zamongarai entered the tent again. At first, he assumed the elder had business with the caregiver—nothing to do with him.

  But then the man turned. He walked toward him and stopped just a foot away.

  “Come… after… we… go… different.”

  The words were scrambled, barely coherent, but the meaning became obvious the moment those massive hands scooped him up like a sack of vegetables.

  Where are you taking me?!

  Haven’t you tested me already?

  Hassan kicked and twisted in protest, but the elder only chuckled—a deep, rumbling laugh that reminded him just how absurdly weak he was in comparison.

  He looked toward the caregiver, searching for help. But she only watched in silence, her expression complicated—hopeful, yet unsure.

  Outside, the snow had nearly melted, a faint crust of white clinging to corners and shadows. The air was calmer, warmer. The town was busier.

  But what truly stood out was the reaction of others. Every zamongarai who saw the elder paused. Bowed. Stepped aside.

  He’s important... Hassan realized. Really important.

  But is that a good thing—or a bad one?

  They arrived in front of an average-sized tent—though larger than many he had seen so far. The elder didn’t knock or wait for permission. He simply bellowed, “...entering,” and ducked through the flap.

  What lay inside made Hassan blink in disbelief.

  Scrolls and parchment littered the entire floor, overlapping in wild but purposeful stacks like an ocean of paper. In the center, a large glowing crystal pulsed faintly, casting shifting colors across the walls.

  But it was what stood beside it that truly shocked him.

  An elf?!

  The figure towered over him—graceful, sharp-featured, and otherworldly. Though only about three-fourths the height of the caregiver, he commanded attention with an effortless presence. His silver-blond hair cascaded like a river of starlight down his back. A deep sapphire robe hugged his form, trimmed in gold and etched with elegant sigils that softly shimmered. His eyes glowed faintly with unnatural focus as he scribbled across a massive tome using a glowing feather-quill. A crystal pendant at his chest pulsed in sync with the one at the tent’s center.

  The elf didn’t speak. He radiated a calm, quiet power—the kind that didn’t need to raise its voice to command attention.

  But the image of stoic grace shattered in an instant.

  The elf’s head snapped toward the elder. He stood suddenly, quill clattering to the floor. His voice rose—not with anger, but with desperation.

  “No more, please—no more!”

  Hassan flinched. He understood those words. Every syllable.

  Wait… he’s begging?

  The two exchanged words in a rapid, complex dialect Hassan couldn’t follow. Too fast. Too sharp. But their tones told the story—negotiation, resignation, reluctant acceptance.

  Then the elf turned his glowing eyes toward Hassan.

  “I agree.”

  The elder grunted, as if that was all the confirmation he needed, and gently placed Hassan down beside the elf. Then he turned and walked out—no hesitation, no backward glance.

  What just happened? You’re leaving me here—with him?!

  The elf finally looked at him—and grimaced, like he’d just noticed a stain on a priceless book.

  With a flick of his wrist, the air around Hassan shifted. Suddenly, his body felt weightless. His feet lifted off the ground, and he began to float in midair, limbs limp and dangling.

  What the—

  Before he could process the sensation, the elf waved again. A torrent of water materialized from thin air, slamming into him with icy force.

  He gasped, sputtered, twisted—every inch of him drenched in frigid cold. Invisible forces scrubbed at his skin, as though hands were scrubbing away dirt he didn’t even know he had.

  And just as suddenly, it ended. The water vanished without a trace, and he was lowered gently to the floor.

  The elf gave a nod of satisfaction, as if he had just sanitized a particularly filthy object.

  I’m not even a person to him… just a mess to clean up.

  But Hassan barely noticed the humiliation. All he could think about was the water. The floating. The conjuring.

  That was magic.

  Did they give me to this elf... to have him check again if I was possessed?

  Why would they do that?!

  The elf used magic to place him on his desk, then pulled over a fresh stack of parchment and dipped his quill again. With fluid strokes, he began sketching—not random shapes, but detailed, lifelike drawings. Within a minute, an accurate depiction of a zamongarai appeared on the page. Above it, strange symbols.

  Hassan blinked. Wait... is this elf not going to test me? Is this some kind of art class?

  Then the elf spoke a strange word, softly but clearly, and pointed at one of the symbols. Again. Then again.

  Hassan’s eyes slowly widened.

  He’s teaching me—actually teaching me words.

  The elf repeated the word again and again—patient and focused, though clearly bored.

  Is this real? Or is it a test?

  If this was a trap—to see if he was too smart, too aware—then he had to be careful. No sudden responses. No showing off.

  He kept his mouth shut, but inside his mind burned bright.

  I’ll learn—just not fast enough to raise suspicion.