Chapter 56: Active And Passive

The Ifrit roared and from within the depths of its enflamed throat surged a wave of pure fire that washed over the field. The sound wasn’t just loud, it was heavy, like the arena itself had been punched.

Heat rolled outward in a visible sheet, a bright wall that didn’t behave like normal flame so much as a command issued to the air.

Kael didn’t even have time to think about what kind of attack it was; the instinct was immediate and animal. He realized had no hope in surviving something like that if it were to touch him so he immediately ducked to the ground. His knees hit ash-coated stone, palms skidding slightly as he pressed himself down, body flattening like he could make himself less real by force.

The flame wave passed harmlessly above him but still managed to singe a bit of his clothes. He felt the rush even through the lingering haze of Presence, hot wind that scraped over his back and shoulders, tugging at fabric, lifting tiny sparks that died in the air.

The edge of his sleeve curled. A few hairs at the back of his head tightened and crisped with a faint crackle. It missed him, but it didn’t miss him cleanly, and the fact it could still bite while he was prone made his stomach twist.

The smell of burnt clothes and hair filled his nose a bit, especially since the rune of Presence was failing right now. It wasn’t the sharp stink of goblin blood. It was personal. Acrid, oily, the unmistakable stench of his own fabric turning into ash and his own body being threatened.

He could feel Presence fraying like a rope under strain, the muffling thinning and letting reality leak back in. The arena’s heat came through more clearly. Sound sharpened. The Ifrit’s presence felt heavier, less ignorable, like the rune was tired of pretending.

He can’t fight, no, there is no way he could fight, he is underequipped, underleveled and outmatched in everyway. That truth slammed into him with a clarity that was almost calming.

There was no heroic option here. No clever angle that turned him into the underdog who somehow wins. This thing was a boss that lived in fire. Kael had a crowbar, a stolen rune, and a body that had only recently stopped rearranging itself.

The Tower could call him [Legend] all it wanted, numbers didn’t turn a man into a god overnight. At least not these little numbers.

“Fuck being active, I gotta run!” Kael cursed inwardly, and the thought tasted bitter because he’d just made a vow about not being passive.

But being proactive in most situations was his conviction, and it never faltered even now. The difference was simple: proactive didn’t mean suicidal. It meant making the right move before the wrong move was forced on him, and right now the right move was to survive the consequences of what he’d just done.

He knew that doing anything like an attempt on this field boss alone would simply be his death. That was the line. He’d crossed enough lines today. He wasn’t crossing into martyrdom just to prove to himself he had guts.

He already obtained his objective, the Rune is now in his hand so all he had to do was dip the hell out. Quite literally.

The rune’s presence was heavy in his palm, still warm from the pit, and it felt like holding a lit coal wrapped in stone. He tightened his grip around it anyway, because dropping it would be the dumbest way to die, burned, chased, and unrewarded.

Thankfully, after the sudden roar, the creature seemed confused. Kael could see it from his low angle, its stone head turning, shoulders shifting, one massive arm rising as if it expected prey to still be standing where it had sensed it.

Presence hadn’t made him invisible in the heroic sense, but it had made him hard to confirm, and the Ifrit was reacting like a predator that smelled blood but couldn’t locate the vein.

’Right, I got more mana from the sudden title bonus, that means I have a few more seconds before Presence drains me completely.’

The thought came fast, clipped, like he was reading a timer he couldn’t see. He could feel the drain, that pulling emptiness behind his ribs, but he could also feel the slight extra capacity like someone had widened the container by a hair.

He couldn’t let the thought fester long, he had to apply the idea immediately. Plans that waited became regrets in this Tower. He swallowed hard, forced his breathing to stay shallow, and moved the second his body agreed.

Without wasting a second, Kael rushed forward, far too close toward the Ifrit who was looking around, his sight seemed to be muffling Kael’s existence but not to a great degree. He stayed low, using the uneven ground and ash patches to soften his steps.

Being closer to the Ifrit was like running toward a furnace that had decided it hated you personally. Heat licked his skin. The air shimmered violently. The closer he got, the harder it became to pretend the rune was “working fine.” Presence didn’t make him a ghost; it made him a glitch, and glitches still got corrected. If spotted. And that was a big iff that he was gambling his life on.

The creature aimed its open, extended palm at Kael, who immediately rushed to the side to avoid whatever incoming blow was going to shoot at him, but the creature was somewhat stalling, slowed, or perhaps was mentally unable to process that Kael already moved.

The Ifrit’s palm shook, fingers of stone and flame spreading as if to grasp him, and Kael’s body reacted before thought could interfere. Once again, he cut hard to the side, feet sliding slightly in ash, shoulders twisting so he could keep momentum.

It gazed beyond its opened palm, finding nothing, then suddenly caught sight of Kael, it turned its hand to face Kael, who kept dashing in zigzags, leaving the Ifrit at a complete loss.

The moment it “saw” him, it was already too late, like its senses were reporting outdated information.

Kael could practically feel the delay, as if Presence had inserted a stutter into the Ifrit’s perception. It didn’t track him smoothly.

It snapped and corrected, snapped and corrected, always a beat behind, always reaching for where he had been.

It was as if the Ifrit was lagging behind a couple of seconds. Seeing nothing but the afterimage of Kael after a great delay. The image made Kael’s nerves jump anyway, because even delayed, the thing’s reach was enormous. One wrong step, one stumble, and the delay wouldn’t matter.

Kael already rushed past the Ifrit; the pathway outside the arena was a mere few steps away. He saw the entrance gap ahead, the two collapsed buildings leaning together like a broken jaw, the shadowed tunnel beneath them that had brought him in. It looked narrower now, more threatening, and the heat behind him made it feel like a lifeline stretched taut. He pushed harder, lungs burning, legs driving, crowbar clutched, rune locked in his grip.

Freedom and escape just up ahead, merely a few steps away. He could make it! He could definitely live!

Just then…

[Your mana has depleted!]

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