The crowd fell dead silent as the sound of fist on face echoed outward and Asahi shot backwards. His body skipped over the sand like a pebble on water, again and again and again before finally skidding to a stop over twenty meters away from where he had been hit. No one dared to move; not the announcer, not the crowd, not even Fon.

“Huh.” In the oppressive quiet, Brock’s voice reached everyone’s ears seamlessly. With raised brows, he rolled his shoulders and scratched the back of his head. Asahi lay still, his body not even twitching, “Righto then.”

Finally, the announcer regained her bearings and she called out, although her voice had lost that excitable edge and instead had it replaced by one of pure shock, “Brock Carter… he’s won in… in a single blow!?”

Then, the crowd burst out of their seats, the uproarious sound of their cheers enough to wake Asahi from his impact-induced unconsciousness. For the most part, Brock was surprised how little these people cared that Asahi had lost. They truly didn’t seem to care, as long as someone won. It appeared they just hadn’t expected the victory to be so quick.

I hadn’t either, to be honest… Sighing to himself, Brock threw his knife to the ground. He found it rather ironic that he had had a blade but still chose to punch him anyway.

Asahi, on the other hand, spat out a mouthful of sand and glanced around, very clearly confused as to why he was now on the ground several meters away from his foe. Almost hesitantly, he felt at the reddening welt on his face, and he winced. Even though Brock had limited his speed to the point where his Dexterity could still keep up, it seemed like Asahi had still been hit far too hard.

The welt was so well defined that Brock could see where each of his fingers had hit. He winced for his victim’s sake.

Eventually, as the cheers began to die down, realisation dawned on Asahi’s face, and his visage shifted into an enraged scowl, “You cheated!”

With the relative absence of cheers, his screaming voice resounded throughout the arena, and the few people still cheering rapidly quieted down. A tense silence once again fell over the area as people settled in to watch the drama unfold.

Brock cocked a brow his way, “how? I punched you.”

At this point, Asahi’s face was bright red, whether from the humiliation he felt at being so easily taken down or the fury he was desperately trying to keep under wraps. Possibly both, “You… you didn’t even give me time to react!”

“…” Brock resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “…how is that my fault?”

This time, Asahi didn’t even bother to respond. Instead, his aura flowed out into the arena, and he charged forward. He moved somewhat quick, although to Brock, he may as well have been moving at a snail’s pace. His aura tasted of earth and grit.

Idly, Brock heard the announcer yell out in protest, alerting the enraged man that the fight was already over and had been decided. Unfortunately, the man seemed too absorbed in himself to notice. Sighing, the stronger of the two sidestepped a clumsy lunge and delivered a swift chop to the back of Asahi’s neck as he stumbled past.

“Ack!” he lost balance and smacked into the ground with a thump. Brock felt a flare of pain within his chest.

“I won, mate. This doesn’t look like leaving me alone.” Brock commented while Asahi rose to his feet with fervour. Still, the man declined to respond.

It was almost amusing, at this point, as Brock watched the guy’s eyes narrowed in concentration, his aura siphoning to one of his Technique nodes and causing a hardened outer shell of stone to form upon his skin. While it might hurt quite a bit to take the blow directly, Brock was well aware that the damage itself would be negligible.

Still, he moved to twist out of the-

“BLUUARRGHHHH!”

Time seemed to freeze.

Brock viewed Asahi’s approaching fist in slow motion as the world spun around him. The pain in his chest was akin to a bonfire of agony, sizzling his insides and making every nerve tingle. The thick stream of dark blood spewing out past his lips almost looked to glide through the air as it made its way down to the sands below.

The taste of iron within his mouth was overpowering, and his head throbbed.

Then, the normal flow of time resumed, and Asahi’s blow landed.

Amidst the furious pain burrowed deep inside him, Brock didn’t even notice the blow had connected, even as he was launched backwards and collapsed onto the sand, crimson dribbling from his nose and eyes. His mind was blank, and his senses felt muddled, like he was trapped underwater. He couldn’t stop his body from spasming.

Distantly, he heard gasps and screams. His name too. He could hear his friends call it, the worry and fear clear to even his muffled hearing. He tried to move, tried to get up and wave everyone off, tell them he was ok. But his body refused. Every single cell felt unresponsive.

…What… the hell…

It was only when his blurred sight began to close in and give way to darkness that he realised he had fucked up. He had known something was wrong with him, with the blood noses and the coughing up of gore, yet he had kept putting it off until later when getting it checked was convenient.

This was entirely his fault.

As the teary faces of Harry, Fon, Carrie, and even Beatrice leaned over and into his remaining pinpoint of vision, he knew. Those expression were his fault too.

**

It was dark. Endless. Eternal. As far as his eyes could see, the black drifted onward, hiding vast shadows and horrifying shapes. Despite the powerful hunger that readily wafted off from them, he knew they had no interest in him.

They couldn’t eat a soul after all.

The taste of blood was still fresh in his mouth, although that previous fire in his chest had long petered out, ridding him of the pain. Aside from the piercing cold, the only other sensation he could feel was a pounding heartbeat inside him. It throbbed frantically, keeping him alive. Healing him.

Despite that, he couldn’t focus on anything but the figure drifting ahead of him. In a lot of ways, it looked almost human; it had the shape of one. But that was where the similarities ended, he supposed. It sported four arms, and skin as black as the void that surrounded them, if not yet blacker. Despite that, its body seemed formless, eternally untrue to its appearance.

Upon its head, while he couldn’t be sure, there seemed to be two patches of black even darker than the rest. He shuddered as he felt them staring right at him.

…HEHEHE…

The noise – if it could even be called that – was akin to a million whispers ravaging his mind simultaneously, echoing endlessly within his skull and threatening to drive him insane. Yet, despite that, he was certain he’d heard this voice before, in this very same void, although he struggled to remember when.

…LET ME OUT…

It came again, attacking his brain directly and wreaking havoc. To him, it was clear that the beast spoke with the intent to harm, to instil fear. Perhaps it was to get what it wanted. To be freed. But he knew it matter not, the pull of consciousness reaching out and snagging him.

As the black lightened and gave way to the white, the creature stared at him silently, fading along with the darkness. Brock rose his middle finger up to it as he came to.

“No.”

**

“Did you hear that? I think he said something! Carrie did you hear it too?” His brain felt groggy, and his sense dulled, but distinctly, Brock could make out a rather annoying voice and what it was saying. It didn’t take much mental leg work for him to pin who it belonged to.

Around him, Brock could sense a series of familiar auras, and one that he found entirely foreign. Kim was standing right beside him, her voice being the one that had spoken before. Carrie was on the other side of the room, appearing to be seated in chair, based on the elevation of her aura.

Fon and Harry were waiting nervously at the end of his bed, their auras portraying their obvious anxiousness and concern. Mio was there too, leaning against a wall. He could glean nothing from her aura. And the final aura he eventually recognised as the one belonging to the highest levelled healer in the hospital.

From what he could tell, the man had gained a few levels since last time, and was now at 55.

Carrie’s voice resounded, and while it carried weariness, there was joy within, “Yeah, I did. He’s waking up?”

A man, probably the doctor, hummed in affirmation, “Shouldn’t be long now. He’s been out for four days already.”

Brock’s eyes shot open, and he exploded up to a seated position, his face frozen in a frown of disbelief, “Four days?!”

So many things happened at once in that moment. He finally felt Mio’s aura fluctuate in a mix of subdued relief and amusement. Harry and Fon almost fell back on their asses in shock, the doctor stumbled backwards, and Carrie did nothing.

A high-pitched scream resounded, and Kim slapped Brock in the face.

Afterwards, a tense silence followed. Two seconds passed. Then five. Then ten. And then finally, Brock reached up and rubbed his face, “Ouch.”

“I’m so so so sorry…” Kim muttered, almost shy with embarrassment. Brock shot her a glare.

He didn’t have any more time to focus on her, however, as Harry stepped forward and wrapped him in a monstrous hug, his immense Strength keeping him tightly sealed within. Fon joined a second later, albeit while warning Harry that he was going to snap Brock’s spine. Brock returned the embrace, guilty that he had caused them so much worry.

He felt that guilt began to knot up in his gut. He was always wounded. Always making others fear for his health and worry about him.

“You’re finally awake, dude! Took you long enough!” Harry finally let him go, and Brock felt his spine ease back into its normal position. Fon agreed to the boy’s words with a shaky grin, and together they stepped back and gave him some space.

Carrie, who was actually seated, rose from her chair and breathed out a sigh of relief, approaching Brock and giving him a brief hug, “You had us all worried there. What the hell man?”

Sheepishly, Brock scratched the back of his head, idly noticing that Mio had disappeared, probably having just come to make sure he was ok, “…Sorry guys. I’ve… been sick lately, I gue-”

“Sick doesn’t even come close.” A noticeably deep voice cut him off prematurely and brought the room’s attention to him immediately. He seemed rather unimpressed by how Brock had described his condition, and coupled with a white coat and glasses, he appeared to be the rich-boy snobby type. His ebony skin shone in the light above.

“What do you mean?” Fon pressed.

The head doctor regarded her nonchalantly, before turning his attention back to Brock, “You aren’t sick; you’re dying.”

A deathly silence fell over the room. Brock hissed out a breath, “…I am?”

Inwardly, he didn’t know how to feel about it. Sure, what had been happening recently was abnormal, but he didn’t think it meant he was dying. On the contrary, he had kind of assumed it was a side effect of damaged pathways or something. Either way, he didn’t think the doctor was lying per se, but he certainly struggled to believe his words.

Brock admitted that he didn’t know much about pathways, or really anything at all these days, but he was almost certain they weren’t something that would kill him if damaged. They were simply vessels for energy, and unless he consistently travelled energy through them, he was all but sure they’d have no adverse effects, passively at least.

The doctor, Zane Douglas, according to the name tag pinned to his coat pocket, straightened his lips into a line and gave a brief nod, “You are. My Aura Technique allows me to perceive the lifeforce within people I focus it on. You’ve got just about none within you.”

Harry was rather sceptical, “None?”

“The amount of lifeforce directly relates to one’s lifespan and resistance to illness, I’ve found,” Zane shrugged nonchalantly, seeming far too chill about the situation. Although Brock supposed he was a doctor, so things like this were par for the course for him at this point, “Sure, your lifespan isn’t flat zero, as you’re still alive, but I’ve seen higher amounts in elderly people approaching their nineties.”

Silence returned to the room once again after that. Brock stewed silently. He was shocked. His lifespan had apparently been reduced to practically nothing, and he had no idea why. By extension of his older tangent, his damaged paths were ruled out. Ryan was ruled out too, as the man had controlled blood, not life itself. As far as he was aware, at least.

It had to have been something recent… He knew that, yet he still came up blank. Nothing he had done recently had registered as all that significant in his mind, and he knew it had to be a recent occurrence, as his apparent sickness had only started recently. Brock sighed deeply. Maybe it was Salvation? No, that travelled through my pathways…

“You can’t do anything to help him?” Carrie asked, almost reluctant to speak. She glanced at Kim, and the chatterbox looked away. Clearly, there wasn’t much helping his condition.

Zane shook his head, “Unfortunately no. The process of healing injects temporary lifeforce into a subject to stimulate their natural regeneration. Maybe if I could find a way to make it permanent, I could help, but restoring his lifespan currently is impossible.”

Brock cursed in his mind, though there was no rage, only tired acceptance. He met the doctor’s eyes, ignoring the hollow stares Harry and Fon were giving him. Carrie looked to be on the verge of tears, “How long you reckon I got left?”

Zane stewed on it for a few seconds and his aura embraced Brock, scanning for the ‘lifeforce’ inside him. A bead of sweat travelled down the doctor’s forehead as his face crumpled with concentration, and then finally, he huffed out a breath, his aura having depleted quite a bit in the few seconds of use.

“I’d give you,” he glanced at Kim and her watering eyes, and the lines in his face hardened, “about three months.”