My philosophical crisis was interrupted by something that made my newly enhanced hearing perk up: the sound of combat. Not the distant echo of cosmic warfare, but immediate, desperate fighting somewhere nearby in the crypt.
Steel rang against stone. Magic crackled through the air with sharp reports that reminded me of firecrackers going off in a metal box. And underneath it all, the distinctly human sounds of people in mortal peril, grunts of effort, shouted warnings, and the kind of cursing that transcended language barriers.
I crept toward the noise, using the massive statue bases as cover. My new Eyes of Arcum automatically adjusted for the changing light conditions, providing me with enhanced night vision that revealed details I probably didn't want to see. Scorch marks on the walls. Deep gouges in the stone floor. Dark stains that my brain helpfully identified as dried blood.
As I rounded the base of a particularly intimidating colossus, this one appeared to be giving the finger to the ceiling in what I could only assume was a statement about divine authority, the source of the commotion came into view.
Four humans were locked in desperate combat with something that looked like someone had taken a helicopter, removed all the practical components, and replaced them with malevolent intent and way too many spinning blades.
My Eyes of Arcum kicked into overdrive, flooding my vision with tactical data:
Target: Aerial Ruin Guard – Lv. 5Classification: Construct, Undying Weapons SeriesThreat Level: Moderate to Humans, Negligible to GodsCurrent Status: Aggressive, Fully Operational
Humans:
Swordsman: [Level 4 | Gear Rank: R | Status: Bleeding, Determined]
Mage: [Level 4 | Staff: Rank RR – "Ember Needle" | Status: Low Mana, Panicking]
Rogue: [Level 3 | Dual Daggers: Rank R | Status: Evasive, Calculating] Healer: [Level 3 | Holy Bell: Rank R | Status: Overwhelmed, Praying]
The battle was brutal and cinematic in the way that made me simultaneously impressed and nauseous. The swordsman, a woman with arms like steel cables and scars that told stories I didn't want to hear, was dancing around the construct's spinning death-blades with movements that defied several laws of physics. Her sword, though only R-rank, was being wielded with the kind of skill that made rank classifications seem meaningless.
The mage, a thin man whose robes had seen much better decades, was frantically casting spells that managed to be both impressively flashy and depressingly ineffective. His staff, "Ember Needle," was producing flames that looked impressive but seemed to bounce off the construct like angry fireflies.
The rogue, and I use that term loosely since she was dressed more like a librarian who'd gotten lost on the way to a knife fight, was doing her best to find weak points in the construct's armour while simultaneously trying not to become a human smoothie.
The healer, a young man who looked like he'd rather be literally anywhere else, was clutching his holy bell and muttering prayers with the desperate intensity of someone who'd just realized that divine intervention required a subscription fee he couldn't afford.
I crouched behind my statue, watching the battle unfold with growing unease. These people were clearly outmatched, but they were fighting with the kind of desperate coordination that came from years of shared experience. They weren't just random adventurers, they were a team. A family, maybe. And they were about to die.
The weight of the moment crushed me more than I wanted to admit. I could help them. My body hummed with foreign power, my mind still echoing with the remnants of a system not meant for mortals. Whatever was stitched into my soul now... it made me capable, maybe even deadly.
But stepping forward meant more than revealing myself. It meant being seen. It meant becoming part of their story, their war, their pain. And worse, whatever had driven them into this buried ruin might turn its gaze on me next.
And then came the coldest thought of all:If I died here... I would stay dead.No system reset. No checkpoint. No second chance.Just oblivion.A nameless corpse rotting in the silence of a world that never knew I existed.No one would mourn me. No one would even remember.
That fear was real. And it clung to me harder than the power ever did.
The system chose that moment to add its own helpful commentary:
["Aerial Ruin Guard activating DEATH FIELD. Immediate action required. Countdown: 10...9..."]
I watched in horror as the construct began to glow with malevolent energy, its spinning blades now wreathed in what my enhanced vision identified as concentrated necrotic magic. The humans below had no system warning, no helpful countdown, no indication that they were about to become very dead very quickly.
"8...7..."
The swordsman shouted something to her team, and they began to scatter, but it was too late. The construct was already rising higher, positioning itself for maximum area-of-effect carnage.
"6...5..."
["Ruin Guards are remnants of the Origin of War, undying weapons from the First Forging,"] the system helpfully explained. "Death Field capability designed for battlefield clearance. Survival rate against unprotected targets: 0.001%."
The healer stumbled, his bell clattering across the stone floor. The mage's staff flickered and went dark, out of mana. The rogue had found cover behind a chunk of debris, but it wouldn't be enough. The swordsman stood in the centre of the chamber, her weapon raised defiantly against impossible odds.
"4...3..."
They were going to die. All of them. And I was going to watch it happen because I was too much of a coward to....
"THINK! THINK, DAMMIT!" I slapped myself hard enough to leave a mark, the sharp pain cutting through my paralysis like a blade through fog.
"2..."
My hands moved without conscious thought, rising toward the construct as something primal and instinctive took over. The Flame Affinity skill activated, but not the way I'd used it before to heat noodle water. This was different. Concentrated. Weaponized.
"1..."
A beam of pure flame erupted from my palms, not the flickering fire of a torch or the dancing flames of a campfire, but concentrated solar fury compressed into a laser-thin line of destruction. It cut through the air with a sound like reality tearing, struck the construct's head dead center, and vaporized it completely.
The Aerial Ruin Guard, deprived of its central processing unit, fell out of the sky like a mechanical meteor. It crashed into the stone floor with enough force to shake the entire chamber, sending up a cloud of dust and debris that made everyone, including me, cough and squint.
Then came the silence.
Four humans stared at the smoking remains of their would-be killer. One reformed cosmic refugee stared at his own hands, wondering where the hell that had come from. And somewhere in the shadows of the crypt, I had the distinct feeling that something else was staring at all of us.