— Don't worry, kid. Stay inside the cave and wait for the fight to be over. It's going to be alright. — She lifted her chin with a crooked smile. — I don't like to brag, but I played tank back at the start of my career.
— Yes, Miss Malaca. — I tried to smile, but it came out more like a sad crease. — I'll trust you. But if something goes wrong… come back to the cave. I can always come up with another plan. You only have one life.
She raised an eyebrow, maybe surprised by my bluntness, but soon relaxed, her expression softening into that rough affection only battle-hardened warriors know how to show.
— Don't worry, brat. — Then she put her heavy hand on top of my head, nearly snapping my neck. — Now… get some rest.
I really was worried about Malaca. As tough and sarcastic as she was, she had come with me to protect me — something no one else in that group would have done.
Deep down, I knew that if she dragged me out of that room by force on that dark night, it was because she was desperate for her granddaughters, who had been kidnapped. I understood her twisted logic and felt for her. In the end, she just wanted to get me out of there alive.
And because of that… I respected her more than I would ever respect any legendary hero.
I closed my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep.
The night didn't go as I expected — and I don't think it did for anyone.
Everyone was too nervous to sleep, and with good reason: we were about to face a creature that, as far as anyone knew, had never been defeated.
I felt frustrated. I wanted to have a more active role in the formation. I wanted to fight. But no matter how much Malaca said I had already done more than enough, it still felt like too little. What else could I do?
I couldn't just go out there smashing my guitar on the monster's head and hope it would be as effective as an axe.
— Damn it…
The first light started to slip through the crack at the cave entrance. The moment was coming.
We had the formation, we had the power, and in theory everything seemed under control. But it's exactly at those times — when everything is "perfect in your head" — that things tend to go wrong.
— Alright then — Malaca raised her voice, authoritative, axe already in hand. — Bernard and I will go ahead. He'll use the "Time Clock" on the White Knight, I'll use it on Marcoriel. With luck, we'll buy about twenty seconds, no more than that. We don't know how long it takes for the effect to hit the target, so use your best skills immediately. Let's play it safe.
The way she spoke, so direct and unwavering, showed why she was the leader of a guild. She earned that spot not through charm, but through sheer experience — and survival.
No one dared question her.
When we finally left the cave, there was Marcoriel, standing in the same place where we'd left him.
But there was something different: his nose and part of his cheekbones were completely black, necrotic, as if time had already begun to claim him. He looked as cold and distant as ever, but in his eyes… I saw something that sent a chill through me.
Surprise.
Regret.
— Even he didn't think he'd die… — I whispered to myself.
The way his death happened — quick, almost simplistic, almost unfair for such a legendary being — still hung over me like a ghost. Deep down, I suspected no one wanted to bring it up. Maybe out of fear of attracting the same fate.
— Come on… "Time Clock"!
— "Time Clock"!
Malaca and Bernard activated their skills still inside the cave. As soon as it was clear the effect had triggered, they both began devouring the cake like starving animals at the cave's edge. Their faces twisted in disgust — it was obvious it was revolting. But they ate every last crumb.
— Come on, damn it… what a horrible thing — Bernard grunted, spitting out chunks.
And then… it began.
It was like watching mountains rise from the ground. Their bodies grew at a dizzying rate, muscles swelling, bones cracking loudly like breaking branches, skin stretching in an almost grotesque way.
— YES! IT'S WORKING! — Varnak shouted, eyes wide.
Siman watched everything, sweating with excitement as he analyzed the magic scroll. Just as I suspected, their stats were skyrocketing. The paper displaying Malaca's attributes seemed to come alive, numbers pulsing and climbing.
Unfortunately, the growth didn't stay linear. After doubling in size, the increases began to slow down, and when they reached nearly triple their original size, it was clear that only strength and endurance had kept up to the end.
— Good thing they're on the front line… — muttered Varnak Junior, overwhelmed with relief.
It was obvious he was the most terrified of us all. Counting carefully, he was the youngest in the group — at least that's what I guessed, adding up our ages in my head.
— Isbel, your turn — said Malaca.
The rogue bit into the Cheshire Wrap and vanished in the blink of an eye.
Unfortunately… her mouth remained visible, open in a disturbing grin, floating in the air.
— I knew that item had to have some weird side effect — I muttered, stomach turning. — But that smile… it looks like his.
My mind almost went numb, fixated on that mouth hanging alone, until I felt something change.
The environment seemed to shudder, and it was as if the air grew heavier. Marcoriel reacted first — he was the one who drew his weapon and charged at us, the metal glinting with a silent hunger.
My turn had come.
I took a deep breath, throat dry, and activated my skill.
— Time Clock (4/5).
The power surged through my arm, time rippled around me — and the world seemed to slow for a moment, as if giving me just enough time to grasp how close to death we all were.
Malaca lunged at the White Knight like a bolt of living fury.
When the creature realized it had no choice but to fight, it finally shed that sinister haze that distorted its form. Seeing it in full detail was a shock — even for me, who already expected something monstrous.
When the mist vanished, he was as clear as daylight: a being that resembled a centaur, but clad in a colossal, almost grotesque armor that raised his height to over five meters.
He carried a long sheathed sword and a massive spear, which he pointed directly at Marcoriel.
The most terrifying thing, though, was when he simply let go of the spear… and it kept floating, hanging in the air as if held by invisible hands.
Meanwhile, the Knight drew his sword — just in time to parry the brutal impact of Malaca's axe.
The blow was so violent it generated a visible shockwave, making small stones leap from the ground. But what should have been a devastating attack… stopped abruptly, the axe buried against the creature's blade without pushing it even a centimeter.
— HOLY SHIT, HE'S STRONG! DAMN IT!
Malaca screamed, veins bulging in her neck, as the creature pushed her back with a single hand — calmly moving the other to his hip to draw a second sword, hidden on the other side of his colossal body.
— BERNARD, HELP ME HERE!
Bernard charged without hesitation, smashing the monster's other arm with his shield and sword, while Malaca kept straining against the first. But it was obvious — painfully obvious — that the Knight was toying with them.
The monster's arms barely trembled, while Malaca and Bernard shuddered under the effort, their feet sinking into the ground.
— Hit him with everything you've got! — roared Vrigs, and immediately the mages began chanting their spells.
Vrigs and Fiona recited powerful incantations, while Briem didn't utter a word — just moved his hands in a silent dance that drew glowing runes in the air.
Soon, black flames, ice arrows, and dark lightning crashed down on the White Knight's face and chest.
Cris, the chita, then rushed in from the flank, driving his spear repeatedly into the creature's ribs. He had eaten the bitten carrot, which doubled his size, and the force he poured into his strikes was so brutal the armor groaned and buckled.
Curiously, the monster seemed to feel more pain from Cris's precise thrusts than from the rain of fire straight to its face. But that only served to enrage it.
With a muffled snarl, the Knight spun and flung everyone away like straw dolls. Malaca and Bernard were thrown nearly ten meters before crashing to the ground with heavy thuds.
— NOW, ISBEL! — Malaca roared, even while gasping on the ground.
She knew the monster had some ability similar to the Black Knight's, something that let it create space and push back opponents to catch its breath. But that also created the perfect opening for Isbel.
The rogue, still invisible, appeared out of nowhere — or rather, only the floating mouth appeared, in a sinister grin that made me shiver.
Then she hurled the entire teapot, dumping the blue and gold tea over the White Knight's body.
The liquid behaved like acid, eating through the armor and tearing a guttural scream from the creature.
For an instant, I thought we'd used the wrong item. But soon something unbelievable began to happen: the monster started to shrink.
First to four meters.
Then three.
— IT'S WORKING! COME ON, KEEP ATTACKING! — Malaca shouted, already on her feet, brushing off the impact's dust like it was nothing.
But as everyone returned to strike the enemy — now weaker and far less intimidating — I felt my skill slipping through my fingers, like water running out of my hands.
— Varnak… I can only use Time Clock one more time. After that, I'm done. You'll have to use yours.
The surprise on Varnak's face was clear, and his eyes went straight to Marcoriel — who, shockingly, was already beginning to break free from the time effect faster than expected.
— Damn it! We need to KILL this creature as soon as possible.
The fight then turned into a battle of endurance.
Clearly, the White Knight had lost much of his power, but just as Malaca had predicted, even reduced, he still seemed to have the strength of a Black Knight.
And that meant something terrible: it was a battle that depended on time — something we were dangerously close to running out of.
— Damn it, Malaca! How much longer do you need?! — Bernard roared, face drenched in sweat and teeth clenched in sheer terror.
He was holding the White Knight in direct combat, but it was clear it was an uneven fight. Even with his power drastically reduced, the monster was still something beyond what any human should ever face. Bernard's shield vibrated with each impact, cracking so loudly it sounded like the prelude to the awful snap of something breaking.
Bernard's raw attributes were lower than Malaca's — and it showed in how the Knight's colossal sword pressed into the shield, almost pushing him straight to his death.
It was a brutal contrast: on one side, fear written across Bernard's wide eyes, beginning to falter, knees nearly buckling; on the other, the White Knight, moving with a cold, deadly precision, as if he had already calculated exactly where and when he would kill him.
It was in those tense moments that I realized something terrible:
The Knight knew.
He understood that Bernard was the weak point, the bottleneck of our defense. His empty gaze — two dark slits in that metal mask — locked onto the tank with an almost tangible malevolence. The monster began pressing with more calculated, nearly methodical attacks, testing Bernard until he'd break.
— SHUT UP AND KEEP DEFENDING, DAMN IT! — Malaca bellowed, her voice heavy with urgency and fury. — I still need more time here! Fuck, WHERE ARE THE SPELLS, MAGES?!
Her voice boomed like thunder in the clearing, but was met with an uncomfortable silence.
From the cave I could see why: Vrigs was hunched over, breathing heavily, hand trembling as he gripped his staff. Fiona clutched her own chest as if trying to tear something out, eyes wide in an almost childlike panic. Briem, the gloomiest of them, traced spells between his fingers, but the glow of the runes on his arms was dim, nearly dying.