Things were looking incredibly grim for Young. While he managed to stall the incoming punches from the gauntlet-wielding soul being, he paid a catastrophic price for the defense. His hands were completely mangled, and the friction tore open his previous lacerations, causing a fresh torrent of blood to gush violently from the reopened wounds.
Yet, that was far from his only injury, nor was it the most perilous.
A volley of kunai grazed his flesh, leaving behind ragged tears that bypassed all natural durability; the weapons were clearly laced with an insidious energy, rendering the resulting damage far more horrific than anything a normal blade could conceivably inflict.
Before he could process the burning agony, a shuriken sank deep into his chest, unleashing a wave of white-hot pain and a terrifying, constricting sensation that threatened to freeze his blood flow. He had no time to register the trauma before a second shuriken plunged into his torso, effortlessly fracturing his rib cage and embedding itself mere millimeters from his lung.
As if on cue, the final, devastating blow arrived. The halberd dove ruthlessly through Young's back, piercing straight through his back and erupting out the other side. Until this moment, Young had foolishly believed his capacity for agony had peaked, and that feeling new levels of torment was impossible. However, the instant the massive blade impaled his back—passing just a few inches to the left of his spinal column—he experienced a violation unlike anything before.
Throughout the entirety of the chaotic melee, he had managed to preserve his vital organs from any truly harrowing destruction. Now, that fragile sanctuary was utterly shattered as the weapon claimed a piece of his flesh, forcing him to confront a soul-crushing agony. It was the profound, visceral "pain of loss".
The weapon fractured his bones and pulverized his muscles, unleashing a violent torrent of blood. To add insult to catastrophic injury, the soul being callously twisted the halberd free to reclaim its weapon, further ravaging his internal tissue and releasing yet another sickening surge of crimson into the dirt.
As the layers of agonizing trauma overlapped one another, Young completely lost sensation in his mangled hands and staggered backward. The compounding effects of catastrophic blood loss, torn muscle tissue, and the multiple weapons still embedded in his chest had finally become far too much for his body to bear.
He caught himself desperately wishing that the final strike had just killed him.
Unfortunately, he was cursed with the grave misfortune of experiencing every single wound with absolute, unyielding clarity. The raw, unfiltered stimuli of his failing anatomy swamped his nervous system, leaving him completely paralyzed beneath a suffocating blanket of agony.
The sheer magnitude of the pain dominated his consciousness to the point that he could no longer form a coherent thought. He was entirely incapable of formulating a strategy for the next wave of combat, let alone sparing a single thought for how his comrade, Nect, was faring in the surrounding chaos.
The agonizing moments he spent processing the pain—cataloging where the impacts had landed and how brutally each strike had ravaged his body—seemed to blur into a singular haze of torment. The instant he finally recaptured his senses and gripped reality, he realized his respite was non-existent; the three soul beings were already orchestrating their next onslaught.
They moved with a terrifying, predator-like efficiency, driven by a persistent need to execute him before he could gather his bearings or mount a desperate counteroffensive.
Recognizing that he was at his absolute weakest and teetering on the brink of death, the monsters moved to deliver a definitive, fatal blow.
Glimpsing their lethal intentions and fiercely refusing to surrender, Young pressed one gloved hand against his worst injury while using the other to hastily rip the embedded kunai and shuriken from his chest. With only fractions of a second to spare before the coordinated strikes could obliterate him, he crossed his bloodied arms into a desperate, makeshift guard. He braced for impact, praying he could somehow absorb the trauma, fully aware that this fragile defense was almost certainly his final stand.
Young braced himself for the impending impact, but the devastating blow never came. He gripped his own torso tightly and squeezed his eyes shut, utterly refusing to watch himself get sliced wide open, or witness whatever equally horrific execution the soul beings had in store for him.
Every agonizing second felt like an eternity as he waited for the cold bite of steel, his heart hammering violently against his fractured ribs.
However, when he remained frozen in this defensive posture for several moments longer with absolutely no sign of an oncoming strike, Young tentatively decided to open his eyes and survey his surroundings. The moment his vision cleared, he was struck by a profound wave of disbelief at the spectacle unfolding before him.
He couldn't help but rub his eyes repeatedly, desperately trying to determine whether what he was witnessing was a genuine reality, or if his dying mind was simply playing cruel tricks on him in his final moments.
A short distance away lay the low-class soul being that had thrown the accursed kunai and shuriken. It looked entirely frail and weakened, its bones completely shattered and weathered as if it had struck something immensely dense and suffered a catastrophic ricochet.
Young could scarcely believe his eyes, but the evidence was clear as day: the creature was utterly defeated, reduced to a state where just a few more shallow gasps would claim its life.
Further dynamic movement caught his attention. The two remaining high-class soul beings were locked in fierce contention against a dark elf—one whose formidable features were distinctly different from Nect's.
This newcomer was clearly male, though his gender hardly mattered in the heat of battle. Exuding an aura of absolute dominance, the warrior possessed a massive, imposing frame and a jawline chiseled so sharply it practically radiated physical power. Bearing an intensely arrogant gaze, the powerful figure commanding the battlefield was none other than the dark elf known as Bark.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Bark had rushed to the rescue when he witnessed his fragile, pitifully weak comrade in such a terrible state. He had arrived to do exactly what a tree's bark does: serve as a thick, unyielding shield to protect his allies from harm.
Young looked at Bark with a brilliant expression that clearly communicated his immense delight at being shielded from the relentless onslaught of the soul beings.
However, Bark was in no position to return the sentiment or express any joy at seeing Young. He was fully immersed in a deadly dance of blades, completely occupied with suppressing the ferocious counterattacks of the two remaining high-class soul beings.
Realizing his savior had the front lines entirely contained, Young turned his attention away from the spectacle. He began making his way toward where Nect was positioned, determined to lend the vulnerable youth a helping hand before any more hidden threats could emerge.