Online In Another World

It was frightening; the swiftness of the humanoid frog as it lunged forward, heading for a head-on collision with the arrow. At the last moment, as it seemed the arrowhead was set for a perfect hit, the monstrous creature swerved to the side, though not fully evading the projectile.

"--Huh?!"

Emilio witnessed it: the arrow that should've pierced the side of the frog's head instead only grazed it, not even leaving a wound as it seemed to be reflected by the natural slime oozing from its pores.

He immediately had to drop the bow, beginning to reach for the small blade kept in his pocket, but pausing for a second. A decision had to be made in that moment while he was being rushed by the enemy upon realization of something: the dagger's reach was far too short than what he was used to, and what would likely be effective against such a fast opponent.

…An arrow has more reach, but I doubt it'll be able to inflict any significant wound being used for melee, he thought.

In that split-second, he made his decision just as the bow smacked against the ground: he reached behind his back and grabbed an arrow by its thin, wooden body, using it like a spear just as the amphibian fighter drew near.

"Hyrah!"

He lunged forward with reckless abandon exuding from himself, knowing full well if this impromptu plan failed that he'd be kicked with the force of a storm. Still, he committed, meeting the frog head-on as he thrusted the arrow forward, aiming it between the creature's eyes.

Being brought too close to the intense creature, he felt small and insignificant; though these were intrusive feelings, it was the truth at its core–he had only the body of a fifteen-year-old, attempting to fight something that surpassed human limits in its own ways.

These feelings were pushed past as he pierced his arm through the veil of fear to guide the arrow.

–It leapt back.

Though the arrowhead didn't embed itself in the frog's head, this was the desired outcome; Emilio merely wished to repel the enemy for that moment.

Just as it had jumped back with its powerful legs, Emilio quickly reached down and retrieved his dropped bow.

Was it just a fluke before? A bad shot?--I don't have time to think about that, just shoot! He thought.

Being stationary while reading his shot was an incorrect move–he realized that; circling around the room, he pulled another arrow out and aimed once more for the frog, who scanned the room with its feral gaze in search of him.

It was a more difficult action than he thought, aiming a bow; in the midst of battle, against a foe that could kill him with one, well-placed blow, that anxiety and overwhelming pressure from a stronger enemy led him to feel hesitant to even be in view of the creature.

The environment was both advantageous and disadvantageous for him; a double-edged sword. It was filled with tall pillars of immovable titanium, thick and giving him good cover–however, it also made it difficult to line up a shot on the moving amphibian.

Only brief flashes of the green-skinned demi-human were seen as it flipped through the pillars, moving in an unorthodox mix of hops and dashes towards him as its wet feet slapped against the flooring.

…Steady. Now! He concentrated.

He pulled the string back as far as he could, adding as much strength behind the arrow as he could with the slippery layer around his enemy in mind.

Another release of the string came; the arrow sailed through the stagnant wind, heading straight for the beast with accuracy surprising even to the impromptu archer.

Expectating a straight-on headshot, Emilio found his hopes crushed as the abnormally long tongue of the humanoid frog lashed out, swiping downward as the slimy organ split the incoming projectile in half.

It destroyed it in midair–?! He questioned.

After failing to land a shot once more, he crouched down and quietly circled around the metallic pillars for cover, trying to stay out of view of the beast.

Missing his attempts at a counterattack so far, that anxiety bubbling beneath his skin began to surface through uneven breaths and the trembling of his fingertips. Trapped in the unknown realm, left without answers and the abilities he dedicated years into developing, he felt overwhelmed.

…It's unfair. Still…What's ever fair in this world? He thought, All you can do is try as hard as you can–even if it's sometimes fruitless, even if you look stupid doing it, it's the best you can manage in a world like this. That's what being human is all about–we have to crawl out of whatever rock bottom we fall to.

There were undeniably few factors going in his favor: he was hungry, tired, confused, and stressed enough that his mind was left foggy. It was a herculean task to draw the string of his bow back with his trembling fingers, and even harder to imagine swinging the dagger he had with bruised, fractured forearms.

Yet, he sucked it up and took the dagger out of his pocket, gripping the handle tight enough to overpower his own quivering.

There was one factor he had, one that he held onto dearly, clutching it close to his heart that throbbed with a hunger to survive: the will to live. Born from that resolve was something else, a philosophy adapted from the fighting style of his fallen protector.

The Godless Style…Vandread, you told me once that it's all about making do with what you have in any given situation. It's about being able to adapt to anything, anyone, and with any weapon at your disposal–even if it's just a feather, he thought.

Just then, he heard the swampish steps of the non-verbal demi-human drawing near, prompting him to swallow his doubts and put into practice what were merely recreations of his own memory from watching Vandread fight.

I'm lucky in one regard–my opponent is stupid! I'm practically fighting a bird-brained animal…I can take advantage of that, he realized.

"Raaagh!"

A warcry was needed to fuel himself with the headspace needed to commit to his reckless "plan" as he jumped out from behind the wide pillar, catching the frog off-guard as he tossed the bow in his hand forward.

Simply, it was a purely illogical move, but that was the beauty of it: the wooden bow smacked the amphibian in the face, causing it to flinch. This was the opportunity needed for the young man as he raced forward, nearly tripping over from the sheer desperation of this life-and-death gambit.

His footsteps echoed against the metallic flooring, calling out each step he took as they rang through his ears.

"Ribbit–"

Just as the plump-cheeked frog opened its eyes again, the desperate Dragonheart lunged forward with his dagger raised high, jumping in without any restraints holding him back from committing to the brutality of his assault.

He plunged the rusty dagger towards the amphibian's large head, stabbing right through its cheek as it bobbed its head slightly, throwing off what would've been a lethal blow.

Shit! He thought.

Still, the attack was successful in harming the creature greatly as it groaned out, lashing out as the young man quickly drew his dagger from the demi-human's cheek. Dark-blue blood spilled from the frog's wound and seeped from its lips as it let out pained sounds.

The window of opportunity was once more wide-open, letting in an air of hope as he decided to rush in while the amphibian warrior was distracted by its profusely bleeding wound.

I can do this! I can! He told himself.

He could feel his entire body burning up; aching as he found exhaustion hitting him hard without mana to aid him. There was no choice but to push on, though he found the razzled foe of his whipping its tongue out towards him.

I want to live! He thought.

"Ngh–!"

At the last second, he slid across the ground, managing to duck beneath the tongue but finding his recovery to be a moment too slow, as once he stood up, the frog launched a kick against his stomach.

"Pyuuh–!"

The air was forced from his lungs, but this time, the attack was noticeably weaker; it lacked the explosiveness of the ones he suffered before. It still rattled his internal organs all the same, likely bruising them as the force hammered his ribs, causing blood to be coughed out.

There's others waiting for me. I can't be stuck down here! I won't be kept down…I'm not ready to die! He thought.

He was able to plant himself down, locking himself from being knocked back as he squeezed the handle of his dagger once more.

"...Nnnrah!" He yelled out.

As the azure blood of the beast painted the sleek, silver flooring, the young man pushed forward like a wild animal himself, jumping up and plunging his blade through the head of the amphibian.

He didn't relent; repeatedly, he stabbed the frog–three times, a half dozen, into over a dozen stabs, all until he was sure his opponent had fallen.

"...Huff…" He breathed out.

It was a far cry from the refined dance of killing that the scar-faced companion of his had possessed, but it was all he had with him now: "The Art of Impromptu Killing."

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