Chapter Fifty-Four: Even If My Arms Are Stained with Blood

Death was imminent.

In thirty-five seconds, his movements would begin to slow from exhaustion. Seventeen seconds after that, with his mind and body both pushed to their absolute limits, the monster behind him would tear off one of his arms. Then, in less than fifteen seconds—thirteen point seven five, to be exact—he would lose all ability to resist and become food for the creatures.

This was the future.

At least, it was a future that had once come to pass.

—The Premonition of Death.

This mysterious ability seemed to have changed in some peculiar way, triggered by this crisis and fulfilling certain unknown conditions. He was no longer trapped in that old predicament, where he could only foresee the future through the act of dying. Now, even in the midst of battle, he could clearly sense the end of death standing at the crossroads of fate.

But, alas, it was only death he saw.

His own death, the death of his enemies... perhaps even more...

He forced himself not to dwell on that thought. Losing focus in battle was a fatal mistake, especially now, when both his mind and body were at their limits. He simply could not afford even a single lapse—that would mean death, and perhaps even a true, eternal fall into an inescapable nightmare.

The premonition had become a true warning. Whether it would still snatch him from the scythe of death was now an open question. Though, in principle, delving deeper into his power’s use should not erase its inherent nature, principles were only principles. The abilities of the Glorified were strange and unpredictable; there were no universal laws. What if he was the exception? Once a person dies, they truly die. There might be a power somewhere that could revive the dead, but he had never heard of it—and he would never presume to treat death lightly.

So he dared not gamble. He could not gamble.

He—had no stakes left to wager.

Realizing this, the Glorified began to consciously avoid his own death. Under the brutal pressure of his human survival instinct, his mind raced. The future he saw in his premonition replayed again and again in his mind like a projection. While he fought to keep pace with the monsters’ relentless onslaught, he simultaneously analyzed the cause of his death a minute hence: undoubtedly, the root lay in accumulated fatigue, but the direct cause... was something else entirely.

A shadow fell across the youth’s face.

The monsters had evolved again. This time, the evolution was not just in collective intelligence, but in societal division of labor—thirty-five seconds before his foretold death, a specialized assassin appeared. This unique creature, seen for the first time, possessed a skill for masking its presence. Its form was smaller and slimmer than its kin, but it was much faster, far more agile... and infinitely more terrifying.

He had suffered a heavy blow from that one.

And then—with more and more assassins lurking in the wings—he was finally overwhelmed and defeated.

Avoiding such an end was possible for him now, but the question remained: even if he foresaw and dodged the death waiting for him in a minute, what then? Even if he survived by some miracle, with so little strength left, what hope did he have against a horde of monsters constantly learning and evolving through battle? The answer was obvious, yet cold and merciless. Mere survival under siege was not enough—he needed to find a way to break the deadlock.

But where was the turning point?

It did not exist—

Yes, he could find no opportunity. Surrounded on all sides by monsters, the youth could only barely stave off defeat in an endless sea of enemies, unable even to guarantee his own life, much less escape from the encirclement.

This was a deathtrap.

From the moment he threw caution to the wind and plunged into the monsters’ ranks, his death had already been sealed.

But he had no intention of giving up.

For reality had long since proven to him that running away solved nothing—at the cost of death, he had glimpsed the path ahead. If he merely used the blood of glory to stall for time, the monsters—connected in some subtle way to the higher demon lurking below—would shift their focus, unfurl the membranes hidden beneath their thick, long arms, and take to the air in a deadly assault on the sword-bearer. At that point, any hope of saving the situation would be lost, no matter how many monsters he cut down in the throng.

So... while there was still time, before anything had yet transpired, he would act to prevent disaster.

The youth wanted to be a hero.

—Even if it meant being bathed in blood!

And so, in that instant, his body moved before his mind.

The young Glorified charged into the enemy ranks. His vision was instantly drowned in dark red; enemies everywhere, attacks from all sides. He was like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web—struggling was useless and only drew him deeper into the snare.

But to not resist was only to die.

Death—

It was the deepest, most abiding fear in the heart of Amy Ulysses. He did not want to die—no matter what, he could not accept it. In the race between life and death, he dug even deeper into the potential of his premonition, and saw the not-so-distant future in which he would die—a future he was determined to change.

He could not die. He could not relax his guard.

Yet even knowing death was near, it was almost impossible to keep his nerves taut. The prolonged, intense combat left his mind teetering on the brink. Under the monsters’ relentless attacks, he was like a tightrope walker, balanced precariously—one slip, and he would fall from the heights and shatter into pieces, his body lost forever.

Death was now less than thirty seconds away—and drawing closer.

Sweat drenched his lashes; blood painted his field of vision red. The youth fought his exhaustion with all he had, counting the seconds—he never knew how agonizing it could be to count from one to ten, how painful it was to feel the footsteps of death ever approaching. Yet because of this, he forced himself to dig deeper, to push his potential to the very edge.

Stronger, stronger, stronger.

Like a rusted machine grinding back to life, Amy felt himself growing stronger with every passing second. He even suspected that, had he not already burned so much strength and stamina in the earlier fighting, he would have had the skill to break through the monsters’ encirclement. But, alas... there were no "ifs" in this world. Since he was already in so deep, there was no point in wishing otherwise.

He crushed his stray thoughts and exhaled heavily.

Fourteen seconds left!

He counted down in his heart. Knowing death was near, the youth spun around abruptly, holding nothing back. The dagger, Darkblood, swept out in a perfect arc, and with a spray of blood, he cleanly sliced the newly evolved monster lurking behind him in two.

The second hand of the clock paused briefly at thirteen point seventy-five.

Then twelve, eleven, ten... all the way to—

Zero!

Having survived the moment of death foretold by his premonition, the Glorified’s eyes twitched ever so slightly. Relief surged through him—he had cheated death. But he quickly suppressed the feeling. This was no time for carelessness. The battle raged on, the monsters kept growing stronger through their hive learning, and more assassins would emerge from their endless ranks. The fight would only become harder, the situation only more dire. The next "death" was surely not far off.

Still... Amy had never imagined it would be so close.

Twelve seconds.

This must be a joke—such a thought never once crossed his mind. Having personally witnessed everything that would befall him in the next twelve seconds, the Glorified’s grip on his sword loosened; his sudden distraction allowed a monster to tear a ghastly wound across his back, making the situation even more perilous.

But no matter how bad things got, the future was worse.

Having foreseen his death, Amy Ulysses forced a wry smile. He did not feel despair, but he knew with certainty that with his remaining strength, he could not withstand the coming storm.

In the end, it was a gamble—a gamble on whether his premonition still had the power to pull him back from certain death. If it did, then perhaps the true nature of his ability... had nothing to do with parallel worlds.

He was distracted again.

No time to shake his head. Ruthlessly, the Glorified crushed the stray thought.

Then...

Five seconds passed.

The shadow of death arrived right on schedule.

One, two, three, four, five, six—more and more—giant, red-eyed monsters surged at him from all directions. They did not attack or bite, but simply spread their arms wide, as if to greet a long-lost lover, offering the most fervent embrace.

Swing his sword?

It was meaningless.

The youth narrowed his eyes. There was not a hint of hesitation in their dark depths. As the black mass of monsters descended upon him, he swung his sword—and only swung his sword. Useless as it was, though the number of monsters piling atop him only grew, what else could he do but fight?

Wait for death with closed eyes?

What a joke!

He had to admit, he feared death. In many ways, he was not the perfect scion of the Glorified, born to bear the mantle of glory. Yet he had not fallen so far as to lack the courage to fight even in the face of death.

Death? Mere death—

Amy Ulysses’s eyes flew open, a sudden surge of strength tearing through him.

—He had faced it before!

For a brief instant, he hacked away the layers of corpses that weighed him down. But then... the feeble spark of hope he had kindled was buried once more beneath the monsters.

He was now but a step away from death...

Unable to move, the Glorified gave a self-mocking smile. Next, he supposed, he would be eaten alive.

A novel way to die, truly.

Amy Ulysses thought, then tightened his grip on his sword.

Perhaps, it was time to break the chains.

As darkness descended, he softly uttered the key to unseal his power.

Then—

The world collapsed.

A moment later, the thunderous roar reached his ears.