Alex struggled to free his leg from the elf's grip and reached desperately for his sword, but it was already too late; the elf had dragged him far beyond where his sword lay, and when Alex managed to strike the elf's leg with his own, the elf turned to him with clear irritation. In a display of effortless strength, as if swinging a small child, the elf seized both of Alex's legs, spun him in a wide circle, and hurled him high into the air.
This time, Alex did not feel the cold air as he had before, nor did he crash into any trees. His eyes, barely open, drifted into unconsciousness, and when he finally hit the ground with a heavy thud and pain surging through his entire body, he could only flutter his eyelids weakly. He regretted ever wearing this armor, for although it had saved him from death, now his previously unbroken bones were shattered completely. He rolled across the ground, coming to a stop just beside the cliff that overlooked the river. His body was broken, his internal injuries severe; he choked up whatever food he had eaten that morning, the bile in his throat containing more water than food. His kidneys and lungs screamed in agony, and every bone—his spine, his legs, his hands—felt fractured beyond repair.
Alex heard slow, steady footsteps and turned toward the trees, watching as the elf emerged from the shadowed forest. In the elf's hand was a sword slick with blood, its tip dragging along the ground and leaving a dark streak in its wake.
Seeing the elf, Alex remembered the incident at the inn, when his mother had appeared in much the same way—her presence fierce and unyielding. But while his mother had done so to punish demonic humans, this elf seemed to torment Alex for reasons he could not comprehend, toying with him in a manner Alex could not understand.
As Alex's thoughts lingered on the elf, he recalled an elf he had once seen in the forest, a figure with a mask and long black hair. Alex forced his eyes open wider, trying to see more clearly, and the memory of that masked elf began to merge with the figure before him. It was as if they were one and the same.
"Aren't you the one from the forest?" Alex shouted, his voice echoing. The elf boy stopped in his tracks. "Are you taking revenge because my father questioned you?" Alex went on, suspecting the elf tormented him because his father had confronted the elf about why he was chasing those supposed adventurers—adventurers who, in truth, had sought to kidnap elves.
The elf seemed to freeze for a moment, but then resumed his approach with even more fervor than before. Alex glanced back and realized he was perilously close to falling over the edge.
A thought appeared in his mind: maybe I should fall down and die instead of being tortured to death.
Alex immediately tried to move his body backward. Still seated on the ground, he used his shattered leg to push himself back, and with broken hands, he clawed at the dirt, desperately trying to pull himself away. It was futile, for the elf was closing in too quickly, even though he was only walking. Still, Alex refused to give up; he kept crawling, stubborn as an ant trapped in oil.
Just as his right hand reached the edge of the cliff, a wave of relief surged through his chest. One more push and he would plunge into the river below; but as he tried to push himself back, the elf appeared before him, seized his armor with a single left-handed grip, and lifted Alex into the air. His legs dangled above the rushing water, and all Alex wanted was to fall and let everything end.
"A mouse is trying to run away," the elf said angrily. He tilted his head, his black eyes locking onto Alex's barely open, azure eyes.
"Your face is looking beautiful," the elf remarked, his voice mocking. Alex knew the elf was making fun of him; his face was anything but beautiful, swollen and mottled with bruises and cuts.
Alex spat in the elf's face again, hoping that in a fit of anger, the elf might let go and allow him to fall into the river below.
The elf angrily wiped the spit from his face with his right hand, letting the sword drop. As soon as his face was clean, he began to punch Alex again—this time with even more force, determined to beat him into a pulp.
Alex's eyelids drooped as darkness crept into his awareness, and he knew this was the end. The elf picked up the sword from the ground and pressed it close to Alex's neck, speaking in a voice Alex could neither comprehend nor hear clearly. He was simply too close to death to understand anything at all.
But just as the sword drew near to his neck, ready to deliver death, Alex felt himself plummeting over the edge of the cliff, his broken body hardly able to register the sensation of falling.
Alex tried to look up and see what had happened. Lara now stood beside the elf boy, her body and neck marked with cuts and claw marks, her clothes tattered. With a strength far beyond anything Alex could imagine, Lara had caught the blade of the elf's sword directly in her palm, drawing a bright streak of blood that dripped to the ground, and with her other hand, she tightened her grip around the elf's left hand—the same hand that had held Alex only moments before.
The elf wore a smile that made it clear he had let go of Alex intentionally, while Lara looked at Alex with a ghastly mix of sadness and pity.
Alex closed his eyes, feeling a sense of peace at the realization that Lara was saving him. For whatever reason she had intervened, it comforted him to know that humanity still existed in some people, unlike the elf who had tormented him until he lost consciousness.
A warm sensation soon filled his body, and he closed his eyes, drifting quietly into sleep.
Alex's body struck the river with a heavy thud, sending water splashing high into the air.
***
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