Dharen explained himself further: “The journal said that the head inventory linked the Pulser to his body somehow. As it is, our only hope might be to make it to the body and hope that we can discover a way to activate the Pulser from there.”

Though it was mostly pure speculation, Dharen was certain that his line of thinking was correct. Based on his readings, the Del people had been in a losing war against a group of mysterious invaders. The war-augmented Orbels had been created in response to their home’s otherwise imminent destruction. But such a creation was useless if they built in a failsafe that could easily be used by the invaders to render their efforts null and void. So, they had created a way to stop the Orbels in the case of victory that could only be used by someone who they wished to have authority.

He couldn’t help but admit that it was still a longshot. Even if he was correct in that the organic material of the device’s inventors was necessary to activate the device, that still left the question of whether or not the skeletal remains in the Orbel-filled room beside them belonged to one of the inventors.

And yet, it was enough of a chance that Dharen was willing to put his faith in it. He had long since learned to trust his instincts, and they were currently screaming at him that he was on the right track.

Unfortunately, he also knew very well that he was the most suitable member of the group for this somewhat-suicidal mission. With a Strength that was ten times greater than the norm, along with Agility and Vitality that were around seven times greater than normal, he was the most likely to be able to push through the crowd of enemies and reach the objective.

While he was not keen on putting himself in such a heavily-disadvantaged situation, he believed that it might be even more disadvantageous to send someone who would be more likely to fail in their mission, losing the Pulser and their last hope along with it.

After dismissing Serah and Erik’s various objections and concerns, he restated his position once more, making his reasoning clear. The others objected to his plan, just as they had objected to Ozen’s - it seemed that they were quite apprehensive when it came to foolhardy plans that could potentially sacrifice one member’s life. Perhaps it was blowback from the near and possibly imminent loss of their former leader, Tomas. But even so, sometimes there was no choice.

“This is all-or-nothing. If I do not make it to the bones and activate the Pulser, we will likely all die here.” He gave a pointed look at Serah. “And your friend Tomas will die along with us.”

She nodded, lowering her head in shame as a slight wetness began to glisten in her eyes. “Okay. We understand. Before you go, please allow me to cast my ability on you. If reaching the remains is our only hope, then there is no sense in holding onto our cards.”

With a wave of her hand, a brilliant light began to shed from her body like golden, glistening dust. It floated slowly in the air, occasionally twisting upon itself as if being brushed by an invisible breeze. Serah began to grow unsteady, her legs trembling and sweat beading upon her brow. Finally, the last of the light separated from her body, and she collapsed in a panting heap on the floor.

The golden light enveloped Dharen, causing a feeling of warm hope to rise in his chest. From there, it felt as if it entered his very heart, only to intermix with his blood as it was pumped out to every extremity, to every part of himself in a rush. He felt a heady, artificial sense of power and confidence rising within him, building into an insurmountable wall of conviction. He bared his teeth, grinning excitedly in response to the influx of Serah’s power within him.

⥫⥬⥫⥬⥫⥬

You have received a Second Chance.

Duration: 10 Minutes

The next blow that would otherwise result in death will be reverted, returning you to your current state of health and bestowing 2 seconds of invulnerability.

⥫⥬⥫⥬⥫⥬

“You have ten minutes,” Serah spoke softly. “Remember, my ability can only heal you once. After that, you are on your own.”

Dharen nodded, more than satisfied with this result. “Ozen, Erik,” he called out. The two men looked at him questioningly. Dharen gestured toward the locked metal door that had previously stymied their efforts to enter the chamber. The key to the door was hanging on a ring to the side of the entrance.

“I will leave through the door. It is possible that they are waiting outside of it, so one of you will need to open it for me so that I can gain enough momentum to clear the area if needed. After I am gone, lock and bar the door again.”

Erik nodded, pulling the key from its resting place and inserting it into the lock. As he did so, Dharen backed across the room and sent the Pulser into his spatial ring. He gathered a small table, holding it firmly within his grasp. As he reached the far edge of the room, he pressed against the wall in a runner’s stance. Looking towards Erik, he gave the man a nod.

Flexing his muscles with an immense strength borne of both pure power and endless determination, he sent himself bounding across the room. The wind of his speedy passage burst across the room, sending parchments fluttering in the air. Just before Dharen collided with the door, Erik pulled it open with a jerk.

Laying beyond it was a sight that very nearly forced Dharen to hesitate in trepidation. A massive wall of Orbels began to flow into the room, pressing against one another in a tumultuous flood. Yet knowing that stopping now would mean the death of them all, rather than hesitating, he pressed himself forward with even greater strength and urgency.

Time seemed to slow. The moments before he made connection with the innumerable automatons stretched into what felt like an eternity. But even that which feels like an eternity may someday come to an end, and so it was with this moment. He collided with the massed Orbels with a resounding boom, the clash of metal against his upraised, makeshift shield echoing through the hall.

Crack.

The sound echoed across the walls with an increasing fervor, resonating within Dharen’s own heart as his own growing doubt built upon itself. Yet, he understood that he had already reached the point of no return; he had dove deep into the dark waters, and now his only option was to swim his way out.

The makeshift shield splintered slightly at the initial impact, sending small shards flying through the air. In a terrifying display of single-mindedness, the surrounding Orbels collapsed inwards towards his position. It was only the falling and stumbling Orbels from the frontline that prevented them from reaching him and transforming his body into a pulped mass. Dharen’s feet pushed against the stone floor with a desperate strength, forcing his knees up as he drove himself through the crowded entranceway.

He broke into the hallway, abruptly shifting his trajectory to the side as he did so. The creatures to the side were less affected by his initial rush, forcing him to let out a Warcry to bolster his efforts. He felt the pressure against his bulwark dim slightly in response. Still, his muscles screamed in protest as he propelled his way onwards.

A heavy blow slammed into his side with a sickening crack. Two of his right-side ribs snapped audibly, splintering under the sudden pressure. A stabbing pain followed when the broken bone lodged itself within one of his lungs, the sharp agony forcing him to falter for a moment. His breath began to come out in gasps, his now-single lung working on overdrive.

Blows continued to rain down upon him. Though he managed to block many with his shield due to his enhanced agility, it was impossible to entirely stop the tide. Despite all efforts, there would always be some that flowed through the cracks.

Eventually, even his makeshift shield failed him. The wood splintered, fracturing into pieces. Surrounded from all sides and overwhelmed by numbers, he was forced to block the following blows in any way that he could - accepting the injuries that came along with it. Dharen began to feel faint in response to his growing wounds despite his high Vitality; now with broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a mangled right forearm along with other various crippling injuries, he had turned into a nightmare of blood and gore.

Unfortunately, this time, the nightmare was his own. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, the rush of blood drowning out all other noise. He felt as if he were moving underwater, his every action resisted by the air around him. Still, he knew that it was only the pain and exhaustion altering his perception; attack after attack rained down upon him, battering his already broken body. He had become as a zombie, radiating the very image of death, yet trudging along nonetheless.

The flood of combatants had grown ever more oppressive. Try as he might, smashing them to the side only opened the way for others to flow into the gap created by his efforts. He could feel himself faltering, his muscles burning with the strain. As he made it to the door of the room, he was met with an even more insurmountable wall; the vast majority of the horde had shoved itself into the room in their attempt to reach the group.

He felt his vision begin to close in, unconsciousness creeping ever closer. Before his position could grow any worse, he flicked his hand. A dagger appeared within his weakly trembling grasp, pulled from his spatial ring. Slowly, he drew a jagged red line across his own throat.