Ten minutes remaining.

The omnipotent system narrated inside his head, announcing his impending doom with sweet, sweet female voice. It sounded so chirpy.

“ANY LAST WORDS?”

“Huh? What? Why? I still have ten minutes left. The cookies are almost ready.”

Finding the right ingredients, grinding the flour and making the proper dough took a whole lot longer than he thought it would but right now he had one hundred twenty perfect cookies baking inside the oven of the village baker. One for each person in his possession.

“ARE YOU SURE? ARE YOU NOT FORGETTING ABOUT SOMETHING IMPORTANT?”

“Nope. I think I have it all covered.”

In truth, he had one hundred twenty-one cookies baking. One extra-large, Extra fluffy and with extra chocolate.

“I even made one for you. You know, for all the trouble.”

Nine minutes remaining.

“I DO NOT ACCEPT BRIBES.”

“Bribes? What bribes? It’s just my thank you gift for giving me this chance and all the hard work you put into swaying that scythe all the time. Your arms must be beyond stiff. Why won’t you take a little rest and have some tea with me?”

Joe pointed at a freshly set table where a pot of aromatic tea awaited.

Eight minutes remaining.

“I SUPPOSE YOU STILL HAVE ENOUGH TIME FOR A CUP OR TWO.”

Death sat at the chair he offered her and watched as he pour a cup for her.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“NO. THANK YOU.”

Seven minutes remaining.

Given the unusual circumstances Joe made a remarkable tea. And his smiling face of a village idiot showed no apparent worry. How peculiar. Unless...

“YOU ARE CHEATING.”

“Of course not. I’m just waiting for the proper chance to do it right. It’s not quite one in a million chance yet.”

Death hid her smile behind her cup and sipped. So that one had made her move. That was expected. He had no way of knowing without her interfering.

“OH, YOU DO KNOW THAT EVEN WITH A GUARANTEED MIRACLE YOU ARE TAKING A BIG GAMBLE?”

Six minutes remaining.

“A gamble? What gamble? Isn’t that a sure way...”

“NO. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU WERE TOLD BUT THAT CHANCE WORKS ONLY NINE OUT OF TEN TIMES. THERE IS NO GUARANTEE.”

Death pulled off her hood and sipped her tea, leaning back in her chair. She had seen countless mortals pale and tremble in her presence, yet the clumsy way Joe pretended that everything went according to his plan somehow seemed, endearing. Cute almost.

Five minutes remaining.

“IT IS TIME.”

“B-buh?! Whaaa?! Bu-But I still have five minutes!”

“THE COOKIES. THEY ARE DONE. IT IS TIME TO TAKE THEM OUT.”

“Oh, right. Yes.”

Working as if his life depended on it, Joe extracted his freshly baked cookies and spread them out. Cookies straight out of the oven must cool down a bit before they reach the perfect done state.

Three minutes remaining.

“Here you go.”

Joe put the uber cookie, the result of his sweat and tears, before Death and refilled her cup.

“HOW KIND OF YOU. THANK YOU.”

Two minutes remaining.

“BEST YOU GO NOW BEFORE YOU MISS YOUR ONE IN A MILLION CHANCE TO FINISH THIS QUEST.”

*DING!*

You feel the cold touch of scythe on your neck.

Chop, chop, move your ass as if your life depends on it because, surprise, surprise, it does!

Movement speed +90%

Motivation +500%

Discarding the pesky screen, Joe packed the remaining cookies into a cute pink pouch he made as he waited and run out of the bakery. He had less then two minutes to get to the hill where he built the improvised altar.

Death followed him with her gaze then looked at the cookie he made her.

One minute remaining.

She reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out a black hourglass filled with black sand and marked with a silver plaque. She read the name then poked it assessing the flow of black grains inside. There weren’t that many left in the upper part.

Putting the hourglass sideways on the table she reached for her cookie.

One minute remaining.

It was a big cookie.

One minute remaining.

She may as well enjoy that.

One minute remaining.

There was no rush.

***

One minute remaining.

The announcement repeated itself for at least tenth time. Joe’s mind was too preoccupied with running for his life to notice that. With a speed possible for mortals only when they search for a toilet while having a full bladder, he reached his improvised altar, a plank of wood supported by four stones, and after placing the pouch in the middle he knelt and clasped his hands together.

“Got your cookies. Please help!”

“No cinnamon?”

One minute remaining.

“Of course not! Now, do your thing before we run out of time.”

Suddenly it became very, very dark.

The earth shook while a blob of drool the size of a mountain fell nearby.

Something dark and slimy in nature went past him and appropriated the pouch.

“Cookies...”

Joe squeezed his eyes shut.

“Oh, right. The miracle.”

Joe bit his lips and clenched his mouth as not to scream when a tentacle sunk into his back and anchored itself inside his soul.

*DING!*

Connection established. Calculating available mana pool... calculation failed. Stack overflow. Attempting to resolve... Solution found. Avatar of Darkness applying... Success. Mortal restraints removed.

Among sudden headache Joe heard a sound he did not like.

Less than one minute remaining.

He rammed his palms into the ground and screamed.

“Harvest!”

*Ding!*

Harvesting successful!

Village added to your inventory.

But he had no time to check it.

*DING!*

WARNING! Imminent death threat detected! Conditions met, triggering last resort skills....

*DING!*

Endless Run Active. Stamina will not decrease while running for your life. Additional conditions met.

Estimating threat level... DEATH.

Estimating adequate response... ERROR.

No solution found. Activating fallback strategy.

Additional bonus granted:

Movement speed +MAX

Evasion +MAX

Damage resistance +MAX

Perception +MAX

Heat immunity.

All damage to feet ignored.

In the corner of his eye Joe saw DEATH. She walked towards him with her cup in one hand and her scythe in the other. She took a sip of her tea when their eyes met.

Drumms began playing a tune inside his head, one he heard so many times in radio.

“Boy,”

A woman in red sat before him on his improvised altar, humming a tune alongside the drumms in his head.

“Run.”

She ordered and his legs listened.

“Joe?”

A voice of a troubled darkness could be heard by the altar. While they were sill connected by a tentacle, Joe was already beyond the horizon while what remained was the unpleasant sensation of her tentacle being stretched and pulled.

“Oh dear.”

When her tentacle could stretch no more it yanked her like a rubber band and the entire mass of darkness followed.