Chapter 693: Problem...

Moon was about to attack, when he suddenly felt the archer’s energy rise suddenly. Immediately, he ordered his Beast Soul to retreat expecting it to launch a powerful attack.

Its aura, already at Surpasser weight, spiked higher, the crimson aura growing brighter.

The team froze in disbelief.

"What?" Vela’s voice cracked. "We hurt it, we hurt it so much, it’s covered in cuts and burns, and it’s stronger now? How is it stronger?"

"That’s not possible," Kayn breathed, still clutching his half-healed ribs. "We were finally wearing it down. We had it... And now it’s—It’s worse than before."

Only Moon’s face didn’t change.

He’d been watching for exactly this. The archer had retreated a half-step after the blue fire, after almost eating a stacked killing blow, and in that breath of space it had reached for something it had been holding in reserve.

"It activated a racial skill," Moon said, still calm.

"A racial skill?" Elsa’s head snapped toward him. "Lesser elves don’t have racial skills. They’re degraded. That’s the whole point of the bloodline, they lost that. They shouldn’t have anything like that."

"Normally, no." Moon kept his eyes on the archer as he explained, quick and clear.

"Racial skills are the birthright of the great bloodline races. Just like how we, humans, awaken classes at 18, these great races get their racial skills from the moment they’re born. Every one of them is a trump card, an ability that can flip a battle no matter how the odds stood a second before. A single racial skill in the hands of a true elf is enough to make Surpassers think twice. They’re that far above ordinary skills."

He tightened his grip on both blades. "Lesser elves are cut off from that inheritance. It’s what makes them lesser, for the most part. They shouldn’t be able to touch a racial skill at all."

"Then how is it using one?" Vela demanded.

"Because this isn’t your average lesser elf. It ate the heart of a true elf. Apparently, It didn’t just gain strength from that, it reached deep into the bloodline it was severed from. The racial skill came from the birthright of the ancestor it consumed."

Hearing it explained didn’t make the thing in front of them any less terrifying.

"So what do we do?" Vela asked grimly. "If it’s got a Surpasser’s strength and a true elf’s trump card, we’re not just outmatched. We’re outmatched twice over."

"Look at how it’s moving, It’s the first time it’s ever used this. It hasn’t grown into the power. It’s clumsy with it, fighting its own strength as much as us. And a skill like this won’t last. Racial skills that powerful always come with a cost. It can’t hold this forever."

"Any plan on how to do that?"

Moon smiled, as he settled into his stance, his elemental swords in both hands, "The plan is to survive, don’t attempt to trade attacks. All we have to do is hold on until the skill runs out, and its strength returns."

The team steadied themselves, gripping their weapons, and one by one they nodded.

The archer turned toward them, its borrowed power blazing, and attacked.

Moon met it head-on, both blades working, but the strength behind the elf’s strikes had climbed past what he could parry.

Every clash of his sword and arrows rattled up his arms. Every exchange forced him to give ground.

Moon took hits he would have slipped a minute ago. Blood ran freely, and he cast Minor Mend on himself between exchanges, patching the worst of it as fast as it accumulated, staying upright through sheer stubbornness and healing.

The Beast Soul remained by his side, taking hits meant for him at times he couldn’t. Moon also cast healing spells on his beast soul to ensure it didn’t die on him.

Elsa released an arrow from a far, and the archer dodged before turning its attention towards Elsa, ignoring Moon for a moment.

It had grown sick of Elsa’s arrows. Her shots had been peppering its flanks the entire fight, small annoyances that stacked up, and with its new power it decided to remove the irritation. It turned toward her, drew, and loosed an arrow that flew at insane speed.

"Elsa, move!" Moon shouted, already lunging to intercept with his sword.

Unfortunately, he was too slow.

The arrow crossed the distance faster than she could react, and it struck her square in the chest.

Marek was already moving, healing light flaring in his hands as he threw himself toward her, but the wound was too deep and the arrow’s force too great.

Marek’s healing wasn’t strong enough to stitch back an injury so great. Where Elsa’s midsection previously stood, was now empty air.

Moon twisted mid-motion, mana surging for a Cleanse to try to stabilize her, but the archer had already read him. Another arrow was screaming toward his face, and he had to abandon the cast to slap it out of the air with his lightning blade.

Elsa died, her body dispersing and a heartbeat later she returned, dropped to her hands and knees in the snow, her face pale and drawn, her breath ragged.

She was alive again. But the death de-buffs took their toll on her.

"The death penalty," she managed, her voice thin, one hand pressed to her chest where the arrow had struck.

"It’s terrifying... Ten thousand Lives per death, just like that." She forced herself upright on shaking legs. "We don’t get many chances at this. I only have two deaths left before I’m gone for good."

The team’s resurrections weren’t infinite. Each of them had a limited pool, and each death burned a massive chunk of it, along with dragging their strength down while the debuff lasted. Elsa had just spent one of hers. The team could not afford to keep trading lives against the elf.

The clock he was betting on had to run out before their lives did.

Moon planted himself between the archer and his recovering teammate, both blades raised, ice and lightning, and his mind raced against the timer he couldn’t see.

Hold on. Just a little longer. The skill has to end.

The archer turned its blazing eyes back to him and raised its bow once more.