Hill's spine tingled with icy chills as his father's face—or rather, the incarnation of his fear wearing that face—took another step toward him. Though this person wasn't the old man that Hill knew so well, gazing into the eyes of the one who'd abandoned him to die still sent a shudder through his body.
"Let's get this over with, shall we?" A hollow grin spread across the old man's lips, never quite reaching his eyes.
Rage and despair flooded Hill's heart, but somehow, he managed to keep those feelings at bay. All he needed to do was kill this incarnation—this facsimile of his father—and he'd earn another chance at life. Just strike the old man down. Victory.
How hard could that be? The figure before him might wear his father's face, but it was merely an incarnation of his fears. And even if it were his actual father, what was he but a middle-aged drunk? Not a combat veteran. Not an experienced fighter.
But kill? Could he really do that? Back when he was alive, sure, he'd fantasized about beating the man senseless—but murder? That was a different territory altogether.
Still, he had to try. The consequences of failure remained unknown, and he had no time to dwell on possibilities.
The runic timer hit four minutes and thirty seconds. The old man moved forward purposefully, quickly eating up the distance between them.
His worn shoes crossed from the barren forest floor onto black sand, grey duster billowing behind him as his hands remained buried deep in his pant pockets. The old man's expression remained unchanged, his pace almost casual.
Yet Hill felt his body tensing, legs growing unsteady. As the distance closed, memories bombarded him—abuse, neglect, verbal lashings—intensifying with each step until the present moment became challenging to grasp.
"Stay back!" Hill's voice cracked as he retreated, hands raised defensively. Despite knowing he needed to kill the old man in front of him, his body betrayed his will.
The old man chuckled and shook his head in disappointment. "How realistic!" he exclaimed. "This one reproduces the original almost to perfection."
What's he on about? Hill wondered. He's the copy, not me!
With no kind of warning, the left fist of the old man flew out of his pocket. Hill's eyes opened wide when he saw it approaching, but rather than parrying the punch, his arms instinctively rose to protect his face.
The punch shattered his nose in a surge of pain that made his eyes water. He fell to the ground, holding his face as blood gushed from his nose.
Gasping for breath because of the diminished intake, he rolled to the side in time to escape a vicious stomp. The old man tsked his tongue and kicked at the frail boy's ribs, but Hill succeeded in catching the ankle and shoving it aside as he provided enough clearance for himself to roll sideways and scurry off to safety.
"Oi, incarnation!" yelled the old man. "Don't make this so difficult! I am not so eager to beat you to a bloody pulp, you know. Just die quietly in my arms."
Hill spat blood and glared up at his tormentor.
Even with his resolve to slay the incarnation, his body conspired against him at every step. For some inexplicable reason, whenever the old man stepped forward, he felt an overriding sense of fear overpowering his mind with recollections of his past.
Back then, he'd simply defend himself and take the beatings as they came along, praying futilely for it to end soon. But now? No way. If he didn't defend himself, the old man would kill him, and his second chance would be gone.
He needed to shake these memories. Needed to fight.
Hill wiped blood from his nose and fell into a fighting stance as the timer reached three minutes. He widened his stance shoulder width and raised his arms, shifting his weight in the middle as best he could. He was not a fighter, but because he was now fighting for his life, he was doing everything he could.
The old man's eyebrow twitched upward. "Oh? My Hill never fought back," he noted. "So the illusion isn't perfect after all." He chuckled momentarily, and then his face melted into a scowl.
"But I don't care any longer," he growled. "I've changed my damn mind. You dare mock me with my son's likeness? You dare try to imitate him? I'll make you beg for mercy, you worthless piece of trash!"
He lunged forward. His fists shot towards Hill's face in a flurry that Hill barely blocked with his skinny forearms. The impacts sent him backward, but he was able to maintain his footing and successfully deflected another barrage.
His breath was coming in ragged gasps now, and his sides ached from exertion. But he couldn't stop.
As the old man's fist flew towards him once again, Hill moved to the side and rotated his body, plunging his own fist into the head of the old man. The knuckles landed on the mandible of the old man.
Hill watched as the old man's head snapped sideways, stunned but exhilarated that he could do it.
Pressing his advantage, he lunged in and threw another punch aimed at the gut. However, his attack was handily blocked this time, and he ate a counterstrike to his chest.
Hill coughed as his air rushed from his lungs. He dropped to one knee, tears falling from his eyes due to the pain.
The old man's laugh echoed in his ears. "Is that really the best you've got?" he taunted. "Fight back, incarnation! Don't make this so damn easy!"
Hill's face grew angry as he pushed himself back up. He didn't stand a chance against the old man. He was physically incapable of defeating an adult, even if they were far beyond their prime. At this rate, he would fall to the old man's attacks.
But what other options did he have? His physical weakness and lack of fighting experience seemed insurmountable obstacles.
No...
As his body shook, a random memory flashed through his mind.
He remembered watching a TV commercial for an off-road vehicle. In this advert, he saw the car riding through sand dunes, throwing up dust clouds as it drove through. He'd wanted a car just like that when he grew up.
Hill's gaze fell to the smooth black sand beneath him. He scooped up a handful. Then, he pushed himself upright and fixed the waiting old man with a hard stare.
"Alright," he said, voice steadier than before. "I'll fight back."
The old man fixed him with a smirk and walked forward, cocking his arm back to throw another punch. He had seen enough.
Hill took a deep breath and threw the sand into the old man's face. His opponent recoiled backward, his hands flying up as he tried to protect his eyes. Hill took the opening to run forward and land a painful kick to the old man's shin.
The old man howled and stumbled backward. When he opened his mouth to yell or to scream, Hill scooped up more sand before throwing it, this time into his mouth. The old man sputtered and gagged as Hill followed with a kick to the chest that sent him falling to the ground.
Hill didn't hesitate there, either. He pounced on the old man, stomping brutally on his head and neck.
He could see the shimmering letters changing by the second in the corner of his vision.
The timer was continuing its countdown. He needed to end this—now.
"Die, goddammit, die!" Hill screamed as he continued his attack. His eyes were burning with unleashed fury as he threw punch after punch. The old man tried blocking them with his arms, but his defenses were compromised, with Hill constantly dragging sand across his face. More blows rained down, breaking his dried-up skin and drawing blood.
But the old man was not finished. He kicked out, sweeping Hill's legs from under him. Hill fell, crashing onto his back, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. Before he had a chance to roll clear, the old man leaped onto him, pinning Hill's throat in a tight grip and squeezing as hard as he could.
Hill's eyes bulged as his windpipe began to close.
The old man snarled down at him, blood streaming from split lips and broken teeth. "You're dead!" he cried, spitting blood into Hill's face. "And I'm going to live again!"
His grip became even tighter. The world was beginning to darken around Hill, his vision blurring at the edges as a loud roaring began in his ears.
But to die at the hands of his 'father' was too unfair a destiny. He could not and would not allow it.
Hill reached up and clawed at the old man's face with the final ounce of energy he possessed, his thumbs groping for his eyes. Finding them, he buried his thumbs deeply into the sockets.
The pained scream of the old man split the air as his fingers loosened around Hill's neck. The sensation beneath Hill's thumbs was revolting as he felt warm fluid and blood squelch between his fingers, but he kept pushing.
Releasing Hill's neck from his grasp, the old man ripped his head to one side and rolled away, shrieking as his hands clawed at his eyes.
Hill's neck burned as he gulped down some fresh air.
But rest wasn't an option. He pushed himself up and pursued the figure, pinning him down with his knees before wrapping both arms around the man's neck in a chokehold.
He was returning the favor now.
The old man's face was unrecognizable now. His nose was utterly shattered, and there was blood oozing from his closed eyes. His lips were split and swollen as well. Yet somehow, his hands still found their way to Hill's throat.
They locked in their death struggle, hands gripping each other's throats as they thrashed violently in the sand. Neither were willing to surrender, neither able to break free.
Hill's arms quivered with effort as he tightened his hold, even as the old man's grip on his own throat grew more crushing. Both were suffocating now, moments from unconsciousness.
[Time remaining: 00:00:20]
They continued choking each other, both fading rapidly as darkness crept into their vision.
[Time remaining: 00:00:10]
Their grips began to slacken, their bodies growing limp, yet neither would relent.
The world spun around them.
Their vision dimmed to pinpricks.
Consciousness slipped away.
They were dying...
Both dying...
Slipping away...
But then...
It ended. Hill collapsed across the old man's body, eyes closed, breath stilled. The old man's fingers fell from his throat, hands dropping limply to the sand. His chest no longer rose; his face drained to a ghastly white. He was gone.
The old man was dead. And so was Hill.
[Time remaining: 00:00:00]