Colm lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, unaware of the hours slipping by. Occasionally, in brief moments of lucidity, he would claw his way back to awareness—just enough to notice a missing phantom. Instinctively, he would tug at his mana, activate an ability, and then sink back into the suffocating void.

In the darkness, dreams swarmed Colm's mind, pulling him back to his life on Earth. Vivid memories played like fragments of a forgotten film. A vision of the park he frequented as a child, the laughter of his younger self echoing through the air; the rhythmic sound of ocean waves as his parents took him to the beach; the bittersweet days of college, his first girlfriend's smile, and the gut-wrenching breakup that followed, softened only by his roommates' attempts to comfort him with pizza and marathon gaming sessions.

But then the dreams darkened. A car accident came into focus—the screech of tires, the blinding headlights of the oncoming car, a drunk driver swerving into their lane. He screamed, trying to warn them, but no one heard him. His faded, powerless form watched helplessly as it all unfolded in agonizing slow motion—his parents, his wife… his family in the twisted wreckage. The man who caused it all, laughing, as he walked away without a scratch on him.

The scene shifted again, cruelly relentless. He saw the funeral, felt the weight of grief pressing into him as tears blurred into his face. Then, as his spectral self faded further into the abyss, Colm saw himself—sitting alone at his desk, hollow and detached. The cellphone on his desk rang incessantly, friends reaching out, pleading for him to answer. But he ignored it time and time again. Time sped up, the days blurring into years. He watched his reflection, day after day, trapped in a routine of emptiness, the man he once was reduced to a mere shell.

The visions finally faded as darkness greeted him once again.

Inside his body, a relentless battle for dominance raged. The brutal infection tore through his veins, spreading with terrifying speed to every corner of his being. Yet his Lingering Vitality flared like a fragile candle in the darkness, struggling to push back the encroaching corruption. His abilities and body fought desperately in tandem, straining to close the gaping wound in his chest. A war between life and death, with no guarantee of victory, pushed every fiber of his being to its absolute limit.

Time became meaningless as the hours drifted on. The hole in his chest closed agonizingly slowly, as if his body and class abilities were giving everything they had just to hold him together. Two wars waged within him—one against the infection threatening to consume him, the other against the physical trauma that refused to heal.

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Like clockwork, Colm would stir, clawing his way back from the suffocating void into brief moments of awareness. Each awakening brought a wave of searing pain that tore through his body, wrenching inhuman groans from his throat. Instinct took over—his trembling hands reached for his mana, summoning his missing phantoms to stand guard. The act was agony, the flow of mana burning like molten fire through his veins, but the spectral forms flickered to life, their silent vigilance the only defense he could muster.

And then, the crushing heat returned, relentless and all-consuming, dragging him back into the darkness. Each time he faded, the sounds lingered—distant but unmistakable. The faint twang of arrows being loosed. The guttural groans of the undead prowling near, their presence gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. He could do nothing but listen, trapped in a cycle of helplessness, as a battle raged on without him.

Days bled into one another as Colm writhed on the ground, the infection relentlessly advancing, slowly overpowering his durability. His body grew colder, the numbing chill creeping inch by inch as the infection claimed more and more of him. The fight seemed endless—until something shifted.

The cold faded away, replaced by a sudden surge of warmth flooding through his body. Heat radiated from within, seeping into every limb, breathing life into places where decay had firmly taken hold. It was as if a sun had ignited deep inside him, its light pushing into the darkest, most unreachable parts of his being. For the first time in days, Colm felt a fragile sense of relief as the relentless pain dulled to something almost manageable. Though his body remained motionless, the faintest hint of reprieve was clear in his still form.

With that light came change—the infection's relentless advance faltered, slowing to a crawl. Something within him had awakened—a spark of resistance, a flicker of strength that didn't merely delay the infection but began pushing back against it. It was a second wind, a chance to defy the consuming darkness that had threatened to claim him entirely. Colm's will shone through, unyielding, refusing to surrender. The faint spark grew brighter with every moment, feeding on his resolve until it roared into a blazing inferno, burning away the shadow that sought to overwhelm him.

Time lost all meaning as the days blurred together. Colm's movements slowed until his body lay still, no longer writhing in torment. Yet the cycle remained—brief moments of fragile lucidity where instinct guided him to summon his phantoms, flickering visions of his life on Earth, and then the inevitable pull of darkness that dragged him back under. His breaths were shallow, his form teetering on the edge of stillness, locked in an endless war—one against the infection ravaging his body, the other for sheer survival. Yet, beneath it all, something stirred. His body, though battered, was growing stronger, the faintest trace of resilience building with each passing moment. Whether it would be enough, Colm couldn't know.

Finally, after nearly a month of constant struggle, Colm's body stilled completely.

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