The warrior came at him like death itself.
River barely rolled aside in time, the ground exploding where her fist connected. Dust and red dirt flew up in his face, choking his breath and burning his eyes. She moved like a living weapon—pure muscle and momentum, every step shaking the arena floor with force, the sound of her boots cracking stone echoing like thunder.
He hit the ground shoulder-first, rolled, and staggered to his feet again. Bruised, panting, heart slamming against his ribs like a war drum. His palms scraped raw from the stone, blood smearing across the dirt. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. There was no room for error here—only speed, instinct, and grit. And maybe luck, if the gods were feeling generous.
She didn't stop.
Another charge. Another attack. He ducked beneath a backhand that could've shattered his skull, legs slipping across cracked stone as he retreated one desperate step at a time, every breath a countdown, every second bought with movement.
And then—he saw it.
Floating above her head like a cursed halo:
[Target Detected: 5 Gray Hearts]
River almost laughed. A short, bitter bark that caught in his throat.
Of course. Of course it was back. The system, always watching, always dangling magic like bait on a hook. All he had to do was flirt, seduce, charm this woman who was trying to murder him with her bare fists.
He gritted his teeth, chest rising and falling with effort.
"No," he muttered under his breath. "Not again."
He'd followed the system's advice once. Tried to play its game. Ended up humiliated, bleeding, and thrown into a pit like a rabid dog. He wasn't about to be its puppet again. Not for some stupid hearts floating over a killer's head.
His fist clenched, knuckles white.
But then his mind whispered the truth, ugly and sharp: Isn't this what you wanted?
Death. The end. A clean break. A way out without guilt.
He stood there, breathing raggedly, and let his hands fall limp at his sides. His feet rooted to the stone. The warrior's next blow came. A blur of motion. A freight train wrapped in flesh and rage.
He didn't move.
And yet—
His body twisted at the last second. Ducking. Spinning. Backpedaling just out of reach. His heart nearly shot out of his chest.
"What the—?!" River growled, stumbling.
The screen flickered again:
[System Override: Self-Maneuver Engaged][User Preservation: Active]
His jaw dropped. "It won't even let me die?!"
Another message blinked into view:
[Wish Detected: Death][Wish Granted. Special Skill Acquired: Touch of Death]
River stared, panting, sweat dripping into his eyes, mixing with dirt and blood. "Touch of Death? What does that even mean? Am I supposed to... touch her?"
The warrior charged again, and he barely managed to sidestep. Her fists whistled past his ears with the sound of steel cutting air.
No time to think. No time to breathe. Just survive.
She was relentless. Attack after attack. A flurry of blows that left craters in the arena floor. She didn't fight like a person—she fought like a storm. With fury. With rhythm. With intent to kill.
River darted left, then right. He was quick. But she was faster. Stronger. Better in every way. He could feel the tremors of her attacks through the ground. She grunted with each strike, not out of effort, but from the thrill of the fight. She was enjoying this.
The crowd above had grown frenzied again. The cheers, once mocking, now pulsed with savage glee. This was sport to them. Spectacle. Another man thrown to the lions, and they were hungry for blood.
He couldn't keep this up. Every step felt heavier, every breath sharper. The edges of his vision darkened. His limbs trembled not from fear—but from exhaustion and adrenaline fading too fast.
And then—
An opening.
Just for a heartbeat.
She overextended. A wild lunge. A mistake.
He saw it. Seized it.
His hand snapped forward, fingertips grazing her bare shoulder.
A spark. A jolt. Something surged through his veins like lightning. Time itself seemed to pause.
And then his knees buckled.
River collapsed onto the floor, gasping, the last of his strength bleeding from his limbs. The stone was cool against his cheek. He expected a fist. A kick. Something to end him.
She stood over him.
Raised her fists.
And then...
She didn't strike.
She dropped to her knees.
And wrapped her arms around him.
River froze.
The colosseum fell silent.
He felt her breath on his neck. Her grip—tight, protective. Her voice whispered one word:
"Mine."
The screen appeared again, hovering just beyond his line of sight:
[Touch of Death Activated]Effect: Opponent falls in love with the bearer for 15 seconds. During this time, the bearer may deliver the final blow.
River blinked.
"What the hell kind of ability is that?!" he hissed. "You should've said that sooner!"
He struggled, trying to pull free, but her arms locked around his torso like steel chains. Her muscles, once a weapon, now became a cage. A loving, suffocating, death-grip of affection.
The crowd murmured in confusion. The Matriarch raised a brow. Alara, from somewhere above, let out a laugh loud enough to echo.
River grunted, teeth clenched. "Fifteen seconds, huh? Great. Real helpful. Any chance you can undo it now?"
The system didn't respond.
Of course it didn't.
And all River could do was sit there, held like a child by the same woman who had tried to beat him to death five minutes ago, praying to whatever gods this world had that the timer would run out before she accidentally crushed his spine in a lovesick hug.
Each heartbeat felt longer than the last. Her grip tightened as she muttered unintelligible affections under her breath. Her forehead pressed to his. Her massive body trembled with unexpected emotion.
He could feel the crowd's confusion. Their bloodlust cooled to puzzled murmurs. Somewhere above, a horn sounded—not in celebration, but confusion. Even the Matriarch seemed... interested now.
River, pinned and sweating, whispered, "Next time, System... warn me before I unlock the girlfriend from hell."
And the timer kept ticking.