Purchase Denied

The seconds dragged on mercilessly, each one feeling like an eternity as Drake's mind raced. He fought through the excruciating pain, pushing himself to reach the system's screen. With a final, desperate effort, his trembling fingers managed to press the holographic message.

"Yes, buy that healing potion!" he willed with all his might.

The system responded instantly, deducting the required 50,000 coins from his account, and a shimmering vial of potion materialized before him. Drake's weakening hand gripped the vial, and he struggled to open it, his vision dimming as the room around him seemed to blur and fade.

Gasping for air and writhing in pain, Drake felt the potion take effect almost immediately. It was as though an electric wave of rejuvenation flowed through his veins. The pain subsided, and he could feel his strength returning.

"Phew, that was close!" he exhaled with relief as the world around him gradually came back into focus.

As he struggled to his feet, the first thing he noticed was the holographic screen displaying the message: "User's health restored. Caution: Assailant’s Stealth Mode Enabled."

Drake's heart raced as he read the ominous warning on the holographic screen. His brief relief was now replaced with a growing sense of dread.

“Stealth mode? What kind of danger was lurking nearby?”

Drake's eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of movement or an assailant's presence. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. "Stealth mode? Does that mean they're invisible? How is that even possible?”

The pain from his earlier injuries had faded, but his adrenaline was still pumping, and he was on high alert. He quickly threw on a blood-stained robe and dialed the hotel's security number.

"Why is no one answering?" he muttered under his breath while making his way out of his hotel room. He stepped into the hallway, but he didn't feel any safer. It was as if the area where his assailant could strike had just expanded.

"911, what's your emergency?" the emergency operator greeted Drake as soon as he called.

"I'm at Niva Hotel, Room 852! Someone broke into my room and attacked me! I left my room, and I'm at the elevator now!" Drake hurriedly explained.

"Okay, sir, stay calm. Where is your attacker now?" the operator inquired.

"I don't know. I just left my room after I recovered. He stabbed me in the back and cut my throat," Drake shared, recounting the terrifying experience.

“How many times did he stab you, sir?”

“Three!” he exclaimed.

"He stabbed you three times and slit your throat, and now you're out and about after recovering? Is that right, sir?" the operator asked with a hint of doubt.

"That's right! Please, just send help!" Drake pleaded, realizing that it must sound unbelievable that he had miraculously healed on his own.

"Are you perhaps under the influence, sir?" the operator inquired, raising suspicion.

"Just send help!" Drake implored, his voice trembling.

Drake desperately wanted to get to the ground floor to seek help, but to his dismay, the elevator abruptly stopped at the mezzanine floor. His eyes darted around, and he anxiously pressed the button, silently pleading for it not to open. He couldn't shake the feeling that his assailant might be waiting for him on that floor.

As the elevator doors reluctantly slid open, Drake's knees trembled with fear. He cautiously peered outside, but there was no one in sight.

"Why did the door open here then?" he wondered aloud, perplexed. With a mixture of confusion and dread, he leaned out slightly to investigate, but suddenly, he felt a sharp kick to his back, propelling him out of the elevator.

"What? I was alone in there," he protested as he landed on the floor, sitting on his backside. He stared at the elevator in astonishment as the doors began to close. His eyes widened as a hand stopped the doors from sealing shut completely, and he realized that he wasn't alone.

The doors fully opened, revealing a man dressed entirely in black who calmly walked out of the elevator and another individual who seemed to drop down from the elevator's ceiling.

"Who are you?" Drake yelled, his voice laced with fear and confusion.

His heart beat fast as he faced these mysterious intruders, dressed all in black, seemingly appearing out of thin air. He struggled to maintain his composure, his mind racing for a way out of this dangerous situation.

The man who had walked out of the elevator met Drake's question with a chilling smile. "Who we are isn't as important as what we're here for," he replied in a calm, almost eerie tone.

The second man, who had descended from the elevator ceiling, remained silent, but his cold, unflinching gaze locked onto Drake, making him shiver with fear.

Drake, now desperate and cornered, knew he had to act fast. He contemplated making a run for it, but the two men appeared highly skilled and dangerous. In his peripheral vision, he noticed the elevator's doors slowly closing, wondering if it was the easiest way.

“Don’t even think,” the man said, tapping the elevator’s door.

"Why are you doing this?" Drake stammered, his voice trembling.

The first man, seemingly unperturbed by Drake's question, continued to approach with a sinister grin. "Don't bother trying to run; I know there's a limit on how many times you can heal yourself."

"What? There's a limit?" Drake asked, panic and disbelief flooding his mind. How could his assailant know about his system?

"It's a secret," the man replied mischievously. Drake's eyes widened as he watched the man raise his arm, clutching the same bloody knife that had stabbed him before.

"Aaaaaaah!" Drake screamed in agony as the knife plunged into his chest.

"Why the louder scream now?" the man remarked, a disturbing satisfaction in his voice.

"Enough of this," the other man interjected, his expression cold.

Drake thought he was saved, but the man swiftly made a vicious slash across his throat.

His eyes rolled back as his body instantly surrendered to the relentless attacks.

"Please, someone save me," he desperately pleaded. His prayer must have reached the gods as the elevator suddenly rang, indicating someone was coming down.

"Did he call for help?" the first man asked, glancing at the elevator, shocked that someone was coming to the mezzanine floor.

"I told you we should have finished him off in his room," the other man retorted, annoyance in his voice.

"Let's just go. If he survives, we can always return," the first man suggested. Before they left, he delivered another stab to Drake's stomach.

Drake was left lying on the floor, his life hanging in the balance, as his assailants hurriedly retreated, leaving behind a scene of violence and unanswered questions.

Drake's voice trembled as he weakly muttered, "Heal... I need to heal."

Desperation etched on his face, he reached for his system's holographic screen, but this time, it displayed a different message than before.

"Purchase denied," the system affirmed.

"Why? I still have plenty of coins!" he protested, his wounds throbbing with pain.

"Purchase denied: You still have 3 minutes and 52 seconds before you can purchase the healing potion again."

"What?" Drake exclaimed, realization dawning on him. "Is this what the man meant by a limit?"

Fear crept over him as he realized the gravity of his situation. "What am I supposed to do now?" he questioned himself, the specter of death looming ever closer. “Am I really going to die?”

Drake's vision was fading, his lifeblood draining rapidly, as his throat was once again slashed. He knew that without the healing potion in his system, survival seemed impossible. Desperation filled him as he gasped, "System, please help me."

But instead of the system, something else responded. Out of the corner of his eyes, a divine, radiant glow emerged, and he saw a miniature temple materialize within the crowd of people desperately trying to save his life.

"Are you here to take me or give me another chance?" he wondered inwardly, his voice gone with no ability to speak. With his last ounce of strength, he reached his trembling arms toward the miniature temple, his gaze fixed on it.

In a desperate act, Drake, practically bathing in his own pool of blood, gathered a handful of his own blood from the floor. With a trembling hand, he offered it to the miniature temple, hoping against hope that this tribute would be enough to secure his salvation.

"I've lost so much blood today. Can you accept this as my tribute and grant me healing?" he whispered faintly, moments before slipping into unconsciousness. "I can't just die like this."