Almost Die

**Sunny POV**

A few minutes ago, at the wood house.

The dark liquid had already covered most of my lower body.

I ignored it for now and focused on reshaping the pistol into a sword. It took effort—like bending a metal bar into a circle with your bare hands.

Slowly, painfully, I forced it to change.

Once it was done, I ordered the smoke to hover close to me.

Preparations complete, I looked down at my legs, drew a deep breath, and steadied my mind. I aimed the sword at a certain spot on my right leg—and began to cut.

The blade slid into my skin, and agony shot through me. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to endure.

Blood trickled out, then gushed violently as the blade dug deeper, tearing into flesh and striking bone.

When the blade met bone, it struggled. Too weak to cut through.

Without wasting time, I bit down on the sword with my teeth, freeing my hands. I grabbed my right leg with both hands and snapped the bone in two. Blood spewed out in an arc. I groaned, barely clinging to consciousness.

Grimacing, I took back the sword and finished the cut.

As soon as the limb detached, I felt half my powers return. But it wasn't enough—I still couldn't switch positions with a clone.

I wracked my brain for another way, but none came. It seemed there was no avoiding cutting my other leg.

Then I paused.

*Wait. Do I really need to cut it? Can't I just—?*

An idea struck me.

With some of my power restored, I could manipulate smoke again, though only within strict limits. Anything bigger than my head or stronger than a shotgun was off the table.

Fortunately, that's exactly what I needed.

I reshaped the blade into a shotgun, pressed the barrel to my leg, and pulled the trigger. The blast tore through flesh and bone, obliterating what was left of my legs.

The recoil knocked me back several meters. I tumbled through the air, powerless.

Acting fast, I ordered the smoke to attach to my back, shaping it into a pair of wings. The transformation took a few seconds—but just as I was about to slam into a wall covered in the same dark liquid, the wings formed.

I spread them wide, halting my fall inches from disaster.

Panting, I turned to look at what remained of my legs—an eerie mix of thick black liquid and maroon blood, dripping down like a grotesque painting.

I raised a hand, and smoke rushed over, attaching itself to my severed limbs. It puffed into a cloud, reshaping into a perfect copy of me.

With this, whoever trapped me would think I was still there, powerless, while I hunted them down.

I glanced at the second flame. It was still burning steadily.

*Are they the one who trapped me?*

I decided to find out.

I turned myself into mist and zipped across the distance in an instant.

There, perched atop a light pole, was a man—laughing maniacally, shouting about trapping me.

I drifted closer in mist form, then solidified mid-air.

A human with no legs to stand on, but with wings strong enough to fly.

Blood dripped steadily from the stumps, creating tiny splashes on the ground below.

The man froze when he saw me. His manic laughter cut off.

He turned, his eyes wide.

"Is this for real?" he asked, voice trembling.

"Yeah, for real, for real," I answered, flashing an unnatural, wicked smile.

"But I'm sure I got you—!"

"You should've killed me when you had the chance. Underestimating me was your mistake," I said, my voice low and menacing.

He stared for a second longer, then bolted—leaping from the pole to the rooftops, then to the trees.

Hot anger flared in my blood.

*He thinks he can get away after trying to kill me? Think again!*

I flapped my wings hard and gave chase. He was quick, but not quick enough.

"Where do you think you're going?" I called out, my voice laced with fury.

Without hesitation, I inhaled sharply and exhaled a barrage of smoke-formed spikes.

They shot toward him at blistering speed.

The man reacted by cutting himself.

Black blood burst from his wounds, floated into the air, and hardened into a shield that blocked my attacks.

*His blood... it can do that?*

I narrowed my eyes, a mix of fascination and disgust flickering through me.

"Get away from me! I'm sorry, okay! I'll leave Yurim and you alone!" he begged, leaping desperately from branch to branch.

"You tried to kill me! I'm not kind enough to let that slide!" I roared, shifting tactics.

I morphed the smoke into countless swords, launching them at him from every direction.

"A lot of people are trying to kill you too! I'm not the first!" he cried, dodging frantically.

But the swords came from every angle.

He didn't stop running—instead, his black blood danced around him, solidifying to block each blade, then liquefying and flowing to the next vulnerable spot.

He moved with inhuman precision and agility, defending against the relentless storm.

Sparks flew. Clanging metal echoed across the empty neighborhood.

"Yeah, and they're all six feet underground! Stop running and I'll make it painless!" I shouted.

"That's still death!" he screamed back.

Without warning, he stabbed himself in the heart.

I immediately sharpened my senses, wary of a trick.

He pulled the blade out, and black blood gushed out like a fountain.

Instead of falling, it floated, surrounding his body.

The blood hardened into a black shell, spreading from his chest outward until it encased him completely.