"Eliza!" Einar called, panic creeping into his voice. But she was already struggling. Her mana was running low, her spells becoming slower, weaker. He could see it in her eyes—the exhaustion, the fear.

And then it happened.

One of the ghouls broke away from the pack, its eyes locked on Eliza. She raised her wand, but her spell fizzled out before it could form. Her breathing was ragged, her body trembling.

"No!" Einar roared, his heart lurching in his chest as the ghoul lunged at her.

Before he could reach her, something massive crashed into him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Pain shot through his back as he hit the dirt, gasping for air. A Revenant loomed over him, its eyes hollow and dead, its sword raised high.

"Einar!" Eliza’s voice was a desperate scream as she turned her magic on the Revenant, hurling a bolt of mana at its head. The creature staggered, its head exploding in a burst of blackened blood.

But the strain was too much for Eliza. She collapsed, blood dripping from her lips, her mana completely drained.

Einar pushed himself to his feet, gasping for breath. His vision blurred, the world spinning around him, but none of that mattered. Eliza.

He staggered forward, but it was too late. The ghoul was on her, its claws sinking into her flesh. Her scream tore through the village, and Einar felt something inside him shatter.

With a roar of pure rage, Einar charged, his sword cutting through the air with brutal force. He cleaved the ghoul in two, its body crumpling to the ground in a heap of blood and gore.

But Eliza was already gone.

Einar fell to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he cradled her lifeless body. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice broken. Tears burned his eyes, blurring the world around him. "I’m so sorry."

But his apologies wouldn’t bring her back.

As more ghouls began to gather, their shrill cries echoing through the streets, Einar knew he had to move. But the weight of guilt pressed down on him, heavier than anything he had ever felt before.

"Eliza..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Just when he thought it was over, a loud bang echoed through the square. Daevan, an adventurer, wielding a massive broadsword, charged in. With a single, powerful swing, the man cleaved through several ghouls in one blow, the ground shaking under the force.

Einar, barely conscious, watched through bleary eyes as the remaining ghouls turned their attention to the new threat. But it didn’t matter. The damage was already done.

Einar looked down at Eliza, her body still and cold. His hand trembled as he reached out, brushing her hair back from her face.

Einar stood over Eliza’s still body, each breath rasping through his lungs like he was trying to breathe through a throat full of gravel. His chest heaved, but the weight pressing down on him wasn’t just exhaustion—it was heavier. The blood on his hands felt more like lead than iron, thick and accusatory, far heavier than any sword he’d ever held.

She was dead. And it was because of him.

He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop staring at the lifeless form sprawled at his feet. "Eliza..." The word fell from his lips, barely more than a whisper. Guilt twisted inside him like a blade, gutting him from within. He’d failed her. And now she was a corpse.

Before he could spiral any further into self-loathing, a voice cut through the suffocating haze.

“Einar! Get up!”

Rina. Her voice snapped through the fog in his head like a whip, her words sharp and desperate. She was across the square, arms flailing, frantically casting spells in his direction.

Einar blinked. Right. There’s a battle going on. His brain, slow and sluggish, tried to process the scene in front of him. Rina, Daevan, and Taron were still knee-deep in it, battling the last of the ghouls like it was just another job. The kind of job you might come back from with a cool story to tell if you didn’t die horribly first.

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Rina's eyes locked onto his, her voice rising in urgency as she chanted another spell. “I’ll reinforce your body with magic! Focus, damn it!”

Focus. Right. Now wasn’t the time for grief or guilt or... whatever this black hole inside him was. His family—his real family—was still out there. Alive, he hoped. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He clenched his jaw, tearing his gaze away from Eliza’s body. Focus, Einar. She’s dead. You’re not. Yet.

The first spell hit him, and his body responded immediately. His wounds didn’t exactly heal, but they knit together just enough to stop screaming at him. The pain ebbed like the tide receding, a temporary relief. A second spell followed—a cold rush that washed over him like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on his soul. It banished his fatigue, cleared his vision, and for the first time in what felt like hours, he stood up straight. His sword didn’t feel like a slab of stone anymore.

Something inside him lit up. It was that familiar crackle of power, the lightning in his blood, surging through his veins like fire. He let it build, let it fill him until he felt like he might explode. His body thrummed with electricity, eager, hungry. The red glow behind his eyes sharpened as the ghouls ahead of him continued prowling among the bodies, blissfully unaware of the storm about to hit them.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

His feet launched him forward, his sword sparking with red lightning as it sliced through the air. The first ghoul didn’t even have time to scream before its head hit the ground with a dull thud. The body followed a heartbeat later, collapsing in a heap.

Einar didn’t stop. He spun on his heel, already moving toward the next pair of ghouls. They turned, their milky eyes widening just before his blade cut through the space between them. Red lightning trailed behind it, and a moment later, both heads hit the dirt in a gruesome roll.

Rina, still casting from the sidelines, watched him with wide eyes, awe-struck. Einar hardly noticed. He was too far gone now, moving like a bolt of lightning, striking down anything that stood in his path. His body was light, too light, like he might drift away if he stopped for a second to think.

And yet... his hand trembled. The power coursing through him was too much, too strong, making his body shake under its weight. He glanced down at his fingers, watching them twitch involuntarily. This is bad... but manageable. Until it isn’t.

Ahead, Daevan held the line, his massive sword blocking the relentless strikes from two Revenants. His armor rang with every impact like a blacksmith hammering on an anvil, but Daevan held firm. Nearby, Taron danced through the battlefield like a ghost, his twin daggers slicing through ghoul after ghoul with the ease of someone who’d done this far too many times.

But the Revenants... they weren’t ghouls. They were bigger. Stronger. And, unfortunately, more durable. Even Daevan was starting to buckle under their sheer weight.

Einar surged forward. His friends might’ve been idiots for sticking around in this nightmare, but they weren’t dead yet. He didn’t plan on changing that.

As he closed the distance, Taron reacted first. As he activated rune with mana on the daggers, he sent two small arc of blades that cut toward the nearest Revenant. The creature roared, raising its arms to shield itself from the onslaught.

Daevan didn’t waste the opportunity. He swung his sword with all his might, cleaving the Revenant in two with a satisfying crunch. That left one.

Einar moved on instinct, his sword crackling with lightning as he lunged for the remaining Revenant. The creature turned just in time to meet his glowing eyes before Einar’s blade sliced cleanly through its torso. The foul energy animating it fizzled and dissipated, and the Revenant’s body crumbled like a house of rotten wood.

The last of the undead fell, and Einar stood over the remains, panting. His hand still shook, faint sparks flickering along his fingers. He’d never pushed himself this far before, and it left him feeling hollow, drained. But... alive.

Rina approached, her face pale, but relief softened her features. “That was... incredible, Einar,” she said, almost breathless. She looked like she wanted to hug him, but wisely refrained. Probably because she didn’t want to get electrocuted.

Daevan grunted, sheathing his sword with a grim smile. “For a bunch of low-level adventurers, I’m glad you were here.”

Taron, always the charmer, chimed in, “Yeah, without you, we’d still be... well, drowning in ghoul guts. Thanks for that.”

Their words barely registered. Einar’s mind was already somewhere else, his gaze drifting to the horizon. Mom. Alice. They were still out there. Every second felt like an eternity.

“I need to go,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His feet were already moving before he realized it.

“Where are you going?” Rina called, her voice tinged with concern.

He didn’t turn. His voice was low, hoarse. “To my family.”

Each step sent a jolt of pain through his body. The adrenaline was fading, and the magic that had kept him going was wearing off. His muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when they were still out there.

Rina rushed ahead of him, placing a firm hand on his arm. “Einar, don’t. You’re injured. You’ll collapse before you make it.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched tight. “I have to find them, Rina. They’re my family.”

She hesitated, searching his eyes for some flicker of reason. After a long pause, she nodded. “I’m coming with you. The front of the village is clear.”

Einar nodded back, swallowing the sharp pain in his throat. He wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t.

As they walked through the devastated streets, the full horror of the situation hit him. Bodies—villagers, monsters—lay strewn everywhere, limbs twisted and broken. Blood soaked the ground, mixing with the stench of death in a pungent cocktail. It was too much to take in at once, overwhelming even for him.

Bron, standing near a collapsed building, caught sight of them. His face, streaked with blood and dirt, brightened in shock and relief. “Einar! You’re alive!”

Einar nodded, barely acknowledging the words. “Good to see you too, Bron.”

But Bron’s expression darkened quickly. “I heard a loud explosion from your house earlier...”

Einar’s blood ran cold.