The forest was thick with tension, suffocating like a heavy fog.

The air, damp with the scent of blood and damp earth, felt stagnant—as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Steven lay on the ground, his breathing shallow and uneven.

His skin had turned a sickly shade of gray, cold sweat dripping down his temple as Anne worked frantically to heal him.

But her magic was failing.

The poison resisted, writhing within his veins like a living thing, clawing deeper, sinking its fangs into his very core.

Anne’s hands trembled, her lips moving in a constant chant, but the golden glow of her magic flickered, struggling against the dark venom that pulsed beneath his skin.

Nearby, Bob and Kenta stood rigid, their fingers clenched so tightly around their weapons that their knuckles turned white.

Their breaths came out short and ragged, their muscles locked in anticipation.

The other captured humans weren’t warriors, but they weren’t cowering.

They stood firm despite their trembling limbs, eyes darting between their fallen comrade and the monsters standing across from them.

The gnolls.

They watched in silence—eerie, unnatural silence.

Their twisted, hyena-like grins stretched across their filthy faces, yellowed fangs bared, saliva dripping from their maws.

Their hunched bodies twitched with excitement, claws flexing, itching for bloodshed.

And then, a larger figure stepped forward.

Leimer.

The gnoll chief was grotesque—a towering beast of corded muscle and matted fur, his posture hunched yet radiating terrifying power.

His blood-red eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

He held a massive crossbow lazily in his claws, its thick bolt glistening with something black and sickly, a venomous promise of death.

“Let’s play a game,” Leimer drawled, his voice a guttural rasp laced with mockery.

Asael didn’t hear him.

The world blurred in crimson haze.

His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else.

Rage—blinding, suffocating rage—tore through his chest like a wildfire.

With a roar that shook the trees, he lunged.

His sword gleamed as he sliced through the air, aiming straight for Leimer’s throat.

But the gnoll didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even move.

Instead, he merely smirked, his voice calm, taunting.

“That poison… it’s quite nasty. Your friend there?” He gestured lazily toward Steven, barely sparing him a glance. “Might not last more than a few hours.”

The words ignited something feral in Asael.

He moved faster, pushing off the ground with all his strength, closing the distance in an instant—

Snap.

The world dropped beneath him.

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The ground vanished, replaced by nothing but open air.

A pit.

Asael barely had time to react before he was falling, the sharp iron spikes at the bottom gleaming hungrily, waiting to impale him.

Instinct roared to life.

He twisted midair, his sword flashing out—

Clang!

The blade caught the pit’s rocky wall.

The jarring impact sent pain shooting through his arm, but it stopped his fall.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

He could hear the gnolls laughing above.

Before he could pull himself up—

Thwump!

A heavy net crashed over him.

Thick, coarse fibers wrapped around his limbs, biting into his flesh, pinning him down.

Above, Leimer peered over the edge, his expression twisted in amusement.

“Oops,” he chuckled. “Looks like you fell.”

Asael gritted his teeth, struggling against the net, but it was too tight.

Leimer pulled something from his belt.

A small glass vial filled with sickly green liquid.

“This is the antidote,” he mused.

And then—

He tossed it.

The vial clinked against a rock and rolled toward Asael.

He lunged for it—

Pain.

A sharp spike grazed his side, tearing through flesh, sending fresh blood spilling down his torso.

He bit down on a cry, his fingers closing around the vial.

Above him, Leimer snickered.

“Remember, you only have a few hours.”

And then—

He walked away.

The gnolls followed, melting into the darkness.

Leaving Asael trapped.

---

Pain burned through his body, but he forced himself to move.

Every breath was agony. Every pull of his muscles sent fire coursing through his veins.

But he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to untangle from the net, clawing his way up the jagged wall, his hands raw, blood smearing the rock.

Finally—he climbed out.

His chest heaved, sweat and blood mixing on his skin.

But something was wrong.

The battlefield was silent.

Too silent.

The gnolls were gone.

The fight—gone.

The clearing, once teeming with violence, was empty.

Except—

There were three figures.

Hanging from the trees.

Asael’s breath caught in his throat.

No.

Their bodies swayed gently in the cold night air, ropes digging cruelly into their necks.

Their feet dangled inches above the ground.

Their mouths were frozen open in silent, eternal screams.

Their eyes—lifeless.

The world tilted.

Bile rose in his throat.

The earth beneath them was disturbed. Drag marks.

They had taken the others.

Anne. Kenta. Bob. The rest.

The gnolls hadn’t just left.

They had stolen them away into the darkness.

And if he didn’t move soon—

They wouldn’t be coming back.

Asael didn’t hesitate.

His feet slammed against the forest floor, golden light erupting around his body, engulfing him in a radiant aura.

The very air crackled with energy, his presence a beacon in the suffocating darkness.

Power surged through his veins, his muscles coiled like a drawn bowstring, and his senses sharpened to a lethal edge.

The scent of blood, thick and pungent, filled his nostrils.

The coppery tang clung to the back of his throat, mixing with the damp earth and sweat.

Every gasping breath carried the distant wails of the dying, the raw, visceral terror in their voices carving into his soul like jagged glass.

“Help me!!”

“Save me!!”

“Aghh!! Help!!”

Desperation. Fear. Agony.

Their cries wrapped around his heart, squeezing with merciless fingers.

Left.

He pivoted sharply, dirt spraying behind him as he barreled through the underbrush.

Every muscle in his body burned, but he pushed forward, faster, harder.

A single second—one breath too slow—could mean another life lost.

Then he saw it.

A man, his fingers clawing uselessly at the soil, being dragged by a hulking orc.

His wide, terror-stricken eyes locked onto Asael’s, silently pleading for salvation.

Asael’s body tensed, instincts screaming at him to move.

Then—

A shadow.

Axe. Falling.

His world shrank to a single moment, a single strike.

CLANG!

Steel met steel in a vicious clash, the impact jarring his arms, sending a violent tremor down his spine.

The force drove him back, feet skidding against the dirt, but he gritted his teeth and held firm.

His fingers tightened around his hilt until his knuckles ached.

The orc dragging the man was getting farther.

No.

I won’t let this happen.

He twisted his grip, ducking low as another swing carved through the air.

WHOOSH!

The axe buried itself into a tree trunk with a deafening thud, bark splintering from the force.

A breath. A heartbeat.

He moved.

In a flash, he spun low, his blade slicing through the air—

SLASH!

His sword cleaved through the orc’s legs, carving deep into muscle and tendon.

The beast howled, its agonized screech ripping through the forest.

It collapsed, knees slamming into the ground, its massive form trembling.

Asael wasted no time. With a roar, he drove his blade deep into the orc’s chest, the steel sinking into flesh, muscle, bone.

A violent shudder coursed through the creature’s body as its lifeblood poured onto the earth in thick, steaming rivulets.

He ripped the sword free, his own breath ragged, his heart hammering.

But there was no time to revel in victory.

He whirled back toward the man—

And the world stopped.

The orc gripping the man had already raised his club.

The man’s face was streaked with tears, his lips trembling as silent words formed—

No.

“NO!” Asael bellowed, legs burning as he surged forward.

Too late.

The club came down.

CRACK!

The sound was deafening. Sickening.

Bone shattered.

The man’s skull collapsed inward, crushed like overripe fruit.

Blood exploded outward in a gruesome spray, warm and thick, speckling Asael’s face.

A chunk of skull flew past his cheek, landing in the dirt with a wet plop.

His feet faltered, his breath caught in his throat.

The body twitched once.

Then fell limp.

What remained of the head was nothing more than a ruined pulp, indistinguishable from the gore pooling around it.

The smell of ruptured flesh and brain matter clogged his lungs, threatening to choke him.

Asael’s stomach twisted violently, bile rising up his throat.

The orc, still grinning, turned to him.

“Weak human.”

The words slithered from its lips, laced with contempt, its tusks glistening with spit.

A flash of red filled Asael’s vision.

Rage. Pure, seething, all-consuming rage.

His fingers clenched around his sword so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.

Blood dripped from his grip, his body trembling under the weight of his fury.

“Aaaahh!!”

With a guttural roar, he lunged, his entire being surging toward the orc.

The creature’s eyes widened in the split second before steel pierced its flesh.

The blade rammed through its ribs, tearing through sinew, bone, and organs.

The orc gasped, its massive frame convulsing, blood bubbling from its mouth.

Asael twisted the blade deeper, the grinding of metal against bone sending a visceral shiver up his arms.

The orc’s legs buckled. Its body crashed to the earth with a dull thud.

Asael panted, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

The golden glow around him flickered wildly, mirroring the storm raging within.

But his rage did not subside.

His vision blurred, his body shaking, his heart pounding like a war drum against his ribs.

Then—

More screams.

More slaughter.

More humans.

More orcs.

Asael lifted his bloodstained blade.

And ran forward.