The demon commander’s roar clashed with my own, his colossal club raised high, poised to obliterate our ragtag band of divine warriors. One swing from that weapon could have erased us from the battlefield in an instant. He could have leapt forward, crushed our defenses, and turned the tide of battle with terrifying ease.

But he didn’t.

I’d seen these demons at work before, and one thing was painfully obvious: they were lazy bastards. Over the past weeks of fighting their elites, I’d learned that they rarely exert themselves unless provoked—or to deliver the final, devastating blow.

This commander, clearly the leader of the horde, was no exception. He radiated an aura of malice, his oppressive presence like a miasma of death. Yet, instead of charging us, he stood there, picking his nose with an air of utter disinterest, as if we weren’t even nearly worth the effort as a rogue booger.

Perhaps he saw us as nothing more than insects to crush beneath his feet. Or perhaps, as absurd as it seemed, he was simply bored with this invasion.

The ogers, at least, were eager for blood. Their snarls and guttural growls filled the air as they surged forward, brutish bodies poised for a melee clash.

But before they could reach us, a ripple of green and black shimmered across the enemy’s ranks. The archers perched along their wall—dubbed “bogers” in our less-than-respectful banter—made their move. Hundreds of arrows arced into the sky, their jagged tips glinting like cruel stars before blotting out the sun.

The volley was hectic, fired with little regard for aim or target. Arrows rained indiscriminately, some striking their own advancing forces, others missing the bridge entirely and plunging into the river below.

Then came the catapults, their payloads launched high into the air. The burning debris trailed green and blue flames, foul and otherworldly. Felfire, I thought grimly. The blazing projectiles lit the sky like comets hurled from the abyss, adding to the terrifying display of carnage to fall upon us.

“Shields! Shields overhead, NOW!” Samuelle bellowed, his voice cutting through the din. He lowered his mace, raising a rosary high as his command echoed through the ranks.

The air crackled with magic as shimmering shapes of hexagons and pentagons materialized around the knights. These barriers, glowing with divine energy, fortified our defenses against the incoming storm.

Tower shields rose in unison, overlapping to protect the gaps between them. Even the smaller bucklers found their place, creating an unbroken line of defense. The Sacred Guardians hovered among us, their ethereal forms crossing their arms as they braced for impact.

Seconds stretched into eternity as the torrent descended. Iron and wooden spikes rained down in a relentless barrage, striking with the force of a thousand anvils. It felt as though the sky itself was collapsing upon us.

Ogers began collapsing in heaps, unspared by the mayhem of their own assault. As they charged, blissfully unaware of their own archers’ haphazard betrayals, the cries of their confusion gave way as they turned from invaders to meat filled sandbags.

The impacts rang out like a symphony of destruction—iron biting into stone, wood, and flesh. Most arrows glanced harmlessly off our barriers, their momentum spent as they slid to the ground. Others struck shields with a resonant thunk or pinged against the armor of those unlucky enough to be in their path.

One knight wasn’t so fortunate. An arrow slipped through a gap in our defenses, embedding itself between his shoulder and neck. He crumpled to his knees as his barrier dissolved, the Sacred Guardians immediately stepping in to shield him.

Before panic could set in, a nearby Paladin raised his voice in prayer, a healing spell already forming on his lips. Holy light enveloped the wounded knight, and the arrow fell away as the flesh knit itself back together.

For an ordinary army, such an assault would have been devastating. But we were no ordinary soldiers. We were warriors of the divine, blessed by powers the demons could never comprehend.

The barrage ended as abruptly as it began, the last arrows clattering uselessly to the ground. The shimmering shields dissolved, leaving only faint traces of magic in their wake.

I scanned the battlefield, taking stock. Some of the Sacred Guardians had been struck in their cores, their forms dimming or partially dissolving. Despite their losses, the spirits held firm. Other than the one knight already healed, we remained unscathed.

But the respite was fleeting.

The first chunk of felfire came crashing in, like stone chips from the devil’s lair. These weren’t projectiles we could block—they were boulders, massive and unforgiving.

“Scatter!” I roared, leaping aside as the first rock slammed into the bridge. It struck with a deafening crash, crumbling the stone beneath it and sending chunks of debris hurtling into the river below. Steam hissed as the water consumed the fiery fragments, geysers of boiling mist erupting into the air.

More felfire followed, crashing indiscriminately. Some overshot the bridge wholesale, slamming into the castle walls and leaving blackened scorch marks that refused to fade. One particularly massive projectile struck the leg of a statue guarding the castle gates. The proud, regal figure shattered, its pieces cascading into the river like a fallen titan.

“There’s no time to waste—casters, return fire!” I bellowed, my voice cutting through the roar of battle.

As if the castle itself had heard my command, reinforcements sprang to life on the walls behind us to respond in kind. Royal archers took their positions, their bows arcing toward the sky, while trebuchets creaked into action with practiced precision. The garrison had arrived at last, answering the kingdom’s desperate call.

A chorus of shouts echoed across the battlements as orders were barked, and the air thickened with the sound of release. Arrows streaked across the sky in coordinated waves, a stark contrast to the chaos of the enemy’s volley. Trebuchets launched payloads of heavy stone and fire, their trajectories calculated to strike where the enemy was most vulnerable.

The effect was immediate and devastating. Ogers screeched as arrows struck home, some tumbling off the bridge with ragdoll-like gracelessness. A direct hit from one of our trebuchets obliterated a group of enemy archers, their screams lost in the deafening explosion.

Even the demon commander wasn’t spared a close call. A well-aimed shot streaked toward him, but with a lazy lean to the side, he let it sail past, crashing into the reserve forces behind him. His indifference was infuriating, his smug composure a reminder of the challenge still ahead.

The air shimmered as my sacred casters unleashed their incantations, their voices weaving holy power into destructive force. Divine pillars erupted from the ground like spears of radiant light, cutting through the battlefield with unrelenting precision.

The Saint-Class Paladins, though fewer in number, channeled their energy into focused attacks. Each pillar they summoned punched clean through the hulking ogers, leaving gaping wounds in their wake. Meanwhile, the Master-Class Paladins unleashed a veritable storm of divine strikes, their sheer number of consecutive pillars reducing entire sections of the enemy’s ranks to ruin.

One particularly devastating spell struck a tower crowded with bogers. The structure groaned before collapsing in a cacophony of stone and splintered wood, obliterating part of the wall as it fell. The cascade of debris crushed dozens of demons below, their screams swallowed by the thunderous impact.

The winged creatures scattered in panic, darting through the sky to avoid the devastation. Their messy retreat left a temporary lull in the aerial assault, giving us a much-needed reprieve.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I saw the royal forces unleash their fury, every bit as hellbent on revenge as I was.

Taking their determination as my cue, I sprang forward, covering meters with each powerful leap.

The remaining ogers, still advancing, didn’t notice my approach until it was too late. I landed among them with a thunderous crash, my blade already in motion. Chandrabolg carved through their ranks in a single devastating arc, severing limbs and spilling blood in a violent spray.

A platoon of demons now surrounded me, their snarling faces lit with grim spite. Perfect. I had cut off a sizable chunk of their army behind me, leaving them vulnerable to my Paladins and Holy Knights. This was my role: the distraction.

With my aura shielding me, their weapons barely scratched my armor, but their relentless numbers would test my stamina. No matter. I shifted into a new stance, my blade sweeping in wide arcs. Heads, limbs, and weapons fell like wheat before a scythe. A murderous windmill, I tore through them with each breath I could muster.

As long as I could breathe, I would fight.

The battle settled into a grim rhythm—arrows raining down, shields rising to meet them, and our forces surging forward in relentless assault.

For twenty brutal minutes, I carved a path through the enemy ranks. My knights and spirits followed in my wake, finishing what I left behind. The bridge became a slaughterhouse, littered with the bodies of fallen foes and comrades alike.

Not all injuries could be healed in time. Some knights fell to catapult fire or were hurled screaming over the edge into the river below. Still, we pressed on, cutting down the ogers like guards breaking up a riot in a rowdy tavern.

I had to give the ogers some credit—they were crafty when the situation demanded it. Once they realized my blade could slice through iron and flesh with equal ease, they shifted tactics.

Instead of charging head-on, they kept their distance, hurling rocks and discarded weapons in an attempt to trip me up.

It wasn’t the honorable combat I had hoped for, and I stumbled more than once, forced to swing low as I regained my footing. Their strategy slowed my advance, forcing me to divide my focus. My eyes darted constantly, wary of an attack from a blind spot that might send me tumbling off the bridge.

The river might not kill me, but my armor is heavy enough that I don’t doubt drowning was a possibility, and the idea of trying to clamber by bulky ass back up in time to continue the battle was damn near laughable. I could run and swing for hours, but if anyone thought I was going to climb a pillar of rock sopping wet, hero or no, the tales of bards will be scornful indeed.

I steadied myself, preparing to face the next wave, my focus fixed on the ogers advancing around me.

And that’s when I made a critical mistake.

I had accounted for the ogers at my front and sides, even those farther off. But I had failed to account for the sky.

A shadow swept over me, and before I could react, claws sank into my pauldrons. My feet left the ground as I was yanked skyward, the wind rushing past my ears as the creature attempted to ascend.

I craned my neck to glimpse my attacker and froze. Wings. Talons. A vaguely humanoid shape.

An angel? No, this was no divine intervention.

A demon.

And she was bizarrely attractive for a creature trying to kill me. Blue, feathered hair framed a delicate face, and her figure, lean and wiry, was more reminiscent of a girl from the village than the monstrous fiend she was. The only signs of her demonic nature were the talons gripping me like a vice and the faint, otherworldly glow in her golden eyes.

“Let go, you underfed vulture!” I roared, clawing at the talons digging into my shoulders. The bridge’s edge loomed below, dangerously close as the demon angled to drop me.

I’d never encountered anything like her before. She was an abomination—a grotesque fusion of woman and bird.

Her body was mostly bare, save for strategic patches of feathers around her hips. Her perky breasts were in plain sight, as though shame held no quarter amongst her kind. The sight would have been amusing in other circumstances, but right now, all I cared about was not being hurled over the side of the bridge.

I couldn’t believe this slender demon had the strength to lift me, let alone drag my armored bulk toward the edge.

Her wings strained with the effort, each beat laborious as she fought to keep us aloft. Despite her ferocity, she looked… fragile. Barely more substantial than a town girl from the village market, she struggled with everything she had to carry me to my doom.

“Dada ayu, human man! Can’t you kick up a little to give me a lift?” she squawked, her voice high-pitched and mocking.

I managed to hook my foot into a crevice in the ground, halting her progress as I struggled to stabilize myself.

An oger, emboldened by my precarious position, charged at me with a roar. My swing was awkward but effective, the blade cleaving through its chest and sending it tumbling over the edge.

I shifted my focus back to the demon, ready to strike her down, but every time I raised my sword, she jerked abruptly to the side. Her erratic movements forced me into awkward, mismatched poses, each swing coming closer to failure than success.

“I’m going to rip those cursed wings off, demon! Let GO!” I roared.

She wouldn’t, so I made her.

Using the crevice as leverage, I hauled myself downward, then kicked up with both feet. The sudden motion sent her flailing into the air. As she struggled to stabilize, I swung Chandrabolg in a powerful crescent arc.

The blade met its mark.

Her lower half separated cleanly, blood and entrails spilling in a gorey cascade. The demon shrieked in agony, her wings flapping desperately to keep her aloft. But her strength failed, and she plummeted, her screams fading into the depths below.

I barely had time to catch my breath before a group of ogers charged at me, their spears and swords aimed to push me over the edge.

A spear glanced off my chestplate, tearing into my cape as it slid past. Another oger lunged with its sword, but I parried the blow, twisting my blade to shatter its weapon. With a final thrust, Chandrabolg found its mark, splitting the demon’s skull and spraying blood across the stone.

The Sacred Guardians descended in a flash, colliding with the remaining ogers. Their intervention gave me a brief respite to steady myself and prepare to rejoin the fight.

I gave a cursory glance above just in case and when I saw it, I swore.

The next wave hit us from the sky.

An entire flock of winged demon women descended en masse, not just targeting me but every knight on the bridge. More dangerous than any arrow, they moved in coordinated groups of twos and threes, weaving through shields with unsettling grace.

They struck with precision, talons clamping onto unsuspecting knights and hurling them screaming over the ledge. Others tried to hold onto their comrades, only to be forced to release them—or risk being dragged into the abyss themselves.

The Paladins struggled to land spells on the darting creatures, their movements too unpredictable for precise strikes. Even the Sacred Guardians, usually hasty in their defense, couldn’t keep up. The battlefield soon resembled a grim hunting ground, with the demons circling like hawks plucking rabbits from an open field.

I continued to curse under my breath, watching helplessly as the demons continued their hit-and-drop assault.

One broke formation, diving straight for me. I lunged to meet it, twisting my body mid-air to avoid its talons. My blade lashed out in a wide arc, narrowly missing its wing as it veered away at the last second.

We weren’t equipped for this, I thought grimly. These creatures were too agile, too erratic. If I’d known they’d be so formidable, I would have pulled us back to the gates, where the archers could pin them down from a safe distance.

But it was too late for that now.

As if the winged demons weren’t enough, another menace joined the fray.

Small scorpion-like creatures, each the size of a small dog, scuttled through the haze of the battle. These vile pests darted in and out of the fray, keeping just out of reach. They only moved in for the kill when my back was turned, their claws snapping eagerly in anticipation.

Their stingers gleamed with a sickly venom, the mere sight of them enough to make me wary. Every time their chittering cries grew louder, I knew they’d spotted an opening. It was the only warning I had to twist away and strike before they could sink their claws into me.

Annoying little bastards.

As I swung, I realized the sheer weight of the invader’s numbers was starting to wear me down.

They weren’t taking turns anymore, like some haphazard brawl. No, this was a relentless, coordinated assault. Demon after demon came at me without pause, each one more ferocious than the last. I could feel it—the creeping inevitability of exhaustion. It was only a matter of time before I faltered, and when I did, they’d exploit it mercilessly.

The Sacred Guardians, ever-loyal, flung themselves into the mix to shield me. Their glowing forms absorbed blows meant for my head and shoulders, buying me precious moments to counterattack. I used every advantage they provided, striking with split-second precision to whittle my way through the onslaught.

By now, most enemies would have broken ranks, their courage shattered by the numbers I had slained. But these demons? They pressed on with single-minded determination. Was this bravery? Madness? Or something more sinister—a fear that drove them harder than the promise of death ever could?

Then I saw it—their eyes.

The ogers weren’t fighting with reckless abandon out of courage or loyalty. Their movements, frantic and desperate, told a different story.

They feared me, yes. But it was nothing compared to the terror that drove them.

Their true fear was him. The demon commander.

A voice boomed across the battlefield, silencing the chaos for a fleeting moment. For a moment, I thought it was the commander himself, ready to mock my futile fight. When I realized that it came from the castle and came with an unmistakable tone of righteous ambiance, I even paused.

Deep and resonant, it carried the weight of unshakable authority. “Those loyal to my father, his majesty—make way for the paragon of all that is mighty. Do not turn away, for it is here I stand, ready to defy those who would sully my kingdom’s name!”

Every word dripped with charisma and command, cutting through the din like a blade through armor.

The castle gates groaned to life, their heavy iron frame slowly rising as if summoned by the voice itself.

Through the opening stepped a figure who could only be described as a titan among men.

It was Lord Ramel of the Mighty Pillar, the kingdom’s crowned first prince.

The fighting around us slowed, soldiers on both sides pausing to witness his entrance. His sheer presence was undeniable—a hulking behemoth with tanned skin that gleamed under the sunlight, dark hair framing a face that bore the sharp, chiseled features of royalty. A silver circlet adorned his brow, the lone mark of his status amid the rugged armor and stone that seemed to fuse with his form.

The Earth Shrine, one of the five sacred shrines tied to the elements of nature, stood within the capital. Lord Ramel, blessed by its power in his youth, wielded its gifts with unmatched mastery. Beneath his command, the very land itself trembled, awaiting his will.

Enveloped in armor that seemed an extension of his body—stone layered over muscle and sinew—he raised his arms to the sky. Around him, soldiers gathered, their eyes alight with renewed hope as he invoked the power of the earth.

“Blessed earth of rock and stone, I call to you!” his voice boomed, reverberating across the battlefield. “Give life to that which stands firm before me. Answer my summons! Deliver suffering to those who oppose my kingdom and shield the ones who call it home!”

The fortress architecture seemed to heed his command. Gargoyles perched upon the battlements stirred, their stone forms grinding to life. The once-ornamental statues along the castle walls moved, their rigid postures softening as they flexed limbs that had been still for centuries.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The largest of the stone constructs, a towering colossus, began to stir. It was the twin of the one that had collapsed from the felfire.

Cracks raced along its joints as though the giant were waking from an eternal slumber. With a groan that echoed like an ancient mountain shifting, it straightened to its full, imposing height. Its massive legs stepped into the river, water cascading off its rocky form, while its torso loomed high above the bridge.

Its glowing eyes turned to a smoldering chunk of debris lodged in the castle wall. Reaching out with a colossal hand, it seized the burning mass as though it were nothing more than a pebble. The colossus hurled the fiery rock with devastating force, the sheer velocity creating a shockwave that sent crates, rubble, and even smaller demons scattering as though fleeing the blast.

The fiery projectile struck the opposing wall with a thunderous BOOM that shook the battlefield to its core.

Even the demon commander, so confident moments before, ducked behind the gate for cover. The impact obliterated the wall, sending massive chunks of stone flying in all directions. The explosion rippled beyond the gate, splintering into the buildings behind it. Entire structures crumbled under the force, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake.

The battlefield stilled for a breath, the sheer magnitude of destruction momentarily silencing friend and foe alike.

Hundreds of archers and dozens of catapults have been wiped out in an instant, and without missing a beat the colossus began to raise the stone sword it carried. It was clear that the prince long since accepted the damage he would cause claiming victory, and he ran forward leaps at a time as his stone legs left craters in his wake as he joined to pummel his way to the commander.

The Lion-Oger Commander, towering even among his demonic kin, realized that his time on the sidelines was over.

His fiery gaze locked onto the colossus—a foe even larger than himself. He knew that the next strike from the massive sword now poised in the colossus’s hands could easily decimate his forces entirely.

With a guttural growl, the commander snapped his fingers. The bloodthirsty hounds at his side, coiled like springs, leapt into action. Their howls pierced the air as they surged toward us, teeth bared and eyes glowing with savage hunger.

As they leapt towards me, tongue flailing and howls rushing out of their jaws, a looming shadow veiled the bridge around me in blanketed darkness as the commander rose to his full height.

His smirk widened as he shifted his focus. He no longer saw me as the primary threat.

He planted one massive foot on the shattered gate, using it as a platform to propel himself skyward. The gate crumbled under his weight, stone and steel splintering like brittle clay.

His battered club, nearly as large as the colossus itself, rose high above his head as he launched through the air with terrifying speed.

The colossus, unrelenting, hurled its massive stone sword with all the force of a mountain in motion. The weapon tore through the air with a heavy whistle, aimed directly at the airborne commander.

The impact was catastrophic.

The stone blade collided with the club mid-swing, unleashing a thunderous BOOM that echoed across the battlefield. The shockwave rippled through the bridge, sending loose debris crumbling off into the river and fresh cracks snaking along the structure.

The commander, though powerful, couldn’t fully withstand the force. He was sent spiraling back, crashing into the wall of the noble’s district and sending a cascade of dust and rubble billowing out from the blow.

“By the gods,” a Holy Knight shouted as he pulled his halberd out of a winged demon. “The Prince is here, and we have the commander cornered! We’re going to be victorious!”

Don’t say that, I thought scornfully. We’re fighting for our lives, and here you are spouting hopeful nonsense at the first time we had the tables turned. Don’t jinx it!

The demon commander, though battered by the colossus’s strike, slid down the cracked stone in an almost calculated descent, his movements strangely fluid for a creature of his size. There was no earth-shattering impact as I’d expected, but rather a soft crumble. It was as though he pulled the brakes mid-air, landed on the wall with a lack of grace, and was readying himself to the ground.

For all his bulk, the commander seemed unnaturally light, as if his sheer presence defied the laws of nature. He floated like a wisp of smoke, a force of destruction poised to strike again at any moment.

Recovering quickly, the commander pressed his massive frame against the wall and launched himself back into the duel.

He streaked through the air like a golden blur, skimming just above the bridge before colliding with the colossus in a deafening crash. The massive construct, so imposing moments before, found itself utterly outmatched by the commander’s sheer ferocity.

With brutal efficiency, the commander’s club swung in a series of blinding arcs. Each strike cleaved massive chunks from the colossus’s stone limbs, the blows echoing like thunderclaps. The colossus staggered under the assault, its mighty form reduced to rubble as the commander delivered a final, devastating strike that severed its upper torso completely.

The earth shuddered as the colossus toppled, its remnants splashing into the river below.

Each strike from the commander’s club sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield. The force of his blows churned the river below, waves crashing against the banks in a chaotic dance.

As the colossus crumbled, its shattered remains tumbling into the water, the commander seized the opportunity. Using the falling construct as a platform, he propelled himself upward, landing with a resounding crash on our side of the bridge.

The commander had clearly taken note of my strategy—splitting his forces to give my allies a fighting chance. Now, he intended to turn the tables, with nothing standing between him and our forces but the imposing figure of Lord Ramel.

As the golden armor shone through the dusty mist, the commander leaned with a taunting pose, his club resting over his shoulders. In a picturesque scene similar to that of David and the Goliath, it was ironic that the prince, who could cast the deadly stone, fell face to face with the unstoppable force that feared no man. Their battle was on.

I didn’t wait to see how the prince would fare on his own. Barking orders over the cacophony of battle, I shouted, “Holy Knights, to his majesty’s side! Paladins, forward! Keep the enemy at bay and hold the line!”

Some knights obeyed immediately, but hesitation rippled through others, including Samuelle. I could see doubt flickering in their eyes as they glanced between me and the towering demon.

“But shouldn’t we all be aiding his majesty?!” a Paladin called out, his voice trembling with urgency.

“We can’t just leave you to face this onslaught alone!” another knight, the surly one from earlier, bellowed, his tone laced with defiance.

“Follow your orders and move!” My commanding voice rang, breaking the thickening despair that held my soldiers in place.

A second wind surged through me as the gravity of the moment pressed down on my shoulders. This was it—the decisive point in the battle. We had no time for hesitation.

The demon commander fixed his burning gaze on Lord Ramel, his sneer curling into something resembling amusement. Whatever reprimand or insult passed between them was lost to the chaos, but it didn’t matter.

Ramel stood his ground.

The prince, flanked by his soldiers and reinforced by the Holy Knights now at his side, radiated an unyielding defiance. There was no fear in his eyes—only a fierce, untamed bloodlust aimed squarely at the towering demon before him.

I watched as the commander’s club began its deadly arc, swallowing the sky like a harbinger of ruin. But Ramel didn’t flinch. Channeling the earth’s raw power, he moved with precision, closing the distance between them.

At that moment, he wasn’t just a prince. He was worth a hundred heroes, his sights locked on the enemy with unwavering determination.

I tore my attention away from Ramel’s clash with the commander, focusing instead on the battle raging around me.

The remnants of my comrades and the Sacred Guardians regrouped, forming a united front against the hellish hounds and their oger reinforcements.

The two-headed hounds were massive—every bit as fearsome as I had feared—but their canine instincts betrayed them. For all their ferocity, they still fought like animals, lunging wildly and snapping at anything within reach.

I dodged their gnashing jaws, keeping well clear of their dual maws. With precise strikes, I dispatched the first two that dared to close the gap, their monstrous forms crumpling under the weight of my blade.

But then, they pulled back.

At first, I thought they were retreating, cowed by our dominating presence. But their calculated movements told a different story.

It wasn’t fear that drove the hounds to pull back—it was strategy. These damned mutts weren’t acting like animals, they were just playing the part!

Before I could act, a shadow fell over the battlefield.

I looked up to see another barrage filling the sky. Arrows, black as night, rained down in deadly arcs, their trajectory sharper and more deliberate than before. Burning debris followed close behind, streaking toward us.

The precision of the attack left me trembling. This wasn’t the wild, reckless bombardment of earlier. This was calculated, meant to cut off our advance and pin us in place.

Even the ogers, brutish as they were, seemed to understand the danger. They scrambled to flee, clearing the area with surprising urgency.

“You’re not getting away this time!” a voice rang out—a lone Holy Knight, breaking formation.

As the Paladins scrambled to raise their shields in defense, this knight charged forward, sword gleaming, oblivious to the impending danger.

I froze for a heartbeat, disbelief gripping me. The Holy Knights were supposed to be with Ramel, reinforcing his position. What in the gods’ name was this fool doing here, rushing headlong into certain death?

The answer didn’t matter. What mattered was that his recklessness was about to cost us dearly.

“NO! FALL BACK!” I roared, reaching out as if my voice alone could stop him.

But it was too late.

The first arrow struck true, piercing the knight’s armor and sending him staggering mid-charge. More followed, a deadly volley that tore through both him and the Sacred Guardians rushing to shield him.

Two Paladins, desperate to intervene, were caught in the next wave. A felfire projectile exploded on impact, obliterating them in a gruesome spray of blood and shattered armor.

In the blink of an eye, over half of my remaining forces lay in ruin.

The reckless knight, mortally wounded, swayed where he stood. For a brief, agonizing moment, he turned back toward me, as if seeking guidance—or forgiveness. Then he toppled over the ledge, vanishing into the rocky waters below.

I had surged forward, instinct driving me to save him as I had others before. My hand was already reaching for the light of healing, ready to mend his wounds.

But then pain—sharp and searing—shot through my back.

I staggered, turning just in time to see one of the scorpion-like demons trying to scuttle back into the shadows. The wretched thing had been lying in wait, its venomous stinger poised for a moment of distraction. And I had given it one.

With a single slash, I ended the scorpion demon before it could escape, its venomous stinger severed along with its wretched life.

But the damage was done.

By the time I turned back toward the fallen knight, his fate was sealed. He was gone—lost to the rocky waters below. Rage surged through me, blinding and all-consuming. Letting out a guttural roar, I charged toward the nearest hound, intent on slaughtering anything that dared cross my path.

But as I took my first step, the world tilted.

It was as if I’d missed a stair, my footing lost in an instant. I toppled forward, crashing face-first into the ground. The dirt bit into my skin, gritty and cold, its taste filling my mouth as I struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

“What… what’s happening…?” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the chaos around me.

“Lord Adrian, get up! They’re going to—ARRRGH!”

A cry of pain cut through the air, followed by a sickening squelch. I couldn’t see what happened, but the sound told me everything I needed to know. Another comrade had fallen.

Chandrabolg, my ever-reliable blade, had slipped from my grasp during the fall.

It landed a few feet away, its brilliant glow dimming with each passing moment. Without its connection to my mana, the Sacred Guardians faltered. One by one, their golden forms dissolved into faint wisps of light, leaving the battlefield darker, colder.

A violent spasm wracked my back, muscles seizing uncontrollably.

Yet, strangely, there was no pain—only an unsettling numbness spreading through my limbs. My mind raced, struggling to make sense of it. Was this paralysis? Had that damned scorpion demon’s venom trapped me in some cruel, immobile trance?

This is absurd. What bullshit is this?

Paladins are immune to poison and disease—our divine aura neutralizes such threats almost instantly. I shouldn’t be lying here, helpless, while the battle rages on around me.

Ah, but it isn’t poison, a dark voice whispered in the recesses of my mind.

The realization hit me like a hammer. I had been stung—not in the thick plate of my armor, but in the one exposed spot, hidden beneath the folds of my cape. It wasn’t poison coursing through me.

It was venom.

“Oh, for the love of—this is a technicality!” I growled, my voice hoarse and dripping with frustration.

I could feel the vibrations of approaching footsteps—ogers and hounds, circling like vultures closing in on a dying beast. My allies, scattered and struggling, fought valiantly, but we were outnumbered.

A warm hand pressed against my back—a Paladin, attempting to heal me.

Before the magic could take hold, a snarling oger lunged in. The blade swung down with brutal precision, severing the healer’s arm in one swift stroke. The dismembered limb landed just within my line of sight, twitching feebly before falling still.

A cry of anguish erupted behind me, unmistakably Samuelle’s voice. He hadn’t even had time to react before the hounds were upon him, their jaws tearing into flesh and armor alike. His gurgled screams echoed in my ears as blood spilled freely, pooling into the dirt.

The spasms grew more violent, my body rebelling against itself.

And then, humiliation compounded the horror. A sharp, involuntary heave wracked my gut, and I felt the mortifying release as my body voided itself.

Seriously? A venom that paralyzes the victim and forces them to shit themselves? Is this really how I’m gonna go?

The ogers, enraged by their losses, had finished massacring my allies. They then turned their fury on me.

Their heavy feet stomped down repeatedly, pounding into my armor and flesh. But all I felt were muted vibrations, my body too numb to register the full extent of their brutality. It was as though the venom had sealed me in a cocoon of apathy, sparing me the pain but not the shame.

Each breath became a desperate battle, rasping and shallow.

My lungs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if the venom had seeped into every corner of my body, stealing not just my strength but my ability to simply exist.

This is absurd, I thought again, humiliation twisting in my gut.

Pathetic. Embarrassing.

I’d had these brutes on the ropes, dominating the battlefield. And now? Now I was lying here, helpless, as they vented their rage on me, as my body betrayed me in the most degrading way possible.

It felt as though a piece of gum I had accidentally swallowed as a toddler could have been plucked from a corner of my body to finally make its escape with how much was coming out. Was I really this backed up, or something? Could this venom be liquidating me from the inside, and forcing me to literally shit my own guts out in this humiliating pose?

My eyes became blurry as I saw a clutter of stone bounced around me and more anguished cries from behind me. I couldn’t turn to look thanks to my state. I wish I couldn’t smell either, because the constant stomping was akin to stepping onto a wet, pudding filled balloon. The squelches it made were enough to make me vomit, but it seems the venom took even that away from me to make its way out the back door.

A minute stretched into eternity.

At first, there was only numbness—dull and distant. Then the pain came.

It wasn’t subtle or creeping; it was sharp, all-encompassing, a crushing force that surged through my body like fire. It felt as though I were being wrung dry, every ounce of strength and dignity squeezed from me like toothpaste from the tube.

“HRRRRRNK—AHHHHHH!”

A guttural scream tore from my throat, the only sound I could manage as agony flooded every nerve in my body.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—the demon commander’s massive club pressing down onto my back. The weight was unimaginable, as if the entire world had collapsed onto me.

My bloodshot eyes strained to focus, catching the hulking figure standing above me. The commander wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was fixed ahead, disinterested, as though crushing me was no more significant than stepping on an insect.

“NAMO, MITRE. IS HERO STILL ALIVE?”

The demon commander’s voice rumbled low, almost conversational, as if he were inquiring about the weather. He wasn’t speaking to me—not directly. It was a question tossed into the air, meant for anyone still standing to answer.

“Y-yes, commander…” an oger stammered, its voice trembling with unease. “We kick and kick, but it… it doesn't fight back. Just… gives natti but merdu in response.”

The words were met with a ripple of snickers from the nearby demons, their cruel amusement palpable.

The laughter spread, low and mocking, as if I were the punchline to some sick joke.

If there was something funny about all this, I wished I could have known. One last laugh might have been a fitting way to go.

“Ah, abhiña, where are my manners?”

The Lion-Oger’s voice dripped with mockery, his words clumsy but deliberate. His glee was sickening, each syllable underscoring the futility of my situation.

“It seems you have lost, dear hero. Lost so spectacularly, so miserably, that even I must pity you.”

With a flick of his claw, Chandrabolg clattered to the ground beside me. The sound of the once-glorious blade striking the stone gravel echoed louder than it should have.

“Go on,” he purred. “Your sword. One last swing, perhaps? Surely even a fallen hero can muster that much.”

I tried.

I willed every ounce of my strength, every shred of mana, to respond. But my body had betrayed me.

Broken, battered, and drowning in my own blood and shit, I couldn’t move. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes, mingling with the dirt and filth beneath me.

I begged silently—for strength, for a miracle, for anything.

But nothing answered me. I was alone in my despair.

“No? Already giving up?” The commander tilted his head, his voice dripping with false pity. “What a shame.”

He leaned closer, his shadow swallowing what little light remained around me. “Perhaps you could have won. If only you’d reached for it—if only you’d had the strength to swing for my throat.”

“But you’re weak,” he sneered, the contempt in his voice cutting deeper than any blade. “All of you. Not a single one could scratch me. Your swords, your spells, your prayers—useless.”

He gestured at the carnage around us, his grin widening. “Your comrades? Their corpses aren’t even worth the dirt they disturbed as they fell.”

The commander’s eyes glinted with malicious satisfaction as he raised his colossal foot, the weight of it enough to crush anything in its path.

With a single, contemptuous motion, his foot descended on Chandrabolg, as if the blade was no more than a mere obstacle to be eradicated. There was no regard for the weapon’s history, no understanding of its significance.

“PATHETIC. USELESS. WARM-BLOODED INGRATES!” The commander bellowed, his voice thundering with contempt as he drove his foot into the sword again and again.

Each strike resounded, the sound of divine metal clanging against the brute force of his stomp. It felt as though the bridge could finally give at any moment, but it was the sword that my eyes froze on. The first few rings were sharp and defiant, but each succeeding blow dulled the tone, the sound growing fainter, more hopeless.

On the twelfth strike, the blade bent under the immense weight of his attack. A final, crushing stomp shattered it entirely.

Chandrabolg—once the symbol of our strength and our kingdom—splintered, the shards scattering across the stone and dirt. The last chime it made as it broke was a hollow echo, the death knell of a hope that had long since faded.

I could only watch, blood pooling beneath me, as my greatsword was reduced to ruin. The tears stung, mingling with the blood and dirt on my face, but I had no strength to wipe them away.

The commander stepped back, a deep, mocking chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Ah, there it is. You wounded me.” He sneered down at the shattered sword that had left a small knick in his foot. “What a nasty little weapon that was. Too bad I had to break it.”

He straightened, taking a deep, exaggerated breath, savoring the destruction. “I’ve broken everything here. All your toys, your little heroes. Crushed them, snapped them, sliced them…”

He leaned closer, his foul breath heavy with triumph. “And I’m sure there’s more to break in your little castle. I’ve heard rumors of a lovely queen there. I’m certain her screams would make the sweetest music when I squeeze the life from her.”

I snapped out of my haze, fury burning through the fog of my suffering. A growl rumbled from my chest—weak, but defiant. I couldn’t speak, my lungs too crushed to produce words, but I could still show him my hatred.

His eyes bulged with sick pleasure as he watched me writhe, clearly amused by my attempts to fight back.

“Mmmm… HMPH!” I grunted, my lips moving in desperate, futile attempts to form words, like a fish gasping for air.

“Oho, still trying to ward me off?” The commander laughed, his eyes flashing with dark delight. He leaned in closer, his shadow swallowing the last remnants of sunlight.

Where once warmth bathed me, now only cold sorrow and isolation remained. His eyes, gleaming with malice, reflected my broken face.

“I think you’ve gotten… “ The commander’s voice softened, a chilling note of finality creeping into his words.

He raised a clawed hand, two fingers curling together in a gesture so simple, yet so ominous.

“A ‘head’ of yourself.”

With that, his fingers flicked.

The flick of his fingers sent a jolt through the air.

In an instant, everything went white—blinding, all-consuming light. The agonizing pain, the heavy weight of my body, all melted away. For the briefest moment, I felt… relief.

But then my vision slowly began to return, and what I saw sent a cold chill down my spine. Well, I had thought it did.

The battlefield, the hundreds of ogers gathered around the commander—all of it was distant, blurred. And there, lying on the ground, was a crumpled heap.

Was that… my body?

The grotesque remains of flesh, blood, and filth smeared across the battlefield were all that remained of me.

My head was torn from my body, flung high into the air as if tossed by a child’s careless hand.

Did that asshole really just do that?

I saw the commander’s snarling grin one last time, that gleeful, mocking expression plastered on his face as I fell.

I flailed, helpless, into the depths below. Darkness enveloped me, swallowing all pain, all suffering, all regret. In its endless abyss, I felt nothing but the release—the great, empty expanse of the void.

And then... I guess I died.

And that was how it ended, with me as a god blessed hero. That was my story in all of its glory, with the pages of all my great deeds and accomplishments torn out with no sense of reverence, and used like toilet paper in this sorry excuse of a legend.

And then I fucking died.

Well shit, so much for that life.