The square was quiet, but not with the tense silence of before. Anya meticulously honed her daggers, a rhythmic rasp echoing beneath the low hum of the portal. Bolu strategized, voice low and steady, while Kai stretched, his hulking form brimming with restless energy.

Mark leaned against a cracked pillar, a smile tugging at his lips. The exhaustion lingered, but beneath it thrummed a different kind of power. He'd been pushed to his limits, time and again. Yet, with each fight, something inside him had shifted. He wasn't just surviving now, he was thriving. This wasn't dread he felt, it was anticipation.

The ground trembled, not with the chaotic quakes of the lesser hordes, but the steady, purposeful rumble of a war machine. The air crackled, the tang of ozone sharp in his nostrils. It wasn't fear that made his heart race, it was the thrill of the challenge.

They formed ranks, Bolu a beacon of calm amidst the swirling energy. Anya's grin was almost feral, and Kai roared in defiance, a bear woken from slumber. Mark drew his sword, the familiar weight in his hand a comforting anchor. Stronger, faster, more precise than ever before – he was ready.

The portal erupted, spewing forth a monstrous tide. This was no mindless rabble, but an army. Brutes clad in heavy armor, their weapons pulsing with the same dark energy that throbbed through Mark's veins. Their eyes burned, not with wild frenzy, but cold, calculating purpose. This wasn't just slaughter; it was annihilation.

His grin widened. It was time to prove them wrong. The first goblins charged, roaring their challenge. A surge of power coursed through him, familiar but wilder this time. Not fear, never fear. This was exhilaration, a wild thrill bordering on ecstasy.

Let them come. He was more than a match. He was the storm.

Mark sprinted through the ruins; the air thick with anticipation. The ground beneath him trembled with the approaching horde, each footfall a drumbeat of doom. He could see Bolu and Kai ahead, their makeshift barricade struggling to contain the encroaching goblin tide. His breath burned in his lungs, but he pushed harder.

He wasn't just running from danger; he was running towards it.

Mark unleashed a devastating arc, his blade cleaving through the goblin brute before him. It crumpled with a wet gurgle, its black blood spraying Mark's armor. Yet, there was no satisfaction, no time for a triumphant snarl. Two more goblins surged to fill the gap, their spiked maces whistling through the air.

He parried the first blow with a jarring clang, pivoted, and buried his sword in the second goblin's gut. The creature howled, clawing at the steel protruding from its torso, but Mark was already moving. Each goblin fell with brutal efficiency, yet the press of their numbers was relentless. He was a maelstrom of motion, yet the tide threatened to drown him.

A nagging unease prickled at the back of his mind, something beyond the simple exhaustion of combat. Then, he glimpsed them – smaller, faster goblins, skirting the edge of the fray, not charging head-on, but weaving towards the rear. Bolu stood resolute, shield raised, but his heavy swings were growing sluggish. Kai, a whirlwind of rage, was bleeding from a dozen cuts, his mighty hammer leaving streaks of red in its wake. It wouldn't be long before they were overwhelmed.

Desperation surged through him. He wasn't going to let them fall. With a roar that ripped from his throat, he drew on his dwindling mana. It flowed through him, hot and demanding. He channeled a surge into his legs, a desperate gamble for speed.

His world blurred. He wasn't just dodging blows, he was weaving through a deadly storm, his movements a flicker too fast for the brutes to track. A mace whistled past where his head had been a heartbeat before. He pivoted, mana fueling a strength boost, his sword slicing through armor and flesh like a hot knife through butter.

A goblin lunged for his exposed flank, but he was already moving. He slammed his shoulder into its chest, the force rippling through his mana-strengthened body. The creature flew backwards, crumpled and groaning. Two more charged. A flicker of fear, then a cold determination. His remaining mana surged, forming a momentary barrier, flickering blue before his eyes. The goblins crashed into the unseen wall, their blows glancing harmlessly off the shimmering energy.

The barrier shattered, the effort taxing his near-empty reserves. The intensity of the fight did something strange to his perception. Time seemed to slow. He saw the clumsy swings, the predictable charges of the goblins with agonizing clarity. With each strike, that sense of something shifting grew stronger. His movements flowed with an unnatural ease, almost as if his body were anticipating the blows before they landed.

The hulking figure of Nam emerged from the chaos. Mark's stomach clenched. He'd faced the chieftain before, barely escaping with his life. Nam was different – bigger, stronger, and its eyes held a chilling intelligence. There was no mindless bloodlust here, only cold calculation.

Nam barked a command. Goblins parted, creating a path. It was a crude taunt, an invitation into the heart of its forces. Mark hesitated. Every instinct screamed that this was a mistake, yet to refuse was to condemn his friends.

He gritted his teeth. His mana reserves were a dry well, his body screaming in protest. But he had to try. He charged once more. There was no strategy now, just pure, desperate violence. He carved his way deeper into the goblin ranks, each blow fueled by grim determination. That elusive shift, that change – it thrummed through his body, aching to be unleashed.

That's when it hit him. The chieftain wasn't falling for his relentless attacks; it was goading him on. His progress was an illusion. A glance back confirmed his horrifying suspicion. He was cut off. Bolu and Kai were surrounded, desperately fending off a horde of the smaller, faster goblins. Kai roared in defiance, blood spattering his face, while Bolu's weathered features were twisted in a grimace of pain.

With a wordless cry of frustration, Mark fought on, fueled by nothing but rage and the last dregs of adrenaline. He wouldn't reach them in time. He was on his own. But that wouldn't stop him from taking as many of these bastards down as he could.

He pressed his advantage, not through a relentless assault, but by manipulating the flow of force. A deflected mace sent its wielder tumbling into a spiked shield, opening it up for a killing blow. A well-timed shift of his blade disarmed a brute, sending it staggering into the press of bodies behind him.

Force. He'd been thinking about it all wrong. It wasn't just about the mass behind the blow, it was…everything. The angle, the momentum, the way energy rippled through the battlefield with each clash of bodies and steel. A twisted exhilaration surged through him. Here was the key, not to victory, necessarily, but to survival.

The world became a blur of movement and force. The goblins' attacks, once overwhelming, became predictable, their raw strength countered by his newfound understanding. He saw openings, gaps in the green tide, leading directly to Nam.

With newfound resolve, he carved his way forward. Each strike was calculated, focused not simply on killing, but on disrupting the rhythm of the goblin horde. He fought with a brutal economy of motion, turning the goblins' own weight and momentum against them, clearing a path with an efficiency he'd never known he possessed.

Finally, he stood before Nam. The chieftain lowered its axes, its gaze unwavering. "You," it rumbled, its voice a low growl that held an unsettling intelligence. "You ran before. This time, you pay for the lives you stole."

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"I fight for survival," Mark retorted, his voice surprisingly steady. "For theirs and mine."

Nam tilted its massive head, its eyes gleaming with a cold curiosity. "Survival is a worthy motive," it rasped. "But will your skill be enough to earn it?"

Mark met the chieftain's gaze, a strange certainty burning in his veins. The timer, that constant reminder of his limits, had vanished. In its place was a boundless and terrifying potential

He didn't know if he could defeat Nam, or what this evolving force-sense truly meant. All he knew was that the fight had changed. This wasn't about simple survival anymore. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. It wasn't just a weapon now, but an extension of this newfound understanding, channeling the force within himself into a deadly instrument.

His vision blurred, exhaustion painting the battlefield in shades of red. His breath rasped in burning lungs, his arms trembled with the strain of each desperate parry. But amidst the chaos, a profound shift ignited within him. This wasn't just about survival anymore; this was about understanding.

He was starting to see beyond the brute exchange of blows. It was like a new sense awakening – a perception of force itself. He felt the ebb and flow of energy with each swing, each block. Subtle patterns unfolded before him, invisible threads of momentum he could almost…manipulate.

The system's notification ding flashed in his and he knew instinctively that he had increased his level and discovered a concept. Then, silence.

The world warped into slow motion. The clash of steel faded into a distant symphony, his own movements strangely detached yet infinitely precise. He flowed with the fight, anticipating strikes before they were unleashed. His parries weren't born of brute force, but precise shifts of his blade that redirected the enemy's attacks with an almost effortless grace.

Nam, the monstrous chieftain, sensed the shift. Its roar was laced with frustration as it lunged again, a whirlwind of rage and primal strength – a tactic that would have overwhelmed him moments before. But Mark's eyes now saw the angles, the momentum underlying each blow, the way Nam's rage exposed weaknesses.

He didn't block the first axe blow head-on. With a twist of his body, a shift of his weight, he guided the weapon past him, the chieftain's own force leading it astray. Nam stumbled, off-balance, and Mark was ready. The second axe came crashing down with brutal intent, but Mark didn't retreat. He leaned into the blow, using Nam's momentum, adding a calculated shift of his own. The axe spun wildly off target, a testament to his newfound control.

Clarity replaced the frantic haze. He wasn't just fighting back; he was dominating, unraveling his enemy blow by blow. This wasn't just a surge of power, but mastery of an unspoken principle. With each redirection, each deft counter, he carved a path toward a victory once unthinkable.

The surge of exhilaration coursing through him was undeniable. He could see the cracks in Nam's rage, the hesitation in the surrounding goblins. This was a fundamental shift in the tide of battle, a power play in its purest form.

A dark voice echoed in the back of his mind, not his own, seductive and chilling: "This is good, isn't it? More than just winning...this is control." The thought was horrifying, yet he couldn't deny the twisted appeal it held.

Mark's blade sang a deadly song as it met Nam's final, desperate swing. The monstrous chieftain crumpled, lifeless, a testament to Mark's newfound mastery. A primal roar of triumph welled up within him, quickly choked by the chaotic scene before him.

The remaining goblins, their leader slain, descended into a frenzy. Bellowing with rage and grief, they cast aside any semblance of strategy, charging the group with reckless abandon. Mark, fueled by adrenaline and the thrill of victory, became a whirlwind of steel. He deflected blades, disarmed attackers, moving with a preternatural speed that left him feeling strangely detached from his own body.

But there were simply too many. One goblin slipped past his defenses, its cruel claws raking across Ben's arm. Another lunged for Sarah, its gnashing teeth inches from her throat. Panic surged through the group.

Mark fought with a desperation he hadn't known before. He parried a blow aimed at a man, his own body screaming in protest at the exertion. But for every goblin he disarmed, two more seemed to take its place.

Mark's vision swam. A goblin's fetid breath tickled his ear, its cruel claws inches from his throat. Exhaustion gnawed at him, each swing of his sword a monumental effort. Around him, the scene mirrored his despair. Bolu, his shield dented and bloodied, fought a losing battle. Kai, a whirlwind of rage moments ago, now wheezed with each labored breath, his blows sluggish. Hundreds of their human companions lay broken and bloodied, the tide of goblins seemingly endless.

The tide was turning, and not in their favor. Just as a hulking brute of a goblin, its face a mask of fury, readied a killing blow against Elara, a wave of light washed over the battlefield. The air shimmered, distorting the goblins' snarling faces. Their frenzied movements stuttered, their weapons clattering to the blood-soaked ground.

Slowly, the impossible began to happen. The goblins, rendered inert, began to fade. Their forms shimmered and dissolved into shimmering particles, like dust swept away by an unseen wind.

Mark widened his eyes, disbelief flooding his system. He cautiously lowered his sword, heart hammering against his ribs.

In the center of the circle, bathed in the blue glow, stood Lyra. Her demeanor cold and radiating an aura of quiet power. He checked his quest timer and saw that the last 15 minutes were over.

Lyra lowered her hand, the blue light fading. A small smile played on her lips. "Well done," she said, her voice ringing clear in the sudden quiet. "You survived the horde."

Relief flooded Mark, momentarily eclipsing the dull ache blooming in his abused muscles. His gaze flicked from the vanishing goblins to Lyra, a silent question hanging heavy in the air.

"The initial trial, the culling, is complete," Lyra stated, her voice devoid of emotion but laced with a hint of satisfaction. "You have shown remarkable progress, but her eyes stopped for a second on Mark. This trial is not a cruel master, but a demanding one. It pushes you to your limits, to unlock the potential you hold within."

The cosmic trial wasn't a game. This wasn't a training exercise. This was a fight for survival.

Survive or Die