Chase braced his legs, raised his curved turtle shell shield, and felt the force of the energy collide with it. The shell held strong but rattled in his grip as he struggled to maintain balance. He could hear cracks forming on its surface, but it had successfully protected him from the attack.

As soon as the attack stopped, Chase launched himself forward, his bone pick piercing through the air at the leader’s head. Unfortunately for Chase, the leader was fast, dodging the pick with a graceful and unnatural motion.

Chase tried to pull his pick back, but in his haste he overextended, lodging it in the ground, and he had no time to get it free before the leader retaliated. Chase had only a fraction of a second to raise his shield before the leader's fist was coming for his face.

The force of the punch lifted him off his feet, and his back hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from his lungs. As he lay there, gasping for air, Chase saw the leader looming over him, a smug look of victory in his eyes. His opponent raised his foot, preparing to deliver a crushing blow that would surely end the duel. Desperately, Chase rolled to the side just as the foot came crashing down, feeling the earth tremble beside him.

Scrambling to his feet, Chase knew he couldn’t rely on his shield anymore; the cracks had spread, threatening to shatter it with the next hit. His eyes darted around, searching for his bone pick or any other weapon he could use.

He found it buried in the ground, the bone handle protruding just above the muddy earth. As the leader closed the distance, Chase rushed for the pick, hoping he could reach it before the leader attacked again.

His fingers closed around the handle, and he pulled with all his might. The pick came free just as the leader was upon him, bringing his fist down in an overhead strike. Chase ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, and jabbed his pick up towards the leader's abdomen, the haft pressed against his forearm in a reverse grip.

The sharp point of the bone pick sank into the fabric of the leader’s coarse tunic, narrowly missing the flesh beneath as the leader twisted away at the last second. A flash of frustration crossed the leader's face, replaced quickly by renewed resolution. Chase didn't waste a moment; he used the momentum of his failed strike to spin around and face his opponent again.

The leader, now wary of the bone pick's reach, circled Chase with cautious steps, looking for an opening. The ground was muddied from their scuffle in the storm, making each movement a calculated risk. Chase could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath coming in quick, uneven bursts.

The lightning split the sky again, illuminating their faces in harsh, angular shadows, allowing Chase to finally see the elfin ears he possessed. Rain pelted them without mercy, soaking them through and rendering the air frigid. Chase's clothes clung to him, heavy with water and mud, but he barely noticed. His world had narrowed to his opponent and the little circle of wet earth on which they fought.

Chase lunged forward, his pick sweeping out in a swift arc. But the leader was quicker. He sidestepped the attack, then lunged forward, aiming a punch at Chase's exposed side. But Chase twisted his body at the last moment, and the leader’s fist grazed his ribs, a painful reminder of his precarious situation.

A growl of frustration escaped from the leader’s lips as he stumbled briefly in the muddy ground. Seizing this opportunity, Chase stepped forward, swinging his pick down with all his might. The leader raised his arm to block, but was too slow. The pick connected with a sickening crack, the tip punching through flesh and snapping bone. Despite that, the leader merely grunted, before his leg snapped up and slammed into Chase’s side.

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The blow sent him sprawling, landing painfully on his side, and the leader followed with a blast of white, almost spectral energy. Chase managed to dodge most of it, but the blast clipped his left calf. Pain and a sense of weakness radiated from where the energy touched, and as Chase rose to his feet, his left leg nearly buckled under him.

Still, he remained standing, glaring behind his mask as the leader returned his intense glare while pushing his sleeve up past the elbow, where his skin abruptly changed color. Chase blinked, before his stomach roiled as the leader grabbed a string protruding from his arm and pulled it free. The arm that Chase had broken fell to the ground, and another of the figures, all of them some kind of elf now that he took a moment to check their ears, ran up with another arm.

Turning his head enough to look around while keeping his opponent in his vision, Chase was surprised to see that the elves and shamblers had all stopped to watch his fight with their leader. The newcomer handed the injured leader the fresh appendage, and a visible energy moved from the shoulder to the new arm, bonding it in place. Chase saw the leader flexing his new fingers, a grim look of satisfaction on his face.

Returning his red gaze to Chase, he spoke the first words that either of them had spoken since the appearance of the pillar, “Impressive, for a human.”

Ignoring his injury, Chase steeled himself as the leader lunged at him again. Chase ducked and rolled to dodge, but his injured leg slowed him down and he stumbled. He could see the leader pouncing on this momentary lapse, charging forward with a powerful punch. With no time to block, Chase braced for impact but at the last moment thrust out his bone pick towards the leader’s exposed body in a desperate offensive move.

He felt it connect with something solid – the sensation jolting up his arm – followed by a rush of warm liquid splattering his face: blood. He had hit his mark but there was no time to celebrate; the leader's punch landed hard on his chest, cracking his turtle bone breastplate, and Chase was sent reeling backward.

The force of the blow knocked the air out of him and he fell, landing painfully on his back. He gasped for air, his vision swimming, and despite the pain, he forced himself to his feet. A glance down at his bloody pick confirmed the truth: he had wounded the leader. He watched as the figure paused, one hand over the bloody hole in his tunic, and for a moment, the battlefield around them seemed to still.

The spectators were watching in anticipation, then there was a collective gasp as Chase stumbled back to his feet, refusing to stay down despite his injuries. That didn’t mean that Chase stood tall. Every movement caused fresh waves of pain to radiate through his body but he remained steadfast, forcing back the agony with sheer determination.

As he forced himself upright, he fixed his gaze on the bleeding leader who was now within striking distance. Drawing on every ounce of strength left in him, Chase lunged forward, intending to land another blow with his bone pick.

But the leader was ready for him. He sidestepped Chase's clumsy attack and delivered a swift and well-aimed punch to Chase’s already wounded side. The forcefulness of the strike sent him sprawling to the muddy ground once more.

His breath hitched as pain seared through him but he refused to yield. Rolling onto his stomach, he pushed himself up once again, grimacing against the pain radiating through his battered body.

He knew that his chances of winning the duel were slim. But even so, he wouldn’t give up. If this was how he died, he would die fighting. The leader advanced, his expression cold and impassive, and Chase could sense his impatience growing.

“You have fought valiantly,” the leader spoke, “But it's time to surrender.”

Chase shook his head, his eyes never leaving the figure.

“Very well, you leave me no choice. Your body will be used in a construct of honor, rather than the rabble you decimated,” the leader stated.

Two forces slammed into the back of Chase’s knees, forcing him to kneel as hands grabbed his shoulders and wrists, restraining him as the leader took a blade of sharpened bone presented by one of his minions. Drawing the blade, the leader approached and came to a stop just in front of Chase.

“By the laws of His Majesty Arek Sannar the Undying, I will hear your last words,” the leader intoned, the words having a weight to them. An idea came to Chase, and he wheezed a few words, making the leader come closer, before saying to the ones restraining Chase, “Remove his mask.”

Chase wheezed again, relaxing his body to make the ones holding him back lower their guard, and when the mask was removed, he whispered a few words. The leader came closer, bending down to make sure he could hear Chase’s words.

When the leader drew near, Chase whispered, “I’m…not dead…yet.”

A foul, coppery taste filled his mouth, and everything erupted into pandemonium.