The SwineLord

The highway was eerily quiet, the wind barely stirring as Elmore and Brett stood at one end, covered in the remains of hogs, the drying blood caking their clothes and faces. Across from them, the {MudBlood SwineLord} loomed, massive and motionless for the moment. Its tusks, now darkened and crusted with the remnants of its earlier feast, gleamed under the fading sun. It was a living fortress, its MudBlood tendrils twitching and writhing around its enormous frame.

For a second, everything felt suspended in time, the weight of the impending clash heavy in the air.

Elmore turned to Brett, his voice steady but tense. “Focus on chip damage. Don’t try anything too direct. Distract it, keep moving, and whatever you do—don’t get too close.”

Brett nodded, his bestial form still pulsing with energy. His eyes flicked to the SwineLord, sizing it up, then back to Elmore. A low growl escaped his throat, and then—silence.

A heartbeat later, the MudBlood SwineLord let out an ear-splitting squeal, a sound so full of rage and bloodlust that it rattled Elmore’s bones. It lowered its tusks and charged, its massive body tearing through the remnants of the battlefield with terrifying speed for something its size. The ground shook beneath it, each step pounding into the earth.

Brett was the first to move, sprinting at full speed. His form blurred as he began to circle the giant hog, lashing out with his rebar. Each hit was quick, precise, but barely scratched the surface of the SwineLord’s thick hide. Still, Brett didn’t let up, keeping to the plan and harassing the beast, forcing it to turn and flail as it tried in vain to catch him.

Elmore took point. He shouldered his shotgun and began firing slug after slug into the beast’s side, aiming for weak spots. Each shot landed with a powerful *thud*, but the SwineLord’s body seemed to absorb the blows, the thick layer of mud and blood congealing to dull the impact. He fired, rolled to avoid a charging attack, fired again—each shot precise, but nowhere near enough.

Brett dashed in and out, striking the beast’s legs and side, faster than Elmore could track, while Elmore kept hammering it with slugs. The combination was effective—keeping the beast off balance, keeping it from focusing on either of them for too long—but it was a battle of attrition.

Elmore rolled to avoid another wild charge, but this time the hog’s tusks caught him. One of the massive, blood-crusted horns clipped his side, sending him flying. He hit the ground hard, skidding across the asphalt before slamming into a tree. Pain exploded through his ribs, and he gasped, struggling to catch his breath. He could feel something break—one of his ribs, maybe more. His vision blurred for a moment, a dizzy haze settling over him as he lay against the tree, trying to regroup.

The SwineLord had turned its attention back to Brett, who was still moving too fast for it to properly catch. Elmore forced himself to his feet, every movement sending waves of pain through his chest. He holstered the shotgun, still loaded but no longer as effective. His mind raced as he grabbed his handaxe, hefting it with a newfound determination.

As he charged back into the fray, something clicked inside him. His [Aither Memory] stirred to life, and suddenly, the chaos of the fight seemed... slower. He wasn’t just reacting anymore; he was anticipating. The way the tentacles of MudBlood lashed out, the timing of the beast’s swings—it was all starting to map itself out in his mind. He could feel the subtle rhythm of the MudBlood’s movements, the patterns hidden beneath the brute strength and rage.

It wasn’t helping much yet, but the longer the fight dragged on, the more Elmore felt he could read the beast.

He ducked under one of the SwineLord’s massive tusk’s, dodging it by mere inches, and brought his axe down on a spot just behind its front leg. The blade sank deep into the flesh, drawing a roar from the titan, but the MudBlood surged to cover the wound, slowing the damage.

Still, it was progress.

Elmore gritted his teeth, the pain in his ribs flaring with every swing, but he pressed on. He was learning, adapting, and with every step, the beast’s movements became just a little more predictable.

Elmore’s body screamed in protest with every breath, each movement sending sharp pains coursing through his chest and limbs. The SwineLord was relentless, a mountain of muscle, blood, and rage. Its tentacles of congealed blood and mud lashed out wildly, hitting harder and faster than anything Elmore had faced before.

The second hit had shattered one or more of his ribs—he felt them snap, like a twig underfoot—and sent him flying across the asphalt, his breath forced from his lungs in a single, painful burst. His vision swam as he rolled to a stop, blinking through the haze of pain. The MudBlood was already turning toward Brett, who was still running circles around it, using his monstrous speed to keep the hog’s attention divided.

Elmore gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, ignoring the searing pain in his chest. His body felt broken, battered, but he wasn’t done yet. He couldn’t be done yet.

He forced himself back into the fight. With each swing of his handaxe, he aimed for the spots he had started to map out in his mind, places where the SwineLord’s thick hide was slightly less protected, where the layers of MudBlood didn’t congeal as quickly. But no matter how precise his strikes were, the MudBlood would retaliate. Each time he got too close, one of its massive tusks or a tentacle would lash out, catching him off guard.

The next hit slammed into his left arm, and he heard something snap. The pain was immediate and blinding, but Elmore didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He had to keep going. He swung his axe with his other arm, landing another solid blow against the beast’s flank, but again, the MudBlood surged to cover the wound, hiding it away.

Another hit—this time to his leg. Elmore felt the bone splinter, his knee buckling under the force. He hit the ground hard, rolling away just in time to avoid a crushing stomp from the hog’s massive hooves. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred with pain, but he pulled himself to his feet again. He limped forward, every step a brutal reminder of the damage he’d already taken.

But with each passing minute, Elmore’s [Aither Memory] worked more and more in his favor. He wasn’t just fighting blindly anymore. He was learning—every movement of the SwineLord was a clue, every swing of its tusks, every lash of its tentacles. He started to time his attacks better, dodging just a fraction of a second earlier than before. It was like a dance, a deadly rhythm that he was slowly beginning to master.

The MudBlood hit him again, this time with a tentacle that caught him across the back. He felt his spine compress, the force of the blow sending him to his knees. His muscles screamed in agony, and his ribs grated together with each breath, but as he staggered to his feet again, something was different. Each hit took longer to land. Each blow from the SwineLord was just a little slower to reach him.

It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but Elmore could feel the shift. He wasn’t just reacting anymore; he was anticipating. He was dodging just as the SwineLord moved, not a second later. His attacks were landing more cleanly, the handaxe sinking deeper into the beast’s hide with each swing.

And as he struck, again and again, Elmore started to notice something. The MudBlood’s body was covering the wounds he dealt, sure, but it wasn’t healing them. The MudBlood surged over the injuries, creating a thick, protective shell, but the flesh beneath wasn’t knitting back together. The more he looked, the more he saw—small gashes, deep cuts, each one hidden beneath the moving mud, but none of them truly mending.

The SwineLord was holding itself together, not regenerating.

Elmore’s heartbeat slowed, not from exhaustion, but from focus. His mind, sharpened by [Aither Memory], began to see the cracks in the beast’s defense, the way the mud shifted to cover more serious injuries, the way its movements grew just a bit slower after each strike. The rhythm of the fight was becoming clearer, the deadly pattern of the hog’s attacks syncing with Elmore’s reactions.

To anyone watching, it might have seemed like a deadlock—a brutal, grueling exchange where neither side was gaining ground. But Elmore could see it. The SwineLord wasn’t invincible. It wasn’t some unstoppable force of nature. It was slowly being worn down. Every hit Elmore landed stayed. The beast’s body wasn’t healing—it was failing.

Another blow came, and this time Elmore rolled with it, letting the force spin him out of the way instead of resisting. His broken arm hung useless at his side, but he adjusted his grip on the axe, swinging it with one hand. His vision narrowed, his focus entirely on the titan before him.

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Brett, too, was relentless. His speed was his greatest asset, and he used it to the fullest, striking at the SwineLord’s legs, its sides, any spot he could reach. He was fast—faster than Elmore—but he wasn’t doing the kind of damage needed to bring the beast down. It was a battle of attrition, and Brett’s role was to keep the hog distracted.

Elmore took a deep breath, gritting his teeth against the pain that radiated through his body. He could feel the rhythm now, every swing of the hog’s tusks, every lashing tentacle of MudBlood . He timed his steps, dodging just in time, his movements precise. He could see the SwineLord’s weaknesses now, could predict the way its massive body would shift, the way its defenses would move to protect the most vulnerable spots.

He swung his axe again, aiming for the spot just behind its front leg, where he’d landed a blow earlier. The mud surged to protect it, but Elmore’s axe cut deeper this time. The SwineLord roared in pain, the ground shaking beneath its massive bulk.

And Elmore smiled—a grim, blood-soaked smile.

He wasn’t going to stop. No matter how many bones broke, no matter how many times he was thrown aside, he would keep coming. He had the rhythm now, and he knew that with every hit, the SwineLord was getting closer to breaking.

Titan Fall

Elmore felt something shift within him—a slow, steady surge that overtook the pain, the exhaustion, the fear. Everything faded into the background, drowned out by a singular focus. The SwineLord charged, tusks gleaming, blood-mud tentacles flailing, but to Elmore, the world seemed to slow down. He could see the lines of its movement, the way it telegraphed its attacks, the small shifts in its massive bulk that told him where the next blow would come from.

He was untouchable now, dancing between the beast’s attacks with fluid grace, his handaxe slicing through the air in perfect arcs. Each step, each swing, was calculated, his [Aither Memory] guiding his body with a precision he had never known before. It was as if the fight had become a puzzle, and he was solving it piece by piece, each movement fitting seamlessly into the next.

The SwineLord grew angrier, its squeals of frustration echoing across the blood-soaked battlefield. It lashed out with renewed fury, its tentacles whipping faster and faster, but no matter how vicious it became, Elmore was always a step ahead. The beast couldn’t touch him now.

But Brett wasn't like him now.

In the midst of the chaos, Elmore caught a glimpse of his friend, still darting in and out of the SwineLord’s reach, his rebar cracking against the beast’s hide. Brett had been fast—too fast for the SwineLord to land a clean hit—until now.

Elmore’s axe bit deep into the joint of the hog’s hind leg, severing tendons and ligaments with a sickening crunch. The beast bellowed in pain, rearing back, and in a wild, blind rage, it lashed out. One of its massive tusks swung wide, catching Brett squarely in the chest.

“Brett!” Elmore’s shout was drowned by the SwineLord’s enraged squeal as Brett’s body was sent flying through the air like a ragdoll. He disappeared into the treeline with a thunderous crash. Elmore saw the trees bend and break, and then heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground, followed by a loud, bone-rattling crunch.

The world snapped back into focus. The fight, once so firmly in Elmore’s control, now teetered on the edge of disaster. Brett was out—hurt, maybe worse. And the SwineLord, though wounded, was far from beaten.

Elmore’s chest heaved with each breath, his ribs grinding together painfully. The SwineLord turned toward him, MudBloord dripping from its body, its tentacles writhing. For the first time since the fight began, the beast moved differently, more deliberate, calculating. The wild frenzy was gone, replaced with a cold, brutal intent.

Elmore barely had time to react before the SwineLord did something new. It dug its tusks into the corpse of one of its fallen kin, lifting the massive body with terrifying ease, and hurled it toward him like a missile. Elmore tried to dodge, but the carcass clipped him hard, sending him tumbling across the asphalt.

He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his already broken bones. Pain shot through his body as he rolled, coming to a stop in a heap near the edge of the road. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His vision blurred, the world spinning around him as he struggled to pull himself up.

The SwineLord was already charging, its steps heavy and slow, but no less deadly. Elmore blinked, trying to focus, but the pain was overwhelming. His mind screamed at him to get up, to move, but his body wasn’t responding.

I’m going to die.

The thought came unbidden, settling like a weight in his chest. He could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the crushing weight of the battle finally catching up to him. Every part of his body hurt. His bones were broken, his muscles torn, and the blood loss was starting to take its toll.

I can’t...

But then, something stirred deep within him. A pull, like a thread tugging at the edges of his mind, urging him to keep going. It wasn’t the cold, calculated guidance of [Aither Memory] this time—it was something else. A deep, burning fire. A refusal to quit. A raw, primal will to survive.

Elmore’s vision cleared, and he saw the SwineLord barreling toward him, slower now, its own injuries starting to weigh it down. The beast was massive, unstoppable, but it wasn’t invincible. He knew that now. He had felt the way it moved, the way it held itself together, and he knew it could be beaten.

He wasn’t done yet.

With a grunt of effort, Elmore forced himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily. His hand went to the axe at his side, gripping the handle tightly. His bones screamed in protest, his muscles barely obeying his commands, but he pushed through the pain. He had to.

The SwineLord charged, its eyes locked on him, and Elmore sidestepped at the last second, narrowly avoiding the massive tusks. He felt the wind of the beast’s passing, close enough to tear his skin, but he stayed on his feet. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through his broken ribs, but he moved with purpose now. He wasn’t just reacting anymore.

He was fighting.

The flow state returned, not cold and detached like before, but with a fiery intensity. Each step was deliberate, each swing of his axe filled with raw determination. He could feel the rhythm again, not just in the beast’s movements, but in his own. His body, though battered and broken, moved with a purpose it hadn’t had before.

He ducked under a swipe from the SwineLord’s tusks, spinning around and sinking his axe into the beast’s flank. Blood sprayed from the wound, but Elmore didn’t stop. He pulled the axe free and swung again, aiming for the weak spots he had memorized earlier. Each hit landed with brutal precision, chipping away at the SwineLord’s defenses.

The beast roared in fury, its tentacles thrashing wildly, but Elmore was ready this time. He dodged and weaved between the strikes, his body moving with a grace that belied his injuries. He wasn’t faster than the SwineLord, but he didn’t need to be. He just needed to keep hitting, keep pressing the attack.

The SwineLord, for all its strength and rage, was slowing down. Its massive body heaved with each breath, the MudBlood that held it together starting to falter. It was still dangerous—still a force of nature—but Elmore could feel it now.

He could win.

With a roar of his own, Elmore charged forward, his axe raised high. He wasn’t done. Not yet. Not until this beast was dead. And with every step, with every swing, he felt that fire inside him burn brighter.

The SwineLord stumbled. Its massive form, once so unstoppable, was beginning to falter under the relentless assault. Elmore saw it—the brief moment of weakness in the beast’s lumbering charge—and without hesitation, he seized his chance. Summoning every last bit of strength he had left, he swung his axe in a wide arc, aiming for the beast’s eye.

The blade sank deep, embedding itself in the soft tissue around the SwineLord's skull. A guttural roar shook the earth, and Elmore felt himself lifted off the ground, the force of the swing carrying him with it. He gripped the axe handle tightly, refusing to let go despite the sudden, violent thrashing of the beast. The SwineLord bucked and thrashed, whipping Elmore through the air like a ragdoll, but he held on, his body jerking painfully with each wild movement.

The world blurred around him—sky, blood-soaked ground, the towering hog’s form all spinning together. His arm screamed in pain, his ribs grinding against each other, but he grit his teeth and hung on for dear life. With his bad arm, Elmore reached for the shotgun still slung over his shoulder. His broken arm barely responded, but he willed it to move, inching the weapon up, closer and closer to the SwineLord's head. His fingers fumbled with the trigger, but he finally managed to angle the barrel toward the beast’s ear.

With a deep, guttural breath, Elmore pulled the trigger.

The shotgun roared, the explosion of sound reverberating through his bones as the blast tore into the SwineLord’s skull. The beast staggered, its massive body shaking with the impact. It didn’t fall, not yet, but the charge halted, the mighty creature sliding to an unsteady stop, breath heaving in shallow, labored gasps.

Elmore, still hanging from the embedded axe, barely had time to think. His vision blurred, his body screaming in agony, but somehow, he managed to load another round into the shotgun. It took all the strength he had left, his hands shaking as he chambered the next shell. He aimed it directly into the same ear and fired again.

This time, the MudBlood dropped. The monster's massive body crumpled beneath it, the mud and blood tentacles collapsing like wilting vines, its legs folding under its own weight. With a final, shuddering breath, the beast slumped to the ground, motionless.

Elmore stayed there, still hanging by his axe, too exhausted and broken to move. For a long moment, the world was silent, save for the wheezing sound of his own breath. His body felt like it was on fire, every inch of him screaming in pain, but it was over.

The MudBlood SwineLord was dead.

Finally, he let go of the axe, collapsing onto the blood-soaked ground beneath him. He lay there, staring up at the sky, breathing shallowly, his chest tight with pain. He was done—completely spent, his body broken and battered. But somehow, he had won.

After what felt like an eternity, Elmore forced himself to sit up, using the shotgun as a makeshift cane. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he managed to pull himself upright, every movement agony. His arm hung limply at his side, bones grinding against each other painfully. He spat out blood, his breaths shallow and ragged.

But he was alive.

Slowly, he limped toward the tree line where Brett had been thrown. "Brett..." he called out weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios, but after a few agonizing moments, he found him.

Brett lay in the dirt, fully human again, his monstrous form gone. He was battered, his face swollen and bruised, but alive. The tree he had hit was splintered and cracked, a testament to the force of the SwineLord’s blow. Brett groaned, shifting slightly as he opened his eyes, wincing at the pain.

“Elmore?” Brett muttered, his voice groggy. He gave a weak, lopsided grin. “It’s dead, right?”

Elmore chuckled softly, though it hurt like hell. “Yeah… it’s dead.”

They sat there for a while, both too beaten and broken to move much, just catching their breath. Finally, Brett let out a pained laugh, wincing as he shifted his body. “You look like shit.”

“Right back at you,” Elmore grinned, wiping blood from his mouth.

With immense effort, they dragged themselves to their feet, limping back to the truck. The Beast, their old reliable vehicle, sat battered but still running, its metal frame dented and punctured by tusks and the bodies of the hogs they’d run down. The once-pristine bed was filled with blood, guts, and deep gouges where tusks had scraped the sides.

The two of them, bones visible in places, their bodies covered in gashes and bruises, worked together, using ratchet straps to slowly crank the titan hog’s carcass into the bed of the truck. The MudBlood SwineLord, now dead, was an impossibly massive weight, but they managed, inch by inch, to get it secured.

When it was done, they both collapsed into the cab of the truck, exhausted. Elmore’s chest heaved with each breath, the pain nearly unbearable, but somehow, they had survived.

Elmore turned the key in the ignition, and the Beast roared to life once more. Despite the beating it had taken, the truck was still running, still powerful. Its engine rumbled beneath them as they began the slow drive back to town. The radio crackled to life, playing a faint tune, something soft and far away, but Elmore barely registered it.

The town would see them coming, the massive hog in the back, the two bloodied and broken warriors in the front. Their victory, though hard-fought, was evident. They had faced down a titan and lived to tell the tale.

The truck rumbled down the road, headlights cutting through the shadows of twilight, and in the distance, the town lights flickered like a beacon.