The rats at its feet screeched and swarmed with each step it took, forcing me to keep my distance. But I couldn’t keep running. My eyes darted around the room. I had to use the environment to my advantage.

[There—look. Its feet. Target the rats.]

I blinked through the haze of pain and nausea, focusing on the writhing mass of vermin. They were constantly moving in multiple directions but somehow propelling the monster forward.. A small window of opportunity, but it was something.

My axe was still slick with blood from earlier strikes, the weight of it a comforting reminder in my hands. I adjusted my grip, crouching low. The Trolyiard lunged again, its massive claws swiping the air above me as I rolled beneath it. I felt the sting of claws grazing my back, but I pushed forward, swinging the heavy blade at its rat-like foot.

The axe connected with a satisfying thud. The rats screeched, scattering in all directions as I severed part of the creature’s foot. The Trolyiard howled in agony, stumbling back, its balance disrupted. For the first time, it faltered, swaying as it tried to regain its footing. I pressed the advantage.

I swung again, aiming for the same spot, but the Trolyiard was quicker this time. Its massive clawed hand slammed into my side, knocking me off my feet. Pain exploded through my ribs as I hit the ground hard, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

[Critical hit: 40 damage], Malice’s voice echoed in my mind, calm and detached, even as my world spun in agony.

I gasped for air, struggling to get up, but the Trolyiard was relentless. It moved with a new fury, dragging its wounded foot across the stone floor, snarling as it bore down on me. Its beady eyes locked onto mine, filled with hatred.

I crawled backward, my hand brushing against something solid. A broken beam, half-buried in the rubble. Without thinking, I grabbed it and hurled it at the creature’s head. It wasn’t much, but enough to make the Trolyiard hesitate, giving me a moment to scramble to my feet.

[Health at 10%], Malice warned. [You won’t last much longer. Finish it now.]

The rats were still recovering, but the Trolyiard was already gearing up for another attack. I needed to end this, and fast. My eyes flickered to the axe in my hand. The weight was familiar, and its edge gleamed faintly in the dim light. I had to make this final blow count.

I charged forward, aiming for the creature’s torso. The Trolyiard raised its claw to block me, but I feinted left, ducking low at the last second. I swung the axe with everything I had, burying the blade deep into its abdomen. The sharp edge tore through its unnatural flesh. The stench of burning meat filled the air as the Trolyiard let out a guttural scream, thrashing wildly.

For a moment, I thought it was over. But then the creature’s eyes glowed a sickly green, and its remaining rats surged toward me, biting and scratching at my legs. I stumbled back, trying to shake them off, but the Trolyiard was already regenerating, its skin knitting back together around the wound. I cursed under my breath. This thing wouldn’t die.

[Health at 5%. You won’t survive another hit.]

I was out of options. My body ached, my mind was spinning, and Malice’s light was dimming. But then, I saw it—the creature’s chest, just below where I had struck. The skin there was thin, translucent, pulsing with sickly light. Its core.

Gritting my teeth, I yanked the axe free and swung it upward with everything I had, plunging the blade deep into the Trolyiard’s chest. The sharp edge sank straight into the glowing mass.

The Trolyiard froze, its eyes wide with shock, before an ear-piercing wail erupted from its throat. Its body convulsed, twitching violently as the light in its chest began to dim. The rats scattered, squealing as they fled in all directions, abandoning their master.

And then, with a final, shuddering breath, the Trolyiard collapsed.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by my ragged breathing. I stood there for a moment, axe still embedded in the creature’s chest, the weight of it heavy in my hands. My muscles trembled, exhaustion washing over me like a wave.

[Victory], Malice murmured, its voice soft now, almost comforting. [Critical strike. The Trolyiard is no more.]

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I let out a shaky breath and collapsed to my knees, the adrenaline finally fading. The nightmare was over, but as I stared down at the twisted, smoldering remains of the creature, I knew that the horrors of this place were far from behind me.

I kicked the corpse again, harder this time, my frustration boiling up as the disgusting troll skin shirt clattered to the ground. My stomach twisted at the thought of wearing that revolting drop—filthy, reeking, and slick with gore. It was worse than the troll itself, which lay there, skinned and raw, its glistening muscles exposed. I clenched my jaw, willing the nausea back. There was no time for weakness now.

The fight had been ugly. The troll had managed to tear through a section of the cave wall in its final desperate moments. Bricks—brown and red, jagged and broken—scattered like debris from an old battle. As I knelt to inspect the damage, I could feel the weight of exhaustion hanging on my shoulders. I had come close this time, too close.

But my eyes caught something unusual—a gap beyond the crumbled bricks, a hidden space that had been walled off, forgotten. My heart pounded, the adrenaline kicking back in as I stood and took a step closer. There was something beyond the cave. Something old.

Keep it together. I forced myself to take slow, measured breaths, but inside, a fierce determination began to burn. I wasn’t about to walk away from this. Not after everything. Not when I’d come so far.

I pushed forward, the air growing colder as I entered the hidden chamber. The dim light flickered across the wooden palisades rising from the dirt floor like ancient, jagged teeth. Skeletal remains dangled from the fortifications, nailed up like grotesque decorations—forgotten soldiers from some long-lost war. The sight sent a chill down my spine, but I wasn’t turning back. Not now.

Bleedouts. The word bounced in my mind, pulled from the pages of the Book of Blood. These strange, eerie places where one floor bled into another. Unpredictable, dangerous, but filled with possibilities.

Good. I’d need every advantage I could find.

I clenched my fists, pushing further into the chamber, though the deeper I went, the more that spark of familiarity slipped away. The corpses here were different—twisted, ancient—and yet, as I continued, they grew fewer and fewer until there were none at all.

A deep, primal instinct stirred inside me. Something’s wrong. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to turn back, but I crushed the thought before it could take hold. There was always something wrong in this place. Fear had no place here, not if I wanted to survive Penance.

Focus. My eyes narrowed as I scanned the empty corridor. The Book of Blood had laid it all out—how adventurers dove into dungeons, how dungeon spirits would carefully place monsters and traps, tempting fools with treasure while avoiding too many deaths to prevent a guild raid. But here? There were no enemies, no loot, no traps. Just a dead, silent ruin.

So what? Maybe this dungeon didn’t follow the rules. Maybe the spirit here wasn’t playing fair. I didn’t care. If there was something to be found, I would find it. I had to.

Time passed in a haze—room after empty room, corridors stretching like the jaws of a yawning beast, swallowing my steps. Thirty minutes, an hour—who knew how long I'd been down here? Each second chipped away at my patience, my excitement gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of dread. But I couldn’t stop.

Giving up is worse than dying. The thought hit me like a punch, and I pushed forward again, refusing to let the darkness win.

Then Malice’s voice broke through the silence, calm, almost amused. [You know, I get why people admire Sisyphus,] he said, his words like knives cutting through my frustration, [but he really isn’t someone to look up to.]

I stopped dead. Sisyphus? What was he on about now? I glanced around, the flickering torchlight revealing nothing but more cracked stone.

"If you’ve got something to say, just say it." My voice was sharp, harsher than I meant. I was on edge, and I didn’t need Malice’s cryptic nonsense right now.

Malice chuckled, low and mocking. [I mean, you’ve been wandering through this empty dungeon for what? Half an hour? An hour? Repeating the same search over and over. It’s kind of like a guy pushing a boulder up a hill for eternity, don’t you think?]

I clenched my fists, anger flaring. “You think this is pointless?” I growled, my voice rising. "There’s something here. There has to be."

[And what if I told you this isn’t a bleedout, but just a dead end meant to stop fools?] Malice's voice rang in my head, smug and mocking as ever. His hearty laugh grated against my nerves, but I shook it off. I wasn’t going to let him mess with me—not now, not when I was this close. My muscles tensed with raw determination. With this warrior class and my trusty axe, I had the power to break through any obstacle. No spirit or treasure would hide from me.

"Malice, summon the map," I commanded.

The familiar shimmer of the dungeon map appeared before my eyes, lines forming the rough outline of the rooms I had already scouted. But no matter how hard I stared, there were no new hidden paths, no secret doorways. The dead-end Malice had mentioned loomed large, mocking me in its silence.

[See? Pointless. We could be on to the next battle by now.]

I gritted my teeth. "Maybe. But I’m not done here yet."

Ignoring the creeping doubt, I hoisted my axe over my shoulder and walked back toward the jagged walls. The air was heavy with an unsettling chill, and then I heard it. A deep, constant clicking noise that constantly beat a rhythm in my head.

Something was here, I knew it. And Malice wasn’t going to talk me out of it.