The air around them crackled with the Blightmaw’s approach, the smell of rot and ozone a horrifying prelude to its arrival. Kael’s vision swam, the edges blurring, the world tilting precariously. His broken ribs screamed in protest with every desperate inhale, the taste of blood and bile thick in his throat. The portal shimmered mere feet away, a fragile beacon of hope against the encroaching darkness.

The portal’s light, a vibrant purple, cast strange shadows on the muddy ground, dancing with the shifting fog. It was so close, just a few steps. The lizardfolk girl, her scales cold and slick against his skin, clung to his arm, her small body trembling. He could feel her fear, her frantic heartbeat against his ribs. Her breath, hot and quick against his arm, smelled of woodsmoke and damp earth, a poignant reminder of the life that was being ripped from her. That he had ripped from her.

“Almost there,” he gasped, the words a lie, a desperate attempt to reassure them both.

Hope, a fragile, flickering ember, fought against the rising tide of despair. They were so close, but it was too late.

A deafening roar tore through the fog, the very ground beneath them trembling. And then the shadow fell upon them, a monstrous darkness that blotted out the portal's light. They were thrown forward, the impact jarring, the force of it sending them sprawling onto the mud. Kael’s vision shattered, the world spinning, his breath stolen by a wave of pain that radiated from his shattered ribs, down into his legs. He could feel the girl’s small body beneath him, her cries lost beneath the creature’s thunderous roar.

The Blightmaw loomed above them, its grotesque form filling his vision, its eyes blazing with a fury that turned his blood to ice. The creature's stench—a suffocating wave of decay, of rot, of the Void’s metallic tang—choked him, the air itself a weapon. His heart pounded, a frantic drumbeat against the symphony of chaos unfolding around them. He saw fresh wounds weeping a sickly, viscous fluid on the creature’s hide. Evidence of the fight the villagers had put up, even as they faced their inevitable end.

“No,” he whispered, the denial a futile act against the reality of his failure, the weight of their sacrifice. He forced himself to his feet, the pain in his ribs a white-hot fire, each breath a jagged shard piercing his lungs. He shoved the girl behind him, using his own body as a meager shield, a pathetic imitation of the warrior he'd envisioned himself becoming. His muscles screamed in protest, every instinct telling him to run, to flee, but he raised his club-hammer, the worn wood cold and damp in his grip, his gaze locking onto the Blightmaw’s.

A fierce, reckless defiance burned through the fear, a desperate rage ignited by the creature's brutality, by his own failures. He couldn't escape, couldn't hide. But he could fight. He would fight. Even if it meant his death. “This ends now, you bastard,” He spat the words through gritted teeth, his voice a ragged rasp, a defiance that echoed the Shard’s thrumming energy.

The world narrowed, a tunnel vision of chaos. The creature’s eyes, deep pools of malevolent red, seemed to mock his defiance, its scales slick and glistening with poison, the stench of decay a tangible presence. He didn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t hesitate. Kael charged, fueled by a surge of desperate rage, his body responding with an instinctive surge of power he hadn't known he possessed. He shook off the girl’s grip, her small hand slipping from his, the warmth of her touch already a fading memory. He would protect her, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

He swung his club with a force that shocked even him, putting every ounce of his strength, his will, into the blow, the Void Shard within him humming, echoing the desperation, the fury. The creature roared, its massive claws flashing, a blur of motion as it swiped at him. He ducked, the impact of the blow grazing his shoulder, tearing through muscle, bone, a searing, white-hot pain that nearly sent him to his knees. He stumbled, the world tilting, but he kept moving, kept swinging, the momentum carrying him forward.

He aimed for the creature’s head, the heart of the beast, a desperate gamble. The club connected, the impact a jarring shock that reverberated up his arms, through his chest. But the creature didn’t fall, didn’t even flinch. Its head barely moved, its scales, thick and unyielding, absorbing the blow as if it were nothing more than a fly’s sting.

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Kael staggered back, his breath catching in his throat, a wave of despair washing over him. It was too strong. His weapon was useless. “This is it,” a distant part of his mind whispered, a voice of cold, hard logic that resonated with the System’s silence.

But another part of him—the part that had been forged in the crucible of Mudtown, the part that had clung to the Shard’s energy, the part that refused to be broken, to be consumed—refused to accept defeat. He couldn't stop. He couldn’t back down. Not with the girl still cowering behind him. The air reeked of blood and decay, the creature's breath hot and foul against his face. His vision tunneled, blurring at the edges. But he kept swinging.

The blows landed, heavy, solid impacts that cracked the beast’s scales, each strike a testament to his desperate defiance. Yet the creature remained standing. Immovable. A wall of rotting flesh and unyielding bone. He saw a glimmer of something— a flash of white beneath the creature’s torn hide, exposed bone, vulnerable flesh. The memory of that one, clean kill, the broken club piercing the skull. A desperation tactic that had brought down a beast far smaller, far weaker.

Force Efficiency +1

The System’s detached voice echoed his own thoughts, as if granting permission, an edge in the chaos.

"Just one good shot," he gasped.

The creature roared, its eyes blazing, its breath washing over him, a wave of heat and the cloying stench of decay that made his stomach churn. It raised a claw, the size of his torso. But there was a hesitation now, a slight tremor in its movements. It was wounded, its rage tempered by the relentless onslaught, the sting of dozens of wounds from the village’s final stand. The lizardfolk, brave but outmatched, had given him a chance. He wouldn’t waste it.

The beast reared back, its body shaking, a roar of pain erupting from its twisted maw. It was a window, a chance, a moment of vulnerability.

Kael took a deep breath, ignoring the agony in his ribs, focusing on the Shard’s energy surging through him. He could see it—a gash on its chest, blood oozing, bone gleaming beneath torn flesh, its heart. He pushed himself beyond the limits, his body responding, his muscles coiling, fueled by adrenaline and desperation.

He lunged, not with a warrior’s calculated grace, but with a predator’s instinct. His vision blurred, his senses overloaded. All he saw was the target, the heart of the beast, exposed, vulnerable. And in that moment, something within him clicked, a sense of perfect clarity aligning every muscle, every thought, every ounce of his remaining strength.

His club-hammer connected. A brutal, sickening crunch. The sound echoed through the clearing, and he watched, transfixed, as the creature staggered, its massive body swaying, its eyes wide with surprise and agony.

He didn't wait for the creature to recover. He swung again, and again, his hammer connecting with each strike, bones shattering, flesh tearing. The creature, caught off guard, its rage eclipsed by pain, thrashed wildly, its claws finding nothing but air.

He felt a surge of exhilaration, a cold, hard fire that burned away the exhaustion, the fear, leaving him with a single, driving purpose— to finish this, to survive.

Explosive Power +1

Precision +1

He was faster now, stronger, more controlled. His movements, honed by the System, amplified by the Shard, were more precise, more efficient. Each swing carried the weight of his fury, the echo of his desperate determination.

The Blightmaw roared again, but the sound was a strangled gurgle, the breath rattling in its massive chest. It stumbled back, its eyes glazing over. Kael saw the fear now, a flicker of primal terror in those dying embers. It had underestimated him.

He pressed his attack, fueled by the echoes of the lizardfolk’s cries, their sacrifices a constant reminder of his own failings, of the debt he owed, of the life he was fighting to save. He felt no remorse, no pity. Only a grim satisfaction. He swung the hammer, the wood groaning beneath the strain, each strike bringing the creature closer to its end.

And then, with a final, shuddering breath, the Blightmaw collapsed, its massive body hitting the mud with a sound like thunder, its life extinguished.

The world stilled.

The portal, no longer obscured by the creature's shadow, pulsed with violet light, its surface rippling as if waiting, a gateway beckoning him back from the brink of oblivion. Not yet. His gaze remained locked on the creature’s form. The silence pressed down on him, a crushing weight.

Kael lowered the hammer, the weight of it unfamiliar now. It wasn’t victory he felt. It wasn’t even relief.

It was a hollow emptiness.

The hunger of the marsh, it seemed, was never truly sated.