Kael circled the Blightmaw, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the air heavy and humid, the scent of decay thick in his nostrils. The creature was a behemoth—a twisted mockery of life, its scales slick with a phosphorescent slime, its every movement a tremor that reverberated through the earth, through his very bones. He’d never faced anything like this before. The previous realms, the creatures he’d fought, they were child’s play compared to this, to the raw, primal power that radiated from this monstrosity.

Its eyes, burning embers in the swirling fog, were fixed on him, a predator’s gaze that held a chilling intelligence, a mocking amusement at his puny attempts to stand his ground. Fear, sharp and cold, gripped his heart, a primal instinct screaming at him to flee, to run, to disappear back into the safety of the shadows. But he couldn't. He’d given his word to the lizardfolk. He had a quest to complete, a village to save, and beyond that, deeper than the fear, was a burning need to prove himself. To push beyond the limits, to test the strength that was surging through his veins, fueled by the Shard, by the System’s steady, clinical pronouncements of progress.

"I can do this," he muttered to himself, his voice a rasp against the oppressive silence of the marsh. He hefted his club-hammer, the dented metal reassuringly heavy in his hand, a weapon that had served him well. But even with his enhanced strength, even with the Void Shard's energy thrumming beneath his skin, it felt like a twig against a storm.

Kael lunged forward, seizing a moment of vulnerability as the Blightmaw shifted its weight, its massive bulk slow to react. He swung with all his might, putting every ounce of his newfound strength into the blow, aiming for the creature’s thick, scaly leg. The club-hammer connected with a jarring thud, a satisfying crunch that sent a shockwave through his arm, up into his shoulder, the force of the impact making him stagger.

The Blightmaw barely flinched. Its scales, thick and slick, absorbed the blow as if it were a mere insect bite.

With a deafening roar, it retaliated, one massive clawed limb sweeping out in a vicious arc. Kael barely managed to duck, feeling the rush of air as the claw whistled past his head, the sharp, serrated edges tearing through the mist like a scythe. The force of the swing sent him stumbling back, feet sliding in the muck, and he felt the cold, fetid water seep into his boots, adding to the sluggishness of his movements.

He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing as he steadied himself, trying to ignore the burning ache in his shoulder. The Blightmaw's maw gaped open, revealing rows of jagged teeth, each as long as a dagger, dripping with thick, viscous saliva that hissed and steamed as it hit the ground, the acidic spittle leaving deep, sizzling, smoking holes in the mud.

Desperation clawed at him, but he forced it down, focusing on the beast’s movements, the subtle shifts in its stance. He had to be smarter, faster. He had to survive.

He feinted to the left, drawing the creature’s gaze, its eyes flaring with a cruel, hungry light. Then, with a burst of speed, he darted to the right, aiming for its underbelly, where the scales were thinner, softer. He swung again, the club-hammer arcing through the air with a whistle. The impact was solid, the hammerhead striking true, denting the flesh beneath the armor-like scales.

A shriek of pain, high and piercing, split the air. The Blightmaw reared back, its massive form thrashing, sending waves crashing through the marsh. Kael was knocked off his feet, the ground turning to liquid beneath him as he struggled to find his footing. He rolled to the side, barely avoiding the beast’s tail as it smashed down where he’d been a moment before, the impact sending a geyser of mud and water spraying into the air.

His lungs burned as he gasped for breath, the acrid, sulfurous stench of the marsh filling his nostrils, choking him. He could feel the Void Shard’s energy pulsing through him, a relentless, driving force that pushed him beyond his limits, that demanded more, always more. He could also feel his body protesting, muscles trembling, blood pounding in his ears like a war drum.

The Blightmaw lunged, jaws snapping shut with a deafening crack as he rolled out of the way, mud splattering across his face, blinding him for a heartbeat. He swung blindly, feeling the hammer connect with something solid. A guttural roar followed, and he wiped the muck from his eyes just in time to see the beast’s head whip around, those hellish eyes locking onto him, blazing with fury.

It charged, a wall of muscle, slime and scale, and he barely had time to brace himself before it hit, the impact sending him flying. He crashed into a rotten tree, the rough bark scraping his back, pain flaring up his spine as he struggled to get up, his vision blurring. He could taste blood, hot and metallic, on his tongue, feel it trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Kael staggered to his feet, his breath catching in his throat, disbelief mingling with the fear that threatened to consume him. “It’s too strong.” He pushed himself away from the tree, adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heart pounding, the system pronouncements he'd become so reliant on silent. His muscles ached, burned from the exertion. It was like trying to move through quicksand, every action an effort. He was barely making a dent, not even slowing it down. He needed a new plan, had to find a weakness, a way to exploit the creature's size, its lumbering gait.

But there was no time.

The Blightmaw was on him again, a mountain of scales and slime and rotting flesh, its movements slow but relentless, its eyes blazing with a malevolent intensity that made his blood run cold.

Kael hopped back, barely dodging the creature’s swipe, the fetid stench of its breath washing over him, acrid and burning, filling his nostrils, clinging to him like a shroud. He raised his club, a feeble attempt to defend himself, but the creature’s roar—a deep, guttural bellow that seemed to tear through his very being, vibrating the air, the ground, his teeth rattling in his skull—knocked the breath out of him, sending him staggering back, his legs turning to water.

He’d fought harder, faster, but his movements, once swift and fluid, felt slow, sluggish now. He was like a fly caught in a spider's web, his every struggle only tightening the strands, pulling him closer to the inevitable end.

The creature’s claws sliced through the air. He twisted aside, feeling the wind of their passing, the sharp scrape of them against his ragged shirt. Every nerve ending was a screaming wire. It was all happening too fast now, and his reactions, honed in the cramped alleys of Mudtown and the previous Realms, felt sluggish, inadequate in the face of this beast’s power.

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“Damn, damn, damn.” He swung his club again, putting every ounce of strength he could muster into the blow, aiming for the creature’s head. It was like hitting a wall, the force of the impact traveling up his arms, jarring his shoulders, making his vision blur. He could hear his own bones creaking under the strain.

He was losing. He could feel it. His strength waning. His muscles, his bones screaming in protest, but he couldn't stop. He had to keep moving, had to keep fighting.

"Think, damn you, think." He wasn't going to win this fight, not head-on, but maybe he could survive, maybe he could find a way to retreat, regroup. There had to be a weakness, an opening.

He blocked another blow, felt the impact jar his entire body, the force of it nearly sending him to his knees. He was outmatched. Utterly outmatched.

He swung again, the motion more a desperate attempt to create distance than a genuine attack, the impact of metal against bone barely a whisper against the cacophony of the creature's roars. Each swing seemed to echo his desperation, a futile resistance against an overwhelming force. The creature's laughter, a low, rumbling chuckle that seemed to resonate from deep within its putrid core, shattered the last vestiges of his defiance.

Desperation gnawed at him, a sharp, bitter taste that mingled with the blood welling in his mouth. Every breath was a battle now, his lungs screaming in protest. He could feel the cold sweat slicking his skin, the ground beneath his feet a shifting mire that threatened to swallow him whole. He couldn’t see clearly now. Everything blurred—the trees, the fog, the hulking mass of the Blightmaw, all blended together in a nightmarish symphony of fear and decay.

Kael ducked under a swipe, a massive claw slicing through the air mere inches above his head, missing him by a hair's breadth. But it was the creature's next attack, a casual backhand that he couldn’t avoid.

The impact sent him sprawling, his body twisting as he was hurled through the air like a rag doll. He landed hard in the mud, his vision exploding into stars, a wave of pain so intense he thought he might pass out.

He struggled to his feet, the mud clinging to him like a shroud. Pain lanced through his ribs, an agony so intense he could barely breathe. The world around him swirled, the trees, the fog, the sky, all blending together in a dizzying, nauseating dance.

The world blurred, then refocused, the pain, sharp and all-consuming.

“Oh Gods, my ribs,” He could barely speak, the words a choked whisper against the roaring in his ears. It felt as though the creature had broken something. Everything hurt. But worse than the pain was the realization that he was at the end of his tether. His body, a canvas of wounds, was failing. He’d been pushing it for days, ignoring the aches and exhaustion, and now he could feel the limits closing in on him, the edges of his vision darkening.

"Get going," he whispered, his voice hoarse, desperate. "You have to get out of here."

His body was screaming for respite. The creature moved closer, each slow, deliberate step an echo of inevitability, its shadow engulfing him. Its scent, a foul mix of rot and the Void’s unsettling metallic tang, filled his nostrils, making his stomach churn.

Kael struggled to his feet, every movement sending a fresh wave of pain through his body. He gripped the club-hammer, the worn wood a meager comfort against the fear that threatened to swallow him. He wouldn't give up. Not without a fight. But the spark of defiance had dimmed to a dying ember. His body was screaming its limitations.

“Run, damn it, run!"

The command was directed more at his own body than at the creature. It felt like wading through quicksand, his legs heavy, his movements sluggish. He wasn't fast enough, not strong enough.

Kael turned, his breath catching in his throat as a searing pain shot through his ribs. He couldn't fight this thing. Not now. Not like this. He’d faced death before, knew its cold touch, its whispering promise of oblivion. This time felt different, closer, a hungry shadow looming over him.

“Run, damn it, run!” Again, the command was a desperate plea to his own battered body. It felt like he was wading through quicksand, his legs heavy, unresponsive. His instincts screamed at him to fight, to stand his ground, to meet the challenge head-on, but a cold, calculating part of his mind recognized the futility of it. He was outmatched. Utterly outmatched. A rat staring into the jaws of an alley cat.

He stumbled away from the Blightmaw, his boots slipping in the mud, the ground a treacherous maze of roots, mud and tangled vines that threatened to trip him up at every step. He could feel the creature’s presence behind him, a wave of fetid heat and the unsettling metallic tang of the Void, closing in with terrifying speed.

"Don't look back." He repeated the words like a mantra, his voice a ragged whisper lost in the echoing silence of the marsh. Just keep moving. He had to get back to the village, had to warn the lizardfolk. They were counting on him, and a strange, twisting guilt knotted his gut, a sensation almost as painful as his shattered ribs. He’d failed them. He wasn’t strong enough.

Even as the thought formed, a spark of defiance flared within him. Not yet. He wasn’t finished. He would survive this. He had to. He could hear the creature behind him. The rhythmic thud of its massive feet, a metronome of doom, the splash of water and the rustling of reeds as it crashed through the undergrowth, a relentless pursuit. His breaths came in short, panicked bursts, each inhale a searing reminder of his broken ribs. The air was thick, oppressive, the fog swirling around him in dense, ghostly tendrils that choked him, blinded him, amplified his sense of disorientation.

He pushed himself harder, his muscles screaming, his vision blurring at the edges, the ground a treacherous, ever-shifting nightmare beneath his feet. He tripped, his foot catching on a root, and nearly went sprawling. He caught himself at the last second, his heart hammering in his chest, his stomach churning, the taste of bile rising in his throat.

Fear clawed at him, sharp and hot, a primal panic that made his mind race, his thoughts fragmented, a jumble of desperate pleas and fleeting memories of his escape from the trio back in Mudtown, of their mocking laughter echoing through the slums as he ran for his life.

He couldn’t give in to the fear, not now. Not when there was still a chance. He stumbled on, driven by a desperate hope, by the thought of the village.

The fog shifted slightly. He could see them now, in the distance. The shapes of the huts, faint, almost spectral in the dim light filtering through the trees. He’d almost made it. He could hear the creature behind him, louder, closer. Its growls were no longer distant rumbles. They were teeth, claws, a promise of excruciating pain etched against the backdrop of his fear.

Then he saw them. The lizardfolk. Their silhouettes emerged from the fog, tall, their scaled bodies a strange counterpoint to the twisted shapes of the trees. They’d heard him. They’d seen him.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Run! Hide! It’s coming!” His voice, hoarse, shredded by exhaustion and fear, was lost in the cacophony of the creature’s enraged bellows. The lizardfolk were staring, confused by the human who burst from the mists, but he couldn’t stop. He was done.

A crushing weight, the beast's taloned hand clamping shut around his leg.

Kael screamed.

The pain was blinding, a searing white-hot explosion that sent shockwaves through his entire body. His vision shattered into a kaleidoscope of stars, the world tilting, the fog swirling, then fading into blackness.

He had failed. The darkness took him, a cold embrace, an unwelcome oblivion. The creature’s roar, a final, triumphant bellow, echoed through the marsh.