Chapter 15: To The Hellfire

Day 7 of 2nd Fire Cycle, 1995 g.c.

The western coast of Arcadia wasn’t the sunlit paradise most folks liked to imagine. Up north, where the Hedaria Empire’s borders stretched thin, the forest grew darker, deeper, like a gaping maw of shadow swallowing up everything around it. That place—dense, sprawling, almost breathing—was Human Territory, sure, but it wasn’t exactly safe for anyone. It went by many names, though none were official. Most just called it Ogre Forest, and that label stuck for a good reason.

Now, these weren’t your run-of-the-mill monsters. Ogres were everywhere in that forest, roaming in hunting parties like apex predators staking their claim. Technically, Ogres were part of the Majin race; demons but they were different, primal, and far more violent. They didn’t care for diplomacy or any of that civilized nonsense. They followed one simple rule: the strong lead and the weak submit. It was simple, but it worked for them.

Unlike the Orcs, who, with their swine-like grunts and brutish demeanor, Ogres had a certain... honor to them. Their ideology was closer to us Oni; the powerful demons known for their strength and willpower. They believed in physical power above all else, and it showed in their every move... in every hunt. That made them dangerous. Far more dangerous than people often gave them credit for.

The forest was heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine. The massive and twisted trees blocked out the sunlight, casting the ground below in shadows that danced whenever the wind picked up. In the distance, you could hear the guttural growls of creatures moving through the underbrush. And the hunting party that was close on their tails.

The female Ogre leading the pack was massive, towering easily six inches taller than the average human woman. Her skin was a deep scarlet, almost glowing against the muted greens and browns of the forest. She had a muscular build, every inch of her sculpted for battle, with thick, corded muscles rippling beneath her skin as she moved. She was a Muscle Mommy.

It wasn’t just brute strength either; she carried herself with grace like a predator always ready to strike. Her long white hair flowed down her back, wild and untamed, contrasting sharply against the dark armor she wore.

The armor itself wasn’t anything ornate, just a set of light leather straps and tiny plates. It was enough to protect the vital spots but left most of her body and limbs exposed. Ogres didn’t worry about getting hurt; they thrived in the heat of battle, knowing their resilience could carry them through.

Her face was fierce, with sharp features marked by two short, curved horns jutting from her forehead. These horns framed eyes that gleamed with intelligence and bloodlust. The way she looked at her surroundings—those carmine eyes—felt like she was searching for prey or something worth fighting.

You could feel her gaze, heavy as the blade resting on her shoulder. And speaking of that blade... it wasn’t just a sword. It was a slab of iron with spikes, taller than I was, and thicker too. The thing looked like it could crush bones as easily as cut through them.

She held it effortlessly, the weapon balanced in one hand like it was a mere tool of her trade.

Behind her, a few more Ogres, all with the same red skin and imposing builds, stepped into view. Their bodies were built for battle, male and female alike, but the leader… she was clearly in charge. No one in that group questioned it. Gender mattered second to them—power was first.

The air around them seemed to hum with raw energy, a tangible pressure that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. They moved as one; their movements synchronized and disciplined. Not what most people would expect from creatures like them, but then again, most people didn’t live to tell stories about Ogres.

Lurking nearby was a figure crouched low in the shadows, almost invisible against the dark backdrop of the forest. He was a rogue, his every movement deliberate, quiet, like a predator stalking its prey. This wasn’t some ordinary onlooker; many humans would have recognized him instantly. Joey Afro.

He wore black leather armor, light enough to give him complete freedom of movement but still protective enough to keep him alive. The armor was laced with orange strings, a subtle detail that ran across the chest and arms, contrasting against the shadowy fabric like embers at night. Beneath the armor, you could barely see the dark yellow shirt he wore, peeking out around the edges, but it was there—another layer of protection, though its purpose was more practical than flashy.

A cloak, black as the night sky with hints of navy blue, hung over his shoulders and draped down his back, almost blending with the forest’s gloom. The edges fluttered slightly in the wind, but he remained still, his focus unwavering as he observed the Ogres. The cloak wasn’t just for show, though; it gave him an almost phantom-like quality, allowing him to disappear into the background when he wanted to. He had mastered the art of not being seen.

But the most striking part of his appearance—I mean, you can guess—was the large, curly black afro crowning his head. It was full and wild, an unmistakable halo of hair that framed his face in a way that made him stand out, no matter how stealthy he tried to be. Joey Afro lived up to his name, that much was for sure. The afro almost seemed to absorb the sunlight, as though the sheer volume of it drew in the darkness around him.

His skin was a light brown, his features sharp and expressive, though at that moment, his face remained neutral, unreadable. His eyes, however, told a different story. They gleamed with a sharp, almost predatory intelligence, scanning the Ogres’ movements with a practiced gaze. He wasn’t just watching; he was calculating, assessing the situation with the precision of someone who had lived through countless skirmishes and battles. Joey wasn’t one to rush in blindly, but when he struck, it was always with deadly efficiency. The nigga was good.

His hands were poised, one resting lightly on the hilt of a dagger strapped to his belt, the other hovering near a green magic gem attached to his gauntlet. The gauntlet itself was sleek, dark, and embedded with intricate patterns, pulsing faintly with power. His left gauntlet was mirrored by a matching blue one on his right hand, both ready to channel the forces he wielded. Joey wasn’t just a thief or a rogue; he was a High Human, and his mastery over mana was evident in every piece of gear he wore, every careful step he took.

Even from a distance, you could feel it—the energy around him. It was subtle, not like the overt raw power of a Godwalker, but it was there. Like the crackle of a storm gathering in the distance, quiet but full of potential. Joey knelt in the shadows of the forest, his eyes scanning the Ogre hunting party ahead. His afro barely moved with the breeze, but his mind was sharp and calculating.

He muttered under his breath, counting softly, "It's at least 93 of them here and 210 of them back at that village." He paused, weighing the odds. For someone like him, numbers like that wouldn't be a problem if things went sideways. "I think it's a good time to head back and report to Jojo."

As Joey melted back into the shadows, making his way through the dense undergrowth, there was a camp about two miles away where his allies waited. A female Mythwalker High Human and a male Godwalker Ascended Human were stationed there. These two were the real powerhouses of the operation. Joey may have been capable, but even he knew the sheer power difference between someone like him and a Godwalker.

As I reflect on their situation, it seems like the perfect moment to explain what really sets Humans apart and why this Ascended Human mattered.

Humans and Sociovores, like myself, are more alike than you’d think. We’re both species that evolve and grow with strength, although we take different paths. Humans, unlike us, don’t have nearly as many variations or "sub-races," if you will. While Sociovores can split off into dozens of different mini-species based on how we grow, humans have fewer distinctions. Still, they undergo something similar when they get strong enough. Just like us, their souls mature, and with it comes the power to affect the world on a grand scale.

Now, humans who can manipulate mana are still classified as M-Cees. Sure, they have their fancy terms like mage or magician, especially in human villages that love titles, but that’s all it is—labels. What’s important is their ability to tap into mana, which changes everything. You see, your regular human, as weak as they might seem at first, has the potential to become something much more dangerous.

The baseline human, Homo-Sapiens, is just that: a foundation. But the moment they learn to control mana, they unlock the potential to evolve into something known as a High Human. This is where things start to get interesting. High Humans are no joke. They can obliterate entire countries if they really put their minds—and mana—to it. Their power is on a level that most nations fear, and their Battle Class is ranked at A-Class. Let that marinate for a second—these aren’t just average soldiers or knights; they’re warriors who can change the tide of a war on their own. Joey, and the female back at that camp? They’re High Humans. Plenty of Human legends come from warriors who reached this level, their names sung in songs and carved into history.

But the real threat comes when a High Human evolves even further. When they reach the lower S-Class, they ascend, literally and figuratively, into Ascended Humans. These are the humans that make you question whether they’re still "just human." With a single attack, an Ascended Human could crack one of Gaia’s three moons. One. Hit. Just one of them is enough to catapult their nation into dominance, shifting the balance of power across the planet. You don’t fuck with Ascended Humans lightly, my nigga—no, they’re the kinds of beings that rewrite the rules of battle.

They’re not just strong; they’re iconic. I'm talkin' big boy-shit. High Humans often end up treated like demigods by their peers. They gather followers, not just soldiers but regular people who’ve become captivated by their stories, their battles, and their sheer presence. I mean, how can you not be mesmerized by someone who can singlehandedly level cities? Ascended Humans take it a step further. They’re walking legends, capable of devastating destruction, yet they’re still mortal enough to have their struggles, their victories, and their defeats.

Joey was one of these deadly Humans. The Mythwalker and Godwalker back at the camp were even more dangerous. It made sense now why Joey was scouting ahead, counting the Ogres and their numbers. Sure, he was strong, but he wasn’t reckless. He knew the kind of firepower waiting two miles away.

Back at the camp, Krystal Sento was in a full-blown frenzy. You ever seen someone lose some shit so important that they look like they’re about to dismantle reality itself just to find it? Yeah, that was Krystal, and she wasn’t looking for a weapon or some rare spell ingredient either—nope. She was tearing through her gear like a wild animal, all for a bottle of fine wine. Priorities, right?

Now, Krystal wasn’t what you’d call physically imposing, standing at 5'2", which put her a solid nine inches shorter than Joey—not even counting the added height of his afro. But don’t let the small voluptuous frame and pale ivory skin fool you. With her blueish-mint green hair cut in a sleek bob and that vibrant splash of pink and purple wrapping around her, she wasn’t just a Mythwalker, she was an icon with a bow. She had this look that was both fierce and fun, like she could either snipe you with a perfect shot or give you gothic fashion tips, depending on the mood. But let's be real, it's hard to ignore those titties.

Her form-fitting armor, trimmed with gold and layered with belts and straps, looked ready for battle, but there was no mistaking it—this girl had style. A brilliant blue scarf with pink hearts fluttered behind her as she rummaged through her pack, her royal blue and pink boots digging into the dirt with each frustrated step. It wasn’t that the camp was that big, but Krystal made it feel like it was an endless maze as she tossed aside random gear and trinkets, muttering curses under her breath. The more she searched, the more frantic she became.

Her energy was contagious, like some kind of whirlwind in combat boots, and watching her look for a wine bottle as if it was the Holy Grail was... weirdly entertaining.

"Where the hell is it?" she grumbled, her voice muffled as she stuck half her body into a pack that was way too small to hold her weight, but that didn’t stop her from trying. It was like watching a feral cat stuck in a laundry basket—chaotic, but you couldn’t look away.

Finally, she stood up straight, blowing a strand of mint hair out of her face, violet eyes blazing with a mix of determination and straight-up desperation. That wine was her prize, and by the gods, she was going to find it, no matter how many packs, weapons, or stray magical artifacts she had to throw around in the process.

Just as Krystal was about to turn the whole camp upside down for her bottle, Jojo King, the leader of their party, made his grand entrance, stumbling out of the forest like he'd just won a drinking contest against a dragon. Jojo King, Godwalker—legend, hero of humankind, the first Ascended Human on Gaia in nearly 2000 years. You’d think someone like that would be a little more... regal, but nah. The dude was drunk as hell, swaying slightly with each step, clutching a half-empty bottle of wine like it was Excalibur.

Jojo had this whole "wise king" vibe going on—skin pale as ivory, amber-colored eyes that practically glowed with the weight of his years. His hair was long, the color of dark cacao, and his beard? Oh man, his shit was something straight out of an epic poem—thick, flowing, and majestic, braided along the sides of his mustache, like he spent hours making sure each strand was perfectly in place. He wore this sleeveless white coat that just screamed “royalty,” with gold accents everywhere—buttons, belt buckles, gauntlets, the works. Even his boots were decked out in gold. Dude looked like he’d stepped out of some mythic painting, but here he was, sloshing around camp, sipping wine like it was water.

As Jojo swayed over, his steps uneven and unsteady, the camp’s atmosphere was a chaotic mix of tension and mundane disarray. The evening air was thick with the earthy scent of damp forest floor and the faint crackle of the campfire that cast flickering shadows across the cluttered ground. The fire pit, surrounded by uneven stones, crackled and hissed, sending occasional sparks up into the afternoon sky. The camp itself was strewn with gear and discarded supplies, the remnants of a day’s preparations scattered like a chaotic jigsaw puzzle.

Krystal, oblivious to Jojo’s approach, was hunched over her pack, her frustration intense. Her curses were lost to the wind, carried away into the surrounding forest, which whispered and rustled with unseen creatures. The faint aroma of herbs and alchemical concoctions mingled with the earthy smell of the forest, adding to the disarray.

Jojo, in his inebriated state, took another sip from his bottle, his movements languid and exaggerated. He leaned over Krystal’s shoulder, his breath warm and stale with the scent of wine.

“What’re you looking for, Krystal?” he slurred, his voice thick and velvety, reminiscent of a noble who’d indulged a bit too much at a royal banquet.

Krystal barely acknowledged him, her focus entirely on the mess of her gear. “It’s this damn Braye nation wine,” she huffed, her voice edged with exasperation. She tossed aside a potion with a frustrated grunt, the liquid inside sloshing and shimmering in the firelight. “Fancy design, gold trim, dark label—you seen it?”

Jojo blinked, his bleary eyes struggling to focus. He stared at his own bottle, which, as if by some cosmic joke, matched her description perfectly. He glanced back at her, then down at the bottle, the realization dawning slowly, like a fog lifting from a sleepy morning.

“Uh... Krystal,” he began, taking another sip to help clarify things. “You sure you didn’t... y’know... misplace it?”

She still wasn’t looking at him, too wrapped up in her search. “No, no, I know exactly where I put it—somewhere in this damn camp! It’s gotta be here, I swear I had it when we set up. It’s like it just disappeared into thin air!”

Jojo scratched his head, his eyes lazily drifting between her and the bottle again. “Oh shit... I think I might’ve found it.”

Krystal froze for a second, her head slowly turning toward Jojo, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Then, like a slow-motion train wreck, her gaze fell on the bottle in his hand.

There was a beat of silence.

Then another.

Til finally, Krystal’s expression morphed from confusion to disbelief, then to sheer comedic rage.

“Jojo, you absolute idiot! That’s my wine!”

Jojo, for his part, just raised the bottle to his lips again with a sheepish grin. “Oops?”

Before Krystal could unleash her fury on Jojo, Joey—bless his terrible sense of timing—strolled into the clearing, ready to deliver his report. “I’m back,” he said, brushing some twigs off his shoulders. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of vines in this forest. It’s almost annoying to travel through.”

Krystal shot him a look so cold, it could’ve frozen time itself. Her [Intimidation] skill kicked in subconsciously, flooding the air with an oppressive weight. Joey visibly winced as it hit him—a suffocating, bone-deep dread that clawed at his insides. It was like being dragged underwater, lungs burning, every instinct screaming to escape.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Holy fuck, relax, will ya?" he stammered, taking a few shaky steps back. His voice quivered as he added, "I’m burning mana just trying to cancel your fear effect."

Krystal wasn’t having it. "You would choose now of all times to return."

Jojo, in classic Jojo fashion, cut in with a grin plastered on his face like he wasn’t causing half the chaos. “Joe, my bro, where do we need to go?” he asked, completely ignoring the impending storm that was Krystal’s wrath. To make things worse, he tossed the now empty wine bottle toward her, as if that wasn’t the exact thing she was fuming about.

Krystal’s violet eyes flared up with murderous intent. “I’m going to kill you, Jojo!”

He waved her off, clearly not sensing the danger, or maybe just not caring. “Chill and just hold onto that bottle. I’ll fix it after this mission.”

Joey, visibly sweating, probably from both Krystal’s aura and trying to stay out of her line of fire, held up his hands. “And can you please turn that skill off, bro? I can feel it crawling under my skin.”

Krystal glared at both of them for what felt like forever, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. You could see her contemplating all the ways she could strangle them, but instead, she took a deep breath, calming herself. Her [Intimidation] skill faded, and the air around them went from suffocating to just tense.

“Fine,” she said, her voice dangerously steady. “But you will fix this.”

Jojo, unfazed as ever, let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Whew, okay, Joe Fro, where do we go?”

Joey, still looking like he was trying to mentally prep for whatever was coming next, replied, “Well, Jo, we’ve got about two miles left to go.”

He hesitated for a second, then continued, “But seriously, there’s a lot of them. I know you’re a Godwalker and all, but demons aren’t known for being weak. And judging by their equipment, they’ve got a skilled blacksmith in their camp.”

Jojo pondered that for a moment, tapping his chin in mock thought. “Hmm, if Ogres weren’t so hell-bent on raiding human villages, I’d have a drinking contest with them. But I fear they prefer being dominated over being friendly.”

Krystal, who had barely cooled off, couldn’t help but jump in. “You act like you don’t enjoy being on top. We’ve been a party for ten years, we know the real you.”

Jojo smirked, not missing a beat. “Well, Krystal, if you must know, I enjoy being on top of women, not sweaty men and monsters on battlefields. We should make love, not war.”

Krystal rolled her eyes but smirked, clearly not done with her jabs. “Why don’t you make my Braye wine bottle full again?”

Jojo gave her a lazy salute. “As soon as we wrap this up, I told you. Just wait a moment.”

Joey groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you two done yet? We’ve still got Ogres to deal with.”

Jojo chuckled, adjusting his gauntlets. “Yeah, yeah, just let me reactivate my [Toxin Nullification] and I’ll be good to go.”

Krystal muttered under her breath, clearly still irritated, “Bastard.”

Jojo raised an eyebrow, pretending not to hear. “You say something?”

Joey sighed, gesturing for them to follow him. “Alright, you two, enough bickering. Let’s go deal with these Ogres.”

And with that, they set off, Krystal still fuming, Joey focused, and Jojo... well, Jojo was just Jojo—laidback, carefree, and ready to punch a demon with his bare hands if it came to that.

The Ogre party trudged back into their village, a sense of satisfaction hanging heavy in the air among the males. Six Thunderhorn Stags and Vixens, their powerful antlers crackling faintly with leftover static, lay across their shoulders like trophies. Their hides shimmered with a faint iridescence, the kind that hinted at the electric energy pulsing through their veins even in death. The males grinned, baring yellowed teeth stained from their last meal. They were already salivating at the thought of dinner: rich, electric venison stew. A welcome change from the oily meat of Harefolk they had recently consumed from a nearby coastal town.

However, their leader, the towering female Ogre with skin like cracked vermillion and eyes that smoldered with latent fury, was less than pleased. She scowled, her lips twisted in disdain as she glanced over the spoils. The hunt had been too easy, a dull endeavor save for the fleeting thrill of killing a lone Watcher who had dared to intrude upon their territory. That was hardly a challenge worthy of her strength. She had craved a real fight, something that would make her blood sing. Instead, it had been nothing more than a stroll in the woods, picking off creatures too foolish or slow to escape them. The males, oblivious to her frustration, continued to chatter and laugh, already talking about how they’d season the meat, how it would sizzle in the pot, and how they’d feast tonight. But the leader stood apart, brooding, her fingers twitching for a worthy opponent.

Meanwhile, just beyond the village's edge, Jojo and his team had arrived. The air was tense, thick with the scent of earth and ozone. They hid behind the massive trunks of ancient trees, their bark rough and gnarled with age. Moss clung to the roots, damp and cool under their hands as they steadied themselves. Jojo peered around his cover, taking in the layout of the Ogre settlement. Smoke wafted from a central fire where the Ogres were gathering, their guttural voices carrying through the air like low rumbles of distant thunder. He glanced back at Krystal and Joey, both crouched behind him, their eyes sharp with focus. They had a job to do.

Krystal broke the silence first, her voice low but edged with impatience. "So, furball, what's the plan?"

Jojo grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, that depends. Do you think showing them your nipple rings will distract them long enough for me and Joey to disarm them?"

Krystal's eyes narrowed dangerously, her jaw tightening. "Can we avoid pissing me off further right now? I would hate for one of my arrows to slip and fly your way during the heat of battle."

Joey, ever the pragmatist, chimed in, his voice calm. "Their leader is a female. I doubt naked human breasts will excite them."

"Yeah, I knew that," Jojo said, smirking. "I just wanted Krystal to pull her tits out."

Krystal let out a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, my creator," she muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Joey ignored their banter, his gaze fixed on the village. "The leader is at least a high A-Class," he stated. "And many of their lower troops are at least C-Class."

Jojo’s expression grew serious, his playful demeanor fading. "With that much firepower, they'd be a problem for the King City guardsmen. Looks like I'm going to have to nip this in the bud."

Joey’s eyes shifted slightly as he asked, "Do you want me to kill the kids?"

Jojo hesitated, the question hanging heavy between them. He glanced at Krystal, whose expression was grim.

"If we leave the little monsters alive, they might seek revenge," she said bluntly. There was no pity in her voice, just the cold acknowledgment of what needed to be done.

Jojo exhaled slowly, his eyes hardening. "Hmm... Just make it painless for them."

Joey nodded, his face expressionless. "Gotcha, bro."

Jojo turned to Krystal. "Then I'll play the part of the tits while you pick them off."

Krystal gave a wry smile, her eyes glinting. "I'll just picture your face on all of them."

"I'm glad I can keep you motivated," Jojo replied dryly. He scanned their faces, making sure they were ready. "Okay, Feral Squad, let's do what we do best."

No sooner had he finished speaking than Joey activated his [Hide Presence] and [Invisibility] skills. His form blurred, then vanished entirely, leaving only the faintest rustle of leaves as a sign he had ever been there. It was as if the forest itself had swallowed him whole. Krystal didn’t waste a moment either. She unslung her Platinum-Class Recurve Bow from her back, a weapon as much a work of art as it was an instrument of death. Willow’s Wrath was its name, forged by the master craftsmen of the Dark Elves.

The bow gleamed in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Its limbs were crafted from magisteel, dark as midnight, with intricate filigree of mythril and gold tracing sinuous patterns along its length. The handle riser was cool to the touch, fitting perfectly into her hand as if it had been made just for her. No quiver hung at her hip. She didn't need one. The bowstring hummed with latent energy as she drew it back, mana coalescing into a shimmering arrow of pure power.

The air around them jolted with tension. In the village, the Ogres continued their preparations, blissfully unaware of the death that lurked just beyond the tree line. The scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat wafted toward them, but the sweet smell of the impending battle overpowered everything else. Jojo's eyes narrowed as he focused on their targets. The time for banter was over; the hunt was about to begin.

Jojo sauntered into the clearing with a casual stride, hands tucked into his pockets as if he were out for a morning walk. The air around him was thick with tension, the forest behind him eerily silent as if it, too, held its breath. Two Ogre guards stood near the village entrance, their monstrous forms hunched and vigilant. The moment they spotted Jojo, their eyes widened, and the one on the left reached instinctively for the alarm—a crude bell attached to a post.

But before he could touch it, an arrow of pure angel mana; glowing with a fierce orange light, whistled through the air. It struck the Ogre's right eye with a sickening crunch, the force of the impact jerking his head violently to the side. His companion barely had time to react, his gaze following the trajectory of the arrow just in time to see it explode in a flash of radiant energy. Holy fire erupted from the impact point, a searing blaze that engulfed the first Ogre's head and sent a shockwave through the air. The explosion resonated like a heavenly detonation, bright enough to burn away the shadows that clung to the nearby trees. When the light dimmed, only the Ogre's decapitated body remained, slumping to the ground with a heavy thud.

The second guard staggered backward, momentarily blinded by the explosion and deafened by the thunderous roar. Before he could fully comprehend what had happened, another arrow—this one a sleek, red spear of angel mana—streaked toward him. It pierced the air with a high-pitched hum, embedding itself into the Ogre's left ear with surgical precision. He convulsed, eyes rolling back into his head as the arrow lodged itself deep into his skull.

Jojo watched the scene unfold with a calm detachment, his lips curling into a smirk. "Ouch. That's gotta hurt. Good shot, Krystal."

From behind a massive bush, Krystal's voice rang out, laced with irritation. "I was trying to hit you."

Jojo chuckled, his laughter was soft but genuine. He continued his unhurried pace toward the village, muttering to himself. "As long as I have my [Unrequited Luck], I'll never have to worry about that."

The arrow embedded in the second guard's ear glowed briefly before detonating in a burst of light and force, the holy explosion shredding his head into a mist of gore and leaving yet another headless corpse. Jojo walked through the gateway, the air around him still crackling with residual energy from the mana arrows. For a heartbeat, silence reigned, the village unaware of the deaths that had just occurred at its threshold.

Then, a random Ogre in the village caught sight of him—an unmistakable figure with his all-white sleeveless coat flowing in the wind. The Ogre's eyes widened in shock before he let out a guttural roar, his voice echoing across the encampment.

"Intruder!"

The alarm sent the village into an uproar. Within moments, twenty Ogre warriors stormed into the clearing, weapons in hand. Great axes and longswords glinted under the light, their blades stained from countless battles. Each warrior was clad in nothing more than a loincloth, their massive frames rippling with muscle and covered in tribal scars.

One of them, a particularly large brute with a serrated blade, stepped forward and snarled. "A human dares enter our land? We will wear your skin for your insolence."

Jojo tilted his head slightly, feigning offense. "Such a rude way to talk to someone. You remind me of someone I share a camp with."

Before the Ogre could retort, a new volley of mana arrows screamed through the air. Krystal, positioned with perfect sight lines, had loosed twenty arrows in rapid succession from Willow's Wrath. They arced high into the sky, trailing sparks of mana before descending upon the assembled Ogres like a storm of fiery death.

The first of the arrows struck with pinpoint accuracy, each one finding its mark with deadly precision. Nineteen of the twenty Ogres barely had time to register the incoming assault before they were engulfed in a searing conflagration. The arrows exploded upon impact, unleashing torrents of fiery energy that incinerated them where they stood. Flesh and bone vaporized in an instant, leaving only smoldering craters and the acrid stench of burnt meat.

The lone surviving Ogre, the one who had spoken, reacted with surprising speed. He swung his great axe upward, attempting to deflect the arrow aimed at him. The impact shattered his weapon, splintering it into shards of iron and wood. The force of the collision sent him staggering back, his eyes wide with a mixture of fury and fear.

Jojo shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "She's so violent," he muttered, almost to himself.

The Ogre warrior's eyes darted around frantically as he realized the gravity of the situation. "Damnit. The Humans have us surrounded! Everyone to arms!"

Chaos erupted in the village as the Ogres scrambled to respond. Bellows of rage and fear filled the air, blending with the crackling of flames from Krystal’s attack.

At that exact moment, far away from this battleground, my own fight with Prince Luda had reached a crescendo. [Midnight Star: Belial] had triggered my newly installed skill, [Neutrino Rush], amplifying my power to new heights. The surge of our combined mana signatures pulsed outward, a shockwave that rippled across Arcadia. Any mana-sensitive being would feel it—a tremor in the fabric of reality, a signal that something monumental was unfolding.

Jojo's eyes narrowed as a sudden surge of power washed over him, prickling his skin like the static before a storm. It was an intense wave of energy, dark and oppressive, that seemed to momentarily distort the very air around him. His usually laid-back demeanor faltered, replaced by a look of genuine surprise.

"What in the world? Whose power is this?" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the chaotic sounds of the Ogre village. "Feels equal to that of a Demon Lord. This could be a problem. This could be a big problem."

He had no time to ponder the sensation further. A split second later, the air split with a high-pitched whistling as the Ogre Leader—massive and imposing—materialized before him. She moved with impossible speed for a creature her size, her muscles rippling as she swung a wickedly spiked blade directly at Jojo's face. The weapon glinted with a deadly promise, its spikes trailing arcs of jagged mana as it hurtled toward him. Jojo's reflexes kicked in, but the blade was already inches from his head, its force distorting the air around it.

Just as it seemed the blade would connect, an orange arrow, aglow with angel mana, streaked past Jojo from behind. It slammed into the side of the spiked weapon with a resonant clang, deflecting the blade mere millimeters from Jojo's face. The air cracked with the force of the impact, and a shockwave rippled outward, kicking up dust and debris around them. Jojo didn't flinch; he hadn't even blinked. The arrow's explosive mana dissipated upon contact, leaving the Ogre Leader momentarily stunned as she was thrown backward several feet, struggling to maintain her grip on the weapon.

"What the hell?" she snarled, her voice a guttural roar that vibrated in Jojo's bones.

She landed in a crouch, feet digging into the ground to steady herself. Her eyes, burning with rage, locked onto Jojo, then darted around the clearing, searching for the source of the interference. She found nothing—Krystal was nowhere to be seen, having perfectly melded into the environment using her [Hide Presence] skill.

Jojo scratched his head, his expression one of mild curiosity as if he were merely watching an entertaining spectacle. "Sorry," he said, his tone almost apologetic, "I got distracted. Felt something threatening from afar. I think I need to report it." His gaze then fixed on the Ogre Leader with a casual intensity. "Who are you?"

She rose to her full height, towering over Jojo with a presence that radiated raw power. Her eyes gleamed with a malevolent fury, her teeth bared in a snarl. "I am the Alpha of this village," she declared, her voice echoing like a death knell through the encampment. She gestured to the smoldering remains of her fallen warriors, her hand trembling with rage. "You invade my home and cause destruction. For the murder of my people, you will die, Human."

Jojo sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Hmm, look," he began, his tone shifting to one of reluctant explanation, "I know right now we look like the bad guys." His eyes hardened, and he pointed a finger toward the village's edge. "But remember when your people attacked a farm 23 miles from here?"

The Alpha's eyes flashed with contempt. "Weak Humans had food they couldn't protect," she spat, her voice dripping with scorn. "So we took it off their hands."

Jojo’s gaze turned icy, his usual playful demeanor hardening into something far more dangerous. His voice dropped, becoming almost a whisper, yet it carried the weight of judgment. "Then consider this retaliation."

For a heartbeat, there was silence—a stillness so profound that it seemed the world itself paused. Then, with a roar, the Ogre Leader launched herself at Jojo again, her speed blurring her figure as she swung her blade in a wide arc. Jojo didn't move; his eyes flicked briefly behind him, where he knew Krystal was watching, her bowstring taut and ready.

This time, the Ogre Leader anticipated another arrow and twisted her body mid-swing to avoid the expected projectile. But Krystal, unseen and unfelt, had already loosed not one but three arrows, each one imbued with a different type of mana. The first struck the ground near Jojo’s feet, erupting into a burst of ice mana that encased the surrounding area in jagged, crystalline frost. The second arrow veered off to the right, slamming into a pile of crates and exploding into a shroud of blinding light mana, casting an ethereal glow that dazzled the Ogre Leader’s senses.

The third arrow flew straight at the Alpha. With a snarl, she swung her blade to intercept it, but this arrow was different. As the spiked weapon connected, the arrow shattered, releasing a pulse of gravity mana. The air around the Ogre Leader warped, and she was suddenly yanked sideways, the gravity well dragging her off course and slamming her into the icy ground. The force pinned her momentarily, her body contorting under the sudden, crushing weight.

Jojo watched her struggle, his eyes betraying a hint of pity. "I wonder if she was aiming at me or you that time?" He remarked, almost to himself.

But the Ogre Leader was not finished. With a roar that shook the trees, she mustered her mana, a swirling vortex of raw power gathering around her. The ground cracked and buckled as she forced herself upright, her muscles bulging grotesquely as she broke free from the gravity well. Her eyes glowed a savage red, and for the first time, Jojo felt a twinge of unease.

"Enough of your tricks, Human," she growled, her voice distorted by the sheer mana she was exuding. She raised her blade high, and dark tendrils of energy began to coil around it, growing more volatile with each passing second. "I wanted an entertaining battle but—"

Jojo stepped back, his eyes narrowing. "What's this feeling I'm getting all of a sudden. Alright, this might be a cause for a little worry," he admitted under his breath. He glanced toward the treeline, hoping Krystal had another arrow ready.

The air grew heavy, vibrating with the intensity of the Ogre Leader’s power. A swirling maelstrom of dark mana began to form above her, a manifestation of her rage and strength. Jojo could feel the pull of its mana's gravitational force; the sheer destructive energy threatening to consume everything in its path.

"Krystal, now would be a good time," Jojo muttered, his fingers twitching in anticipation.

But before he could react, a new, even more overwhelming power exploded in the distance—the very same presence that had caught Jojo's attention moments ago. It washed over the battlefield like a tidal wave, snuffing out the twilight and filling the air with a malevolent pressure that made it hard to breathe.

Jojo's eyes widened. "Wait... So it was you..." he whispered, his gaze shifting toward the horizon where a towering silhouette loomed.

The Ogre Leader hesitated, her eyes also drawn to the distant figure. For a brief moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them. Whatever this new presence was, it dwarfed both of them in mana and power.

Jojo felt a cold sweat trickle down his neck. "Looks like we’ve got company," he said, his voice tight.

Krystal's voice echoed faintly from her hidden position. "Jojo, what the hell is that?"

Jojo swallowed hard, his usual bravado slipping. "I don't know," he replied, eyes locked on the horizon as the shadow moved closer. "But the bull-man's mana signature doesn't feel friendly."

The ground began to tremble, a low rumble growing into a deafening roar. The twilight sky darkened, and the air grew colder. Jojo tightened his grip, preparing for whatever was coming.

But he wasn’t ready. None of them were.

And then, the Trapper, Taurus stepped into view.

[End of Chapter]