Blood and heat.

The orcen Lord stood tall, a tower of muscle and malice, his eyes burning with a cruel intelligence. His skin was a sickly green, glistening with sweat and war paint. He held a massive two-handed axe, its blade chipped and stained from countless battles.

Owen tightened his grip on his sabre. He took a deep breath, feeling the familiar heat of adrenaline surging through his veins. The world narrowed to just him and the orcen Lord.

The orcen Lord roared, the sound reverberating through the battlefield. He charged, his axe raised high, ready to cleave Owen in two. Owen darted to the side, the axe missing him by inches as it crashed into the ground with a deafening impact.

Owen retaliated, lunging forward with a swift slash aimed at the orcen Lord's side. His blade sliced through the air, but the orc was faster than he anticipated, twisting away and bringing his axe around in a wide arc. Owen ducked just in time, feeling the whoosh of the axe passing overhead.

The orc lashed a kick to his chest, but because of Owen’s lightning quick reflexes, stepped out of its way. Owen retaliated with a sword stroke, biting into green flesh, drawing blood. The orc grunted, not in pain, but annoyance.

Swinging his axe in a savage arc, Owen barely got away in time. The air swished and Owen’s ears thrummed with pain from the air pressure.

Every fibre of his being was telling Owen to run, to get out of the way of the devastating axe. But he couldn’t. He glanced at the others, his people, and his will to fight returned. Gritting his teeth, Owen pushed off his feet and entered a dance of death with the orcen Lord. It was a battle knowing full well if he was hit once with that axe edge would spell his last breath.

He hacked and slashed his sabre's edge into toughened, hide-like flesh. The smell of metal and burning flesh from the heat penetrating from above assaulted Owen’s nostrils, but he didn’t absorb it. All of his focus was absorbed onto the foe in front of him.

They circled each other, eyes locked. The orcen Lord’s face was a mask of fury, his lips pulled back in a snarl. Owen's heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. He couldn’t afford to let fear or doubt creep in. Not now.

The orcen Lord attacked again, swinging his axe with brutal strength. Owen parried the blow, his sabre vibrating from the impact. He pivoted on his heel, delivering a rapid series of strikes aimed at the orc's limbs. Each movement was precise, calculated, and deadly.

The orcen Lord deflected the blows, his axe a blur of motion. He was strong, incredibly so, but Owen had the advantage of speed and finesse. He darted around the orc, looking for an opening, any weakness he could exploit.

And then he saw it.

A brief hesitation, a momentary shift in the orc's stance. Time practising with Cedric had displayed the path he needed. Owen seized the opportunity, lunging forward with a thrust aimed at the orcen Lord's chest. His blade pierced flesh, and the orc let out a guttural cry of pain.

But it wasn’t enough.

The orcen Lord swung his axe in a desperate counterattack, catching Owen off guard. The blade clipped his side, sending a jolt of pain through his body. Owen staggered back, gasping for breath.

He could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his ribs.

The orcen Lord pressed his advantage, relentless in his assault. Owen dodged and parried, his movements growing increasingly frantic. He was fast, but the orc was relentless, each swing of the axe a deadly dance.

Owen fought back, his sabre a blur of metal as he unleashed a flurry of attacks. He aimed for the orc's arms, legs, neck—anywhere he could reach. But the orcen Lord was a seasoned warrior, he had something intangible that Owen didn’t yet have: experience and blood shed on the battlefield. The orc’s scars told a life of war, dozens of times he had made it out alive against all odds.

The two warriors clashed, their weapons ringing out with each impact. Owen's arms ached from the effort, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn’t keep this up forever. He needed to end it, and soon.

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Owen feinted left, drawing the orcen Lord's attention. Then, with lightning speed, he spun around to the right, his sabre slicing through the air. The blade found its mark, cutting deep into the orc's shoulder.

The orcen Lord bellowed in pain, his grip on the axe faltering. Owen pressed the attack, his strikes relentless. He could see the strain on the orc's face, the growing weariness in his movements.

But the orcen Lord was not defeated yet. With a roar, he swung his axe in a vicious arc, much faster this time, catching Owen off balance. The blade crashed into his side, the impact shattering ribs and driving the breath from his lungs.

Owen hit the ground hard, pain lancing through his body. He gasped for air, struggling to push himself up. The world spun around him, his vision blurring at the edges.

The orcen Lord loomed over him, triumph gleaming in his eyes. He raised his axe, ready to deliver the final blow.

Owen's mind raced. He needed to act, to find a way out of this. And then he remembered—Unlimited Plunder. In a desperate bid, Owen summoned the last of his strength and focused on the orcen Lord's eye. With a surge of mana, he invoked Unlimited Plunder, feeling the familiar rush of power as it flowed through him.

The orcen Lord's eye vanished, the socket left empty and bleeding. The orc howled in agony, clutching at his face.

Owen seized the moment. He summoned the Armour of Nerzu, the protective shell appearing in an instant. Pain coursed through his body, but he forced himself to move, rolling to his feet and readying his sabre. Empowered by the effects of his armour, Owen panted, breath strained, but stood with renewed strength.

But the orcen Lord laughed. It was so sudden that it took Owen by surprise. The orc, who was hunched over and breathing heavily like himself, stood tall. His remaining eye, that was a smoulder fire, transformed into a sickly crimson. His muscles expanded and contracted, sounding like a ship caught in a savage tide. He cracked his neck, each time sounding like a wooden beam snapping, then looked down at Owen as if he was an insect.

“So this is what you have hidden from me?” he asked, his voice almost like a growl. “You have taken my eye, congratulations. Now I shall take your life.”

The orc moved so fast that he was practically a blur. Heartbeat striking against his broken ribs, Owen rolled to the side as the axe descended upon where he was a second ago. The sand shot up like a geyser exploding from the ground

Owen forced himself to focus, to push past the pain and fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to lose. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.

The orcen Lord charged again, and Owen was quick to climb back to his feet. The Lord's axe was a deadly blur as he swung it with relentless force. Owen parried, his sabre vibrating with the impact, his body protesting under the might of the strike. He felt the bones in his arm creak, felt the pain lancing through. He moved with desperate agility, dodging the orc's strikes and countering with quick, precise slashes.

But the orc was relentless. He pressed forward, each swing of his axe carrying the weight of his immense strength. Owen ducked and weaved, his body screaming in protest with every movement, leaping, jumping, dodging the swings to the best of his ability.

If it wasn’t for Devil’s Reflexes, he’d have been dead long ago, perhaps from the very first strike. Owen knew he couldn’t last much longer. He had to do something desperate. Instead of Plundering something in its entirety, why couldn’t he focus it on a constant stream?

Owen urged the rest of his Vitality, calling upon something deep within him. Something he didn't know he had: resilience, a desperate plea for survival. This was his new life, a new beginning. In some ways, he wanted to teach the Author a lesson, but in others, he was inexplicably thankful for ripping him out of his office.

Dodging another axe swing by the skin of his teeth, Owen latched onto the orc’s dominant arm, teeth sinking into his green flesh. He couldn't even break the first layer of skin. Regardless, that wasn’t his aim. He channelled Unlimited Plunder and focused on stripping away the orc’s strength. And he felt his Skill answer his call. Stats started flowing into him, 1, 2, 4, 6, and it kept on climbing.

Owen fought through the absurd amount of stamina it took to use the ability in this manner, struggling against his heart threatening to implode. It didn’t last long.

The orcen Lord roared, and slammed his fist against Owen’s skull. He heard something split, but only a dizziness and nausea assaulted him. All he saw was stars as his back struck the sand. A blur of an axe hurtled towards his chest. His senses screamed, and he moved by raw instinct. Rolling on the sand, he snapped his leg at the orc’s knee. By a stroke of luck, the mighty warrior’s leg caved inward, but it didn’t break.

However, it did offer Owen a small reprieve. He struggled to his unsteady feet, his vision blurred with blood. Owen glanced at his people who were watching with bated breaths on the side. Each one was worried, each one wanted nothing more than to jump into the battle and help him, sacrificing themselves.

I will win.

With shaky arms, Owen gripped his blade with both arms, and readied himself for the next onslaught. The orcen Lord was angry. Owen took a deep breath, focusing on the thumping heartbeat synchronising with his blade. He listened to it as if it was the gospel, let it take control of him, let it guide him.

You have gained the Skill: Swordsmanship.