I charged forward, my one-handed axe flashing in the sunlight like a beacon of death.
Every step thundered through the forest floor. I could feel the power in my limbs—wild, primal, unshackled. The fury of my ancestors burned in my blood, demanding blood in return.
I screamed a war cry that tore from my throat like the roar of a dying god.
"SPARTA!"
The axe came down with the weight of my rage. It struck the Perezoso's thick, armor-plated hide—and the earth itself seemed to shake beneath the impact. Bone met steel. Flesh met vengeance.
The beast roared in agony, its voice like stone grinding on stone, deafening and monstrous. It reared back, and its claws swiped at me in a storm of violence—raw, chaotic, merciless. I ducked under the first strike, rolled past the second, my body moving faster than thought.
Then—it happened.
A surge.
An eruption in my chest. Like lightning cracking open my ribs and spilling into my veins.
I stumbled.
It was heat and ice and fire, burning through every nerve like I'd swallowed the sun itself. My legs wobbled. My grip faltered. My axe dipped. And in that heartbeat of hesitation…
SLASH.
Pain. White-hot. Blinding.
The Perezoso's claws sank into my left shoulder, tearing through me like I was made of parchment. I felt my flesh peel, the sound of it—wet, ripping meat—seared itself into my ears. Blood exploded from the wound, spraying the dirt red. My axe slipped from my grip.
I screamed—but it wasn't fear. It was rage. It was survival.
I fell to one knee, the world spinning, blood pulsing from my body in heavy gushes. My breath came in ragged gasps. My vision blurred. But that fire—**that unnatural flame inside me—**kept burning. Feeding on my pain. Demanding I rise.
I clenched my jaw. I gripped the axe with my good arm.
"I. DON'T. BREAK."
With a savage roar, I surged to my feet and swung my axe in a wide arc, striking the Perezoso across the chest. It shrieked and reeled, and I pressed the attack. One blow. Then another. Then another. Blood flew. Chunks of fur and meat tore free beneath my blade.
I was no longer a boy. I was war incarnate.
I spun low, slicing across its legs. I leapt high, slamming the axe down on its skull. A crack like thunder rang out as the blade split the bone just above its eye.
The Perezoso stumbled, buckled.
And I—bleeding, broken, breathless—struck one final time.
CRACK.
My axe crushed through the beast's skull like a falling star. Its body collapsed in a heap of blood and bone, the ground shaking with its death.
I staggered back, every muscle screaming, my skin shredded, my bones grinding. My body trembled. My vision swam. My heart thundered like it wanted to break free from my chest.
I should have fallen.
But I didn't.
I stood.
Tall. Broken. Triumphant.
Blood soaked me. My shoulder hung limp, muscles barely holding together. My mouth tasted copper. My eyes rolled back, showing only white—but I didn't fall. I didn't even breathe.
I was beyond pain now.
Something inside me… shifted.
Something ancient.
The fire in my veins pulsed. My flesh began to close. Torn muscle knitted back together. Skin regenerated. Bones popped into place with sickening cracks. My body began to heal before their eyes.
I could hear them—Kael and Gorthok—watching. Whispering. Afraid.
But I was deaf to them.
Because in that moment, I felt it:
it was awakened within me some unknown.