Wawrrrararaa!

  The goblin’s roar tore through the air, raw and guttural, a sound that promised nothing but carnage. Its bloodshot eyes locked onto me, the crimson glow of its veins pulsing with unnatural energy.

  I didn’t wait to see what it would do. My instincts screamed at me to move, and I obeyed.

  It charged, its massive body barreling toward me like a runaway boulder. The jagged club in its hands came down with a brutal swing, cutting through the air with a sound like tearing fabric.

  I dove to the side, my boots sliding across the blood-soaked ground. The club smashed into the earth where I’d been, sending chunks of dirt and gore flying in all directions.

  Before it could recover, I dashed in, my blades flashing. My right sword stabbed deep into its ribs while the left sliced across its exposed arm, splitting muscle and spilling blood that glowed faintly with that cursed red essence.

  The goblin roared, twisting wildly, and I yanked my sword free just in time to backpedal. Its claws swiped at me, missing my face by inches.

  Damn it! Focus Lexi…

  I darted in again, my swords moving before I could think. A low slash severed the tendons in its left leg; the follow-up thrust went straight through its shoulder.

  Each strike came faster than the last, guided by something buried deep in my muscles. I wasn’t fighting—it was as if my body remembered for me.

  The goblin staggered but didn’t fall. Its internal organs spilled out in a sickening rush, glistening under the ritual’s crimson glow.

  The glowing veins pulsed brighter now covering the whole body of the goblin, and with a snarl, it swung its club in a wide arc. I ducked under it, feeling the rush of air as the weapon screamed past, and closed the distance.

  Both blades stabbed into its torso, crossing just below its ribs. I twisted hard, feeling the give of bone and cartilage, then ripped the swords free in a spray of black-red blood.

  It should’ve dropped. Any normal enemy would’ve dropped. But it seems my luck has taken a turn for the worse.

  The goblin lunged forward, ignoring the gaping wounds in its body. Its clawed hand clamped onto my shoulder, the sheer strength of it nearly crushing the joint. I gritted my teeth against the pain and drove my knee into its gut, forcing it to loosen its grip.

  With a roar, it lashed out again, but I rolled under its swing, coming up behind it. My swords slashed in tandem, one cutting across its spine while the other hacked into the back of its knee. The beast fell to one knee, but even then, it kept fighting, twisting around to swing its club in a desperate, wild arc.

  I dropped flat to the ground, the club passing over me with a hair’s breadth to spare. Pushing off with one hand, I sprang back to my feet, my swords spinning in my hands as I faced the beast again.

  “Fucking. Hate. Berserkers…” I growled, lunging forward.

  The goblin roared and met me head-on. Its club came down hard, and I sidestepped, letting the momentum carry it past me. In the same motion, I planted my right sword into its gut, burying it to the hilt.

  The goblin snarled, blood and spittle flying from its mouth. Its clawed hand lashed out, raking across my side, but I didn’t stop. My left sword came down in a diagonal slash, severing its right arm at the elbow.

  The severed limb hit the ground with a wet thud, but the goblin didn’t even look at it.

  It swung its remaining arm, catching me off-guard. The backhand hit me like a sledgehammer, sending me skidding across the ground. Pain flared in my chest, and I coughed, tasting blood.

  But I didn’t stay down.

  The goblin was already charging again, dragging its half-ruined body forward with terrifying speed. Its club raised high, ready to crush me.

  Normal attacks won’t work…need to end him fast…thank the heavens this fucker can’t regen…

  Fuuu…

  I gripped my swords and channeled Exira. The flames sparked along the blades, faint at first but growing brighter as I focused.

  “Let’s finish this,” I muttered, stepping forward to meet its charge.

  The club came down, and I sidestepped, the flames on my swords flaring brighter as I struck. My left blade slashed upward, cutting deep into its torso from hip to shoulder. My right blade followed, cleaving through its chest in a brutal X.

  The goblin stumbled, blood spraying from its wounds, but still it didn’t fall.

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  I growled and drove both swords into its chest, twisting hard. The flames burned brighter, the heat searing its flesh, and with a final, guttural roar, the goblin collapsed to its knees.

  Its glowing eyes burned with hatred as it clawed at the ground, dragging itself toward me inch by inch.

  “No,” I said, raising both blades. “Your time is up…”

  The swords came down in a final strike, cutting through its neck. The goblin’s head hit the ground, and its body slumped forward, lifeless at last.

  I stood there for a moment, breathing hard, the flames on my swords flickering out.

  “Fucking Berserkers,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Never fun fighting…”

  fuuu

  As the exhaustion finally hit…

  Ha... ha... My breaths came shallow and ragged, every inhale scraping my throat like jagged glass. I leaned against my blade, ignoring the throbbing ache that pulsed through my body. The berserk goblin’s blood still coated my boots, sticky and foul, but I didn’t have time to think about that.

  “Focus,” I muttered to myself, forcing my body to straighten despite the protests of my muscles.

  The air was alive with chaos. The ritual’s energy was reaching a fever pitch, the blood sphere trembling violently above the shaman like a storm about to break. I ignored the strain pounding at the edges of my mind—until something far worse clawed at my consciousness.

  “AHHHH!”

  The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it, my hands shooting to my head as a sudden, violent pressure gripped my mind. My vision blurred, and for a horrifying second, I felt as if someone—or something—had reached into my skull.

  I staggered, barely staying upright. Through the haze, I realized the chanting had grown faster, more frenzied. The air itself shimmered with instability, warping the space around the blood sphere.

  “It’s the ritual,” I hissed, my voice strained as I struggled to push the invasive pressure out of my mind. The shaman’s chanting was no longer just an eerie backdrop—it was an attack.

  Fuuu.

  I forced myself to take a deep breath, steadying the frantic pounding of my heart. The Exira inside me surged in response, a fiery warmth cutting through the mental fog. I didn’t hesitate, pushing it further, dialing up its intensity to Level 2.

  The reaction was immediate. My body flared with renewed strength, but so did the side effects. My head throbbed, a deep, pulsing ache that felt like nails hammering into my skull.

  “Push through it,” I growled to myself. “No choice now.”

  With a guttural breath, I launched forward, each step driving me closer to the shaman. His hunched figure was bathed in the blood-red glow of the ritual, his bony hands gesturing in time with the chant. He was so absorbed in his dark work that he didn’t notice me at first.

  But as I crossed the circle’s inner threshold, his head snapped toward me.

  The shaman’s eyes narrowed, and with a single wave of his hand, the blood pooled on the ground rose into the air. It twisted unnaturally, hardening into jagged crimson lances that hovered around him like a macabre halo.

  “Shit,” I muttered, already bracing myself.

  Swish.

  The first lance came flying at me, hissing through the air like a snake. I ducked low, letting it pass inches above my head, and kept moving. Another followed, and I brought up my blade, deflecting it just enough to send it spinning harmlessly into the dirt.

  The shaman didn’t let up.

  The lances came in rapid succession, each one faster than the last. I twisted and dodged, my movements sharp and frantic. The attacks weren’t as relentless as before—he was clearly diverting most of his focus to the ritual—but that didn’t make them any less deadly.

  “Come on, come on!” I snarled, parrying one lance and rolling under another. Each interval between attacks was just enough to keep me moving, but not enough to close the gap entirely.

  The shaman’s chanting grew louder, his voice a guttural rasp as he reached into a small pouch at his side. My eyes narrowed as I caught a glimpse of what he pulled out.

  A creature.

  It was small and limp, I couldn’t make out the details, but it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it was integral to this ritual—and I couldn’t let him use it.

  “No fucking way,” I growled, pushing myself harder.

  The shaman raised a knife, its blade glinting ominously as he chanted faster, his movements almost frenzied.

  “Not happening!”

  With a burst of speed, I closed the distance between us, lowering my shoulder as I slammed into him with everything I had.

  The impact sent us both crashing to the ground. The knife flew from his hand, clattering against the stone circle, and the limp creature tumbled out of his grip.

  The shaman let out a guttural snarl, his clawed hands swiping at me as we grappled. His strength was deceptive—bony and wiry, but ferocious. He wasn’t just trying to push me off; he was clawing at my very mind, his presence stabbing at my thoughts like a venomous spike.

  “Get the fuck out of my head!” I roared, summoning Exira into a concentrated lance of energy and driving it straight into his mental presence.

  The effect was immediate.

  “Greukk!”

  The shaman’s scream was inhuman, his voice cracking under the strain of my attack. He thrashed beneath me, his body spasming as the Exira pierced through his mental defenses.

  But the victory was short-lived.

  Pain exploded in my stomach as one of his blood lances tore into me, the force of the strike flinging me off him like a ragdoll.

  “Gah!”

  I hit the ground hard, the air rushing out of my lungs in a sharp gasp. Blood poured from the wound in my stomach, soaking my clothes and painting the ground beneath me.

  The shaman staggered to his feet, clutching at his head as his chant faltered. The blood sphere above us trembled violently, its unstable energy spiraling out of control.

  I struggled to rise, my vision swimming as pain wracked my body. My breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle.

  “Not... done yet,” I muttered, forcing myself upright despite the fire burning in my gut. My sword was still in my hand, slick with blood but steady.

  The shaman’s gaze snapped to me, his eyes filled with both rage and desperation. He didn’t have time to finish the ritual—not if I had anything to say about it.

  And I wasn’t about to let him summon whatever nightmare he was trying to bring into this world.

  This wasn’t over. Not yet.

  HOUSE OF END DISCORD

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