Haa… haa…

  The ragged sound of my breathing filled the silence, broken only by the faint hum of the ritual pulsing in the air. My body refused to cooperate as I tried to push myself up, my arms trembling under the strain. Every movement sent a sharp, gut-wrenching pain shooting through me.

  As my vision cleared, I looked down—and my stomach turned.

  A massive blood pike jutted from my abdomen, its jagged edges pulsating faintly, as if alive. Blood seeped from the wound, pooling beneath me, its warmth a cruel mockery against the cold that gnawed at my insides.

  “Fuck…,” I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  My thoughts spiraled, jagged and incoherent.

  Kill. Die. Rip it out. Kill him. End it. Die. Pain. Kill.

  The words hammered against my skull like a relentless drumbeat, drowning out everything else. My breathing quickened, each inhale ragged and shallow.

  The edges of my vision darkened as the chaotic mantra grew louder.

  And then, a chill.

  It wasn’t the cold of the wound or the deathly air around the ritual—it was something else. A deep, piercing cold that froze the frenzy in my mind, snuffing out the madness. My vision sharpened, and with it, my focus returned.

  “Fuu…” I exhaled slowly, my breath a visible mist in the blood-soaked air.

  The insanity clawing at my thoughts retreated, replaced by a sharp clarity. I knew what I had to do.

  Steeling myself, I channeled Exira again, forcing the energy through my body. At Level 2, the strain was immediate, a searing pain that tore through me like a white-hot brand. My head throbbed, my chest felt like it was going to collapse, but I didn’t stop.

  “AHHHhh!” The scream tore from my throat as I focused on the Exira, suppressing the ritual’s effects clawing at my mind.

  The blood pike quivered, almost as if it sensed my intent.

  “Fuck you,” I snarled through gritted teeth, my fingers wrapping around the jagged weapon.

  The pain was blinding as I pulled. My muscles strained, my body screaming in protest as the pike shifted. The jagged edges tore through flesh, every inch an agonizing eternity.

  With a final, guttural roar, I ripped the pike free.

  “AGHHH!” Blood sprayed from the wound, and I doubled over, spitting out a mouthful of it. My vision swam, my legs threatening to give out.

  Not now. Keep moving.

  I pressed a trembling hand to the gaping wound, forcing Exira to harden the edges of my armor. The metal shifted and groaned under the strain but sealed the wound enough to slow the bleeding.

  “That’ll have to do,” I muttered, spitting more blood onto the ground.

  The ritual’s hum grew louder, the energy in the air crackling like static against my skin. I forced my body upright, every movement sending a fresh wave of pain through me.

  My eyes locked onto the shaman, still chanting, his back to me. The bastard didn’t even glance my way—he thought I was done.

  “Big fucking mistake,” I growled, gripping my blade tightly.

  The Exira still burned within me, barely held together by sheer willpower. The ritual’s pressure tried to crush me, to smother my every step, but I forced myself forward.

  One step.

  Then another.

  Each movement was agony, but the rage bubbling under my skin drowned it out. I wasn’t going to die here. Not like this.

  The shaman’s chanting grew louder as he raised his hands, the blood sphere above him trembling violently. It was close—whatever nightmare he was summoning was almost here.

  “Not fucking happening!” I roared, the sound ripping from my throat like a battle cry.

  The shaman turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw me charging toward him. His hands moved in a flurry, the blood at his feet surging upward to form a wall of spikes between us.

  I didn’t slow down.

  With a burst of Exira, I drove my blade forward, the energy slicing through the blood spikes like they were paper. Shards of hardened blood exploded around me as I pushed through, my body screaming in protest with every step.

  The shaman snarled, his hands weaving another spell. A jagged lance of blood shot toward me, faster than I could dodge.

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  “Fuck!”

  I brought my blade up just in time, deflecting the lance to the side. The force of the impact nearly knocked me off balance, but I recovered, closing the distance between us.

  The shaman raised his arm to block, but I didn’t give him the chance.

  With a brutal swing, I cleaved through his forearm, the sickening crunch of bone and flesh filling the air.

  “Grekhh!” he screamed, stumbling backward as dark, viscous blood poured from the wound.

  I saw the shaman’s blood-red eyes locked onto mine, burning with raw, unrestrained malice. Hate radiated from his glare like heat from a furnace, his gaze boring into me as if he could pierce my soul.

  “Fuck you,” I snarled under my breath, forcing myself to steady my trembling body.

  My focus snapped to his hands as he stooped to retrieve the knife he’d dropped earlier. The crimson glow of the blood sphere above bathed the ritual site in an eerie light, its unstable energy cracking the air like distant thunder. The shaman’s chanting resumed, slow and deliberate, his bony fingers wrapping tightly around the blade.

  And then I saw it.

  Under the glow of the blood-red moon and sphere, the creature in his other hand became visible—a small feline. Its fur was mottled and patchy, its tiny body trembling in the shaman’s iron grip. It let out a faint, pitiful purr.

  “Meow…”

  “No.” My voice was barely a whisper, a mixture of disbelief and rage. “No! Don’t you fucking dare—”

  The shaman’s hand moved swiftly, the knife plunging into the cat’s chest.

  “NO!!!”

  The scream tore from my throat as if it could stop the knife, as if my voice alone could undo the horror before me. But it was too late.

  The cat’s body convulsed, a single, pitiful sound escaping it before the light in its eyes dimmed. The blood from the wound spilled onto the ritual circle, soaking into the ground like water on dry sand.

  Something shifted.

  With the cat’s death, a trigger seemed to ignite.

  The circle beneath the shaman—and all the ground around him—glowed an intense, blinding red. The blood sphere above pulsed violently, its energy spiraling into chaos.

  Aggh!

  The pressure hit me like a tidal wave, forcing me onto my knees. My teeth clenched, the strain ripping through my body like a storm.

  “Shit... shit… shit!” I spat, my voice barely audible over the roar of the ritual. The air itself felt heavier, oppressive, like it was trying to crush me into the ground.

  Exira surged within me as I forced it higher, pushing my output to its limit as it reached the threshold of level 3. The heat coursed through my veins, a desperate counter to the suffocating pressure bearing down on me.

  “Not giving up... not fucking yet,” I growled, sweat pouring down my face.

  The shaman was moving again. Another cat—a second limp, trembling creature—was in his grasp. The knife glinted under the crimson light as he raised it once more, his chant reaching a frenzied crescendo.

  “Over my dead body,” I snarled, forcing every ounce of Exira into my blade.

  The energy burned like wildfire, but I ignored the pain, focusing it into the weapon until it hummed with raw power. My muscles screamed as I pushed past the pressure, rising to one knee, then both feet.

  hhaaa….fuuuu

  I hurled the blade.

  The sword flew through the air, cutting through the oppressive energy like a streak of light.

  Puchi.

  The sound of steel piercing flesh echoed through the chaos.

  The shaman’s chant stopped abruptly, his body jerking as the sword drove through his chest, pinning him to the blood-soaked ground.

  A torrent of dark blood poured from the wound, pooling beneath him in thick, steaming rivulets. The second cat tumbled from his grasp, landing with a soft thud on the ground, still alive but barely moving.

  “Fuck you” I spat, staggering forward, my legs barely supporting me.

  The shaman’s eyes burned with fury, his lips moving soundlessly as blood bubbled from his mouth. He clawed weakly at the sword impaling him, but his strength was fading, the ritual’s power sputtering like a dying flame.

  But something was wrong.

  The blood sphere above us didn’t stop. It trembled violently, the cracks spreading further, the energy inside threatening to explode. The ritual hadn’t ended—it had spiraled out of control.

  “Shit…” My voice trailed off as the realization hit me. The shaman’s death hadn’t stopped the ritual…this fucker…the cat…sacrifice was enough to complete it.

  The pressure intensified, the ground beneath me cracking as the crimson glow turned blinding. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the blood-soaked earth, my vision swimming.

  “Damn it,” I muttered, forcing myself to crawl toward the shaman. He was still alive, barely, his bloodshot eyes staring at me with a twisted mix of triumph and hatred.

  “What the fuck did you do?” I snarled, grabbing the hilt of my sword and twisting it viciously.

  The shaman’s body spasmed, but he didn’t answer. Instead, his lips curled into a bloody smile, and he whispered a single, guttural word:

  ?? ?????

  The blood sphere shattered.

  A deafening roar filled the air as raw, chaotic energy erupted from the sphere, flooding the ritual site in a wave of crimson light. My body was thrown backward, the force slamming into me like a battering ram.

  I hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs. For a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. My vision blurred, the edges darkening as unconsciousness threatened to pull me under.

  But as the roar subsided, replaced by an eerie silence, I forced my eyes open.

  The shaman’s body lay lifeless, my sword still embedded in his chest. The second cat, still trembling, let out a weak meow, its small body barely moving against the blood-soaked ground.

  And in the center of the ritual circle, something began to rise.

  The light from the shattered blood sphere coalesced into a shape—tall, humanoid, but grotesque and otherworldly. Its skin was a swirling mass of black and crimson, its eyes burning like molten fire. The air around it crackled with raw energy, the sheer weight of its presence pressing down on me like a physical force.

  “Great,” I muttered, forcing myself to my feet. “Because this shitshow wasn’t bad enough already….”

  The creature turned its gaze toward me, its molten eyes narrowing.

  I tightened my grip on the hilt of my second blade, blood dripping from the wound in my stomach.

  Fuu…

  What's one more monstrosity…

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