That’s nice.

  Not knowing how to use Life Force did not stop him from feeling it coursing through his body. The soreness in his limbs faded and the open wounds below his shirt began to tingle with a warm feeling.

  Nilbog felt it coming with his Seventh Sense. Holding his knife and spoon tightly, he lunged forward, rolling across the table as a claw slashed his chair in half. He turned around, keeping his center of gravity low.

  The Young Ghoul was approximately the same size as Nilbog, and nearly as thin. Its rib cage pushed against its dark purple skin, making the blue veins stick out against its lean muscles. It had an oval, shiny head with two enormous yellow eyeballs, and would have looked silly if not for its teeth and claws. Both were a glossy, metallic black. One, tw-

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  It lunged forward, swiping with both of its claws at his feet. Nilbog jumped above it, pivoting his body in the air as he fell. Fighting was one thing that came naturally. Even though he rarely fought he felt as if he had years of experience. His time in the forest foraging and fending for himself had only honed his skills. Avoiding the spine, his knife and fork plunged to their hilt as he fell on-top of it. The momentum carried the knife it down four inches down the ghoul’s flesh, significantly increasing the slash damage.

  Blood spurted from the Ghoul's neck, coloring one side of Nilbog’s face purple. Some of it found its way into his mouth, combining with the sugary apple slices he had moments ago. Once again, Nilbog found an unexpected, but not unpleasant, combination of flavors.

  He yanked his deadly weapons from the creature's neck, stepping back and ducking. The Ghoul spun around with a screech, swiping at him with its left hand. Finding nothing, the creature’s attack once again threw it off balance, giving Nilbog just enough time to fling himself up, his fork and knife sinking a couple of inches inside the monster’s large eyeballs.

  He kicked the Ghoul, sending it scrawling across the table. A few seconds after, the Ghoul stopped thrashing below the purple-stained cloth.

  Undead never went down easy. Slice off their head and they’ll still chase for flesh. The forest was filled with them.

  A massive brawl spread around Nilbog. The smart ones stayed and held their ground with whatever they could, while the foolish ones attempted to escape through the locked doors. Argento was of the latter crowd. Barely a few moments passed before he booked it towards the exit, becoming lost in the chaos. So much for fate. The man had seemed nice enough but, like all humans, he proved he couldn’t be counted on when things got tough.

  An abnormal sound caught Nilbog's attention. It was a slight, condensed sound. A man fell, screaming as Ghoul made mincemeat out of him. Then Nilbog saw her through the gap in between, Kara – the Blind Mage.

  Nilbog once again found himself staring at her. There was just something off about her. The way the air moved around her, the way all the Ghouls gave her a wide breadth--it was all strange. He spent a few dangerous moments standing still in a daze. Every fiber of his being screamed at him. By the time he snapped out of it, he found himself running away, cold sweat covering his back.

  Anomalies. Phases are sorted according to level, but a special few had skills which allowed them to by-pass this rule. With special limitations they were allowed to participate. Kara The Blind Mage had to be one of them.

  Dodging a few broken tables, a few men skirmishing with chairs in their hands, and a Ghoul having the feast of his life on an especially plump woman, Nilbog quickly made his way to the kitchen. He needed a weapon. There was too much to think of. For now, he needed to survive—everything else could wait. Swallowing a painful lump of salvia, Nilbog broke through the crowd, gaining vision of the kitchen entrance.

  Blocking the double doors was a large man wielding a foot-long cleaver. His heavy iron gloves, originally used to bring hot pots out of smoldering brick ovens, were now used to block strikes from overeager Ghouls. He was able to hold off two at the same time, though not without getting a few deep gashes on his arms. Standing next to him on both sides were other cooks with knives, slashing whenever the Ghoul’s tried to circle him.

  The Ghoul’s dark purple blood was mixed with the chef's red, coloring the man’s apron in a mixture of colors. He kept attempting to get a good cut in, but each time he did they stepped back. They were far too fast, and the moment the chef and his friends left their position to chase them, they would be stranded in the open floor of the cafe.

  The familiar waitress on the ground was proof of that. A large puddle grew from an open neck.

  These men weren’t fighters. They didn’t have the speed or skills to lock the Ghouls down, but Nilbog had both. His muscles pulsed, the adrenaline soaking his blood, urging him forward. His bones felt tight, sturdy iron instead of the usual brittle sticks.

  As the human saying went, here goes nothing.