The storm roared across the forsaken land, wailing through the skeletal remains of the long-dead monsters. Lightning etched across the dark sky, making it look like a scar on the forsaken world; that momentary light revealing this forsaken landscape before it plunges back into the darkness. In this storm, a young boy slept peacefully inside a colossal skull of an ancient titan; he was Kael, lying on his makeshift bed—a crude nest of dried leaves and stitched-together monster hides that he had made in this desolate land. The frigid wind seeped through cracks in the bone, but exhaustion had long dulled his senses. Three weeks in this hell had hardened him, worn him down to the marrow. Every wound, every bruise, every scar on his body told the story of his survival in this forsaken world.
And tonight… it was different.
For the first time in weeks, sleep came easily. He had collapsed into slumber before—but never like this. This time, it felt almost… peaceful.
A cruel thought, really.
Because deep down somewhere in his heart, Kael knew: the world never gave him peace without a price.
And here tonight he left everything on his fate.
But a sudden violent tremor jolted him awake.
He snapped his eyes and the ground beneath him convulsed, a thunderous crack splitting the air like the roar of the sky. Before Kael could react, a deafening explosion shattered his shelter—The colossal skull collapsed inward as something enormous slammed down from above.
His peaceful time was turned back into a chaotic time.
Dust and fragments of bone rained down from above with an enormous foot that tore through the ceiling . The impact hit like a divine hammer, sending shockwaves rippling through the earth. Crushing everything beneath it under its weight—including Kaelvren. Blinding pain exploded through his body, searing and merciless. He could barely process the shadow towering above him before the awful truth sank in.
His right arm—gone.
Torn from his body.
The pain was unbearable, a searing, electric firestorm tearing through his body, flooding his every nerve. Kaelvren couldn't see straight. Blood filled his mouth, thick and metallic, and dust clogged his throat. He coughed violently, choking on it all, barely able to breathe. Crimson pooled beneath him, warm against the cold, cracked ground.
His face—once proud, almost noble—was smeared with blood and grime. His body, shaped by years of combat and suffering, now felt like it could break apart at any second.
His mind screamed: Get up. Move. Fight.
Kaelvren's mind screamed at him telling him to Get up. Move. And run. —but the storm had only just begun.
Something inside him tore open—an agony he had never experienced. His mind screamed, but the pain was relentless, consuming him from within, making him more like a beast than a human. He threw his head back and roared—a raw, gluttonous, animalistic cry that shattered the silence of the desolate land.
Blood gushed from the jagged stump where his arm used to be, drenching the dry earth beneath him in a crimson puddle. His vision clouded, his breaths ragged and irregular, each pulse triggering new bursts of agony that exploded through his body.
Through the haze, he saw it.
A colossal being loomed above him, standing like an ancient sentinel of destruction. Its massive form was composed of jagged stone and shifting earth, its mere existence distorting the atmosphere surrounding it. An unstoppable force, indifferent and harsh, bringing nothing but destruction behind it.
And now, it had noticed him due to his roar.
The golem rotated, shifting its course. The ground trembled with each of its colossal strides, propelling clouds of dust and debris into the air. Kaelvren's body screamed in protest, but survival overrode pain. He stumbled forward, his blood leaving a stark trail behind him, forcing himself to move beyond his limits. Every breath was a sharp, ragged gasp. Every step sent fresh jolts of pain through his broken body. But stopping meant death.
He reached for his dagger—a weapon infused with an enchantment that granted enhanced regeneration and speed when killing. He clenched it tightly, pushing forward through the wasteland's scattered ruins and skeletal remains.
But the golem was not his only problem.
The scent of his spilled blood had drawn predators.
From the darkness, shadows slithered forward—low-ranked ravager wolves. Their yellow eyes gleamed with hunger, their gaunt frames tensed to strike. Normally, they would never dare approach someone like him. But now, they smelled weakness.
Above, bone vultures circled, screeching as they anticipated their next meal.
Kaelvren gritted his teeth. So… I'm going to be their food, huh?
The wolves lunged. His body wavered, shutting down, his breath coming too fast, his vision darkening at the edges. He knew he was losing too much blood.
With gritted determination, he ripped off his gloves, tore a strip from his supplies with his teeth, and hastily wrapped his ruined shoulder. It wouldn't stop the bleeding, but it would buy him enough time.
Time to fight.
Time to survive.
More creatures joined the chase.
From the shadows, grotesque horrors emerged—mutated limbs, jagged bones protruding unnaturally, their battered forms shrieking with unnatural hunger. Fiend predators. Faster. Stronger. Hungrier. And worst of all, the golem was still closing in.
Kaelvren clenched his teeth, forcing himself forward despite the agony tearing through his body. The darkness ahead loomed like a suffocating abyss, but it was his only chance. If he could reach the forest, he could use the terrain to his advantage.
But the monsters were gaining.
As he crossed the threshold into the Forest of Death, the world twisted into something nightmarish. Shadows swallowed the remaining light, coiling like living entities, distorting the landscape. Every step felt like wading through unseen terror.
Then the wolves struck.
A blur of motion—fangs bared, eyes burning with primal hunger. A bear-like monstrosity lashed out from the left, its claws slicing through the air. Kaelvren barely twisted in time, feeling the rush of death graze past him.
Another wolf lunged, its snarling maw snapping inches from his throat.
With desperate instinct, Kaelvren thrust his fist into its mouth, driving deep past its fangs, forcing his weight into the monster's skull. The wolf gurgled—a choked, strangled sound—before its body went limp, but there was no time to breathe.
A second one pounced.
Claws raked across Kaelvren's chest, ripping through flesh. Pain flared like fire, but he used the momentum—rolling with the strike, twisting his body mid-fall, and slamming a desperate kick into the creature's side. The force was weak, unsteady—his balance compromised—but it was enough to throw the monster off.
He staggered to his feet, dagger raised, breath ragged.
Another howl tore through the trees.
His muscles screamed, exhaustion clawing at him, but his wounds were already sealing. The regeneration from his kills slowed the blood loss—nowhere near enough to regrow his arm, but enough to keep him standing.
It wouldn't matter.
The golem was still coming.
A thunderous crack split the night. The trees behind him shattered, torn from their roots as the monstrous titan bulldozed through the forest. Goblin-like creatures scattered in its wake, snarling and snapping, their eyes wild with hunger.
Kaelvren had only one option left.
Run.
He pushed himself forward, lungs burning, feet barely finding purchase on the unstable ground. Then—suddenly—his world stopped.
The ground beneath him vanished.
A sheer drop.
The cliff's edge loomed before him, overlooking an abyss where a raging river carved through the valley below, its waters crashing against jagged rocks. The distant mountains stood silent, indifferent.
This was the end.
Behind him, the monsters gathered. Ravager, Harbinger, and Fiend horrors—all drawn by the scent of his blood, their hunger insatiable.
His gut twisted. His chest heaved.
No escape. His remaining hand clenched around his dagger, knuckles white. Every breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling from exhaustion and pain.
This breath came in ragged gasps, his body swaying from excessive blood loss yet his grip remained firm on his dagger. His body trembled, yet his body refused to kneel before death. His eyes burned not from fear, but with a glimmer of hope that his trial might still end. But even that hope was shattered by the horde of monsters before him. As his scream broke the silence of the desolate land, hoarse but unbroken.
If he was going to die, he'd take as many of them with him as he could.
At least three.
That was enough.
A vile grin stretched across his bloodied face—lips torn, teeth red, eyes filled with tears. The smile was twisted. Disgusting. Beautiful.
And then came the laughter.
"Ya ha haaaa! Hahaha—!"
It tore from his throat like a broken instrument—part madness, part pain, part hopelessness.
He threw his head back and roared, voice echoing into the abyss—a raw, defiant challenge to the gods, the monsters, and death itself.
"COME ON THEN! LET'S SEE WHO GETS THE LAST BITE!"
His breath came in ragged gasps. His body swayed, nearly buckling from blood loss, yet his grip on the dagger never loosened. He trembled—half-dead, barely standing—but he refused to kneel.
His eyes burned—not with fear, but with that last ember of something he didn't even recognize anymore.
Hope?
Maybe.
But even that ember flickered as the horde of monsters surged forward. Every second stretched like eternity. Every heartbeat felt stolen.
"COME GET ME, YOU DAMN DOGS! LET'S SEE WHO LAUGHS LAST!"
And then, he lunged forward, as a hungry beast toward its prey.