The Ork roared.
It wasn't a sound—it was a seismic event. The walls vibrated, dust fell from the ceiling, and the already dim dungeon lights flickered as if recoiling from the sheer rage emanating from the creature.
Its massive foot, now punctured by Marie's makeshift spear trap, bled thick black ichor onto the stone floor. The wound had not stopped it.
It had enraged it.
The Ork's tusks flared. Its single glowing eye blazed brighter than before. It lifted its cleaver and slammed it into the ground with such force that the rock split like glass.
[Ork Mutant – Rage State Triggered]
The system's cold declaration meant only one thing: no control, no strategy, only violence.
Jonas, barely conscious and cradling his shattered arm, tried to crawl away—but the Ork's wild cleaver swing caught him from the side, cleaving through both stone and flesh. His scream cut off in an instant as his body collapsed in a heap. There was no movement after that.
Erik stood, breathing heavily, hands trembling. "We can still hurt it. We just have to—"
The Ork didn't wait for plans.
It charged again, faster than before.
Erik moved to intercept.
"HEY! OVER HERE, YOU FREAK!" he screamed, unleashing another kinetic blast.
It hit.
The Ork staggered—momentarily—but then turned toward Erik with a howl.
Marie knew what was coming.
"ERIK, MOVE!"
He didn't have time.
The Ork closed the distance in a blur. Erik fired another pulse—this one more desperate than effective. The blast struck the Ork's shoulder, barely leaving a mark.
With one monstrous swing, the cleaver descended.
Erik dodged sideways—partially.
The blade caught his hip, severing flesh and armor alike. He screamed and fell.
The Ork stomped forward and raised a fist.
Marie launched herself forward, trying to divert its attention.
Too late.
The Ork brought its massive hand down, and with a sickening crunch, Erik's head burst like a melon.
Marie froze.
Only she remained.
The grid still shimmered red.
The Ork turned, its breathing ragged, black blood oozing from its wounds. It locked its glowing eye on her.
Marie backed up slowly.
Her sword trembled in her hand.
She was bleeding. Bruised. Ribs cracked. Muscles shaking.
No one left. Just me.
The Ork limped forward, each step dragging. It wasn't unhurt—she'd seen that. The hamstring cut slowed it. The foot wound made it favor one side. But it was still too fast. Too strong.
She stepped back again.
Her boot hit the wall.
A corner.
Trapped.
The Ork raised its cleaver with both hands. It took its time. Savoring the moment. She could see it in the way its jaw flexed, how its body tensed.
Marie raised her sword. It felt like a twig.
The Ork roared again and swung.
She blocked.
The impact sent her weapon flying. It hit the far wall with a metallic clang, rebounded, and—
crack.
The old dungeon ceiling groaned.
Something dislodged.
A stalactite.
It dropped like judgment from above.
The stone spike drove cleanly through the Ork's skull.
Time froze.
The creature stood still for a moment, twitching, cleaver still raised. Then its eye flickered. It staggered once. Twice.
And fell.
The sound echoed across the chamber. Final. Absolute.
Marie stared at the body.
"What..."
Her voice cracked.
She collapsed to her knees. Her limbs trembled. Her lungs screamed for air.
It was over.
She had survived.
Barely.
And not by strength. Not by skill.
But by accident.
By the desperate chaos of battle.
The red shimmer vanished.
[Arena Protocol Released]
Marie sat there, numb, eyes on the fallen Ork, her sword lying several meters away.
Around her were bodies. Friends? No. But human lives all the same.
Gone.
The dungeon no longer felt oppressive.
Just quiet.
Too quiet.
She finally drew a breath.
And screamed.
A long, ragged, primal sound that tore from the deepest part of her.
Then she wept.