Eleanor Whitmore's Perspective
After everything that player known as Aslan had already done in the dungeon, Eleanor believed nothing else could surprise her.
He had held back hordes on his own.
Faced sub-bosses as if they were mere obstacles.
Guided the team with firm plans and steady instructions.
In her eyes, Aslan had already shown everything he had to offer.
After all…
The game had barely launched.
How many tricks could a player possibly have up his sleeve in so little time?
But once again, Eleanor was wrong.
Because suddenly, the man before her no longer resembled the solid, controlled Tank who had been supporting the team from the start.
There was nothing of that cold, calculated wall left.
Nothing of the patient warrior who dodged, blocked, and redirected strikes like an unbreakable rock.
What emerged now was something else entirely.
Aslan looked like a berserker consumed by rage.
Every movement carried raw violence, pure instinct, unrestrained savagery.
The shield, once an impenetrable barrier, was now a brutal weapon, slammed into the guards like a battering ram.
The axe, once a tool of measured precision, now fell in devastating blows that tore armor, shattered bones, crushed flesh.
Eleanor could barely keep up.
She, who had always prided herself on her cool focus and meticulous attention to detail, now had to push herself to the limit just to react.
Her heals flowed in frantic cadence, light after light, closing wounds before Alessio even had time to bleed out.
It was as if she were healing a man fighting at the edge of his existence.
A warrior who accepted injury, who let blades pierce his body, just to gain space for an even more devastating strike.
And the most terrifying part was — it worked.
Bit by bit, the two guards — once perfectly synchronized — began to falter.
It was hard to maintain order against madness.
Hard to coordinate when the enemy became a predator willing to sacrifice himself just to destroy.
A chill ran down Eleanor's spine.
The Black Tower was already brutal enough.
But Aslan… Aslan seemed more brutal than the Tower itself.
The hall had become a stage of brutal collisions.
Aslan hurled himself at the guards without fear, each axe strike echoing like an anvil being shattered.
He didn't dodge every blow — often he let the blade sink into flesh or dent his armor, just to secure the perfect position to counter.
The shield smashed into one goblin's face, breaking its nose with a wet crack.
The monster staggered, but before it could retreat, Alessio's axe was already descending.
The impact split shoulder and chest, ripping a guttural scream from it.
The second guard seized the opening and struck from the side, his blade tearing through Alessio's ribs.
Hot blood sprayed into the air.
"Healing Dew!" Eleanor cried, her voice breaking, golden light exploding from her hands.
The wound sealed in seconds, leaving only a red line.
Aslan rose again as if nothing had happened, spitting blood on the floor and roaring like a beast.
Another charge.
More cuts.
More blows.
She felt her mana draining in frantic rhythm, as if her own strength were being consumed alongside his body.
The first guard tried to regain coordination, circling to strike from the side — but Aslan spun in a savage move.
The shield slammed into the sword, deflecting it, and in the same instant his axe swung in a devastating arc.
The blade bit into the joint between neck and shoulder.
The goblin's body split with a sickening crack, black blood spilling across the hall.
The creature dropped to its knees, then collapsed with vacant, glassy eyes.
One guard was dead.
And even with blood streaming from his own body, Alessio remained standing, panting, eyes still blazing with fury, as if the fight had only just begun.
Eleanor could hardly believe it.
She didn't know if it was courage… or sheer madness.
The corpse of the first guard still lay on the floor, blood pooling dark around it.
But there was no time to breathe.
The second was already roaring, raising his greatsword in both hands, consumed by the loss of his comrade.
He charged at Aslan like lightning.
The strike came down in a straight arc, so heavy it cracked the ground when it met the shield.
The impact drove Alessio back several steps, his feet gouging deep lines into the stone floor.
Eleanor's heart raced.
Light flared from her hands again, reinforcing Alessio's bones and flesh just as the Tank roared back, meeting the pressure head-on.
The fight became a clash of titans.
The goblin pressed in with fury, blow after blow, no space to breathe.
But Alessio didn't yield.
He absorbed strikes with his shield, deflected blades at impossible angles, and every time he found an opening, he answered with a Power Strike that made the enemy's armor groan, threatening to split.
Blood ran thick down his arm, but Eleanor was always there, always a step behind, always keeping him upright.
She stitched wounds before his body could falter, healed fractures before they became weaknesses.
It was as if they were bound together — his madness only possible because she sustained it.
A deafening roar erupted when Aslan slammed into the goblin, shield against blade, driving it back into the wall.
Stone cracked under the pressure.
The enemy tried to counter, but Alessio's axe was already descending in a brutal arc.
First strike: the goblin's shoulder was crushed.
Second strike: the blade split its thigh, tearing an animalistic scream from its throat.
Third strike: the shield smashed its face, breaking teeth and bone.
The goblin tried to stand, but Aslan's fury gave no room.
With a final roar, Alessio raised his axe in both hands and brought it down, heavy as the Tower's own judgment.
The blade carved from skull to chest.
The body split in two, collapsing in pieces before him.
The second guard was dead.
And Eleanor, breathless, her hands still glowing with mana, could only stare at the man before her.
He looked more beast than human.
And above all, like someone who would never retreat — not even in the face of death.
But then, unexpectedly, he started running toward her.
Eleanor's body froze. Could it be that he had completely lost control… to the point of seeing even her as an enemy?
She couldn't let that happen — she had to defend herself… but he was simply too fast.
Before she could even react, he was already on top of her, knocking her to the ground.