The horns didn't stop. They grew louder, echoing through the valley, until even the earth seemed to shake with their call.
From the treeline, shadows poured like black water—goblins, dozens, then hundreds. Some rode mangy wolves with foaming mouths, others carried torches and crude banners stitched from human skin. Their eyes glowed faintly green in the dim light, each pair a promise of violence.
The villagers scrambled in panic. The repaired gate was still weak, the palisade half-burnt from yesterday's fire. Men shouted, children cried, women dragged belongings as if preparing to flee—but there was nowhere to run.
Serenya barked orders, forcing them into formation, but fear made their hands shake. Axes slipped, spears wobbled. They weren't soldiers. They never would be.
Kael stood among them, cleaver in hand. The mark in his palm burned like fire, pulsing in rhythm with the horns. He could feel the horde, like a tide pressing against his chest, daring him to meet it.
And he wanted to.
The hunger gnawed inside him.
---
Eldran's voice cut through the chaos. "Shields to the front! Brace the gate! Archers—such as we have—take the walls!"
The villagers obeyed, clumsy but desperate.
Serenya climbed the wall, her bow already strung, her silhouette sharp against the rising sun. "Kael," she called down, eyes like steel, "don't die too far from me. I don't have arrows to spare on saving your fool head."
Kael almost smiled. Almost. "I'll try not to make it easy for them."
Then the horde struck.
---
The first wave slammed against the gate. Wood groaned, nails popped, screams rose. Torches flew over the wall, landing among thatched roofs. Smoke curled immediately, choking the air.
Arrows whistled down from Serenya's bow, each finding a throat or eye. But there were too many. For every goblin that fell, three more surged forward.
Kael leapt into the fray as the gate shuddered and split. The villagers tried to hold the line, but the flood broke through, and suddenly the enemy was inside.
The cleaver felt light in his hands. Too light. He swung, and the blade cut deep, splitting skulls, tearing flesh. Blood splattered warm against his face.
A spear pierced his ribs. He staggered—then rose again, whole. The goblin shrieked as Kael tore the weapon from its grip and drove it through its chest.
[Death Count +1]
[Attributes Enhanced.]
[Soul Strain: 21%]
The System's glow burned at the edge of his vision, and with it came the whisper.
"Yes. Again. Again."
---
Around him, villagers fell like wheat before the scythe. Their screams clawed at Kael's ears, but he pushed forward, carving a path through the horde. Each death fueled him. Each fall and rise stripped away something fragile inside him, leaving only the rhythm of killing.
He died with a wolf's jaws crushing his throat.
He rose with sharper reflexes, cleaver severing the beast's head in one stroke.
He died as a goblin's axe split his skull.
He rose with stronger arms, tearing the creature apart with his bare hands.
Again. And again.
The world blurred into a cycle of agony and triumph. His body became a storm, unstoppable, inhuman.
And the villagers saw.
Their fear deepened. Some faltered, dropping weapons, backing away from him as much as from the enemy. He couldn't blame them. He wasn't sure what he looked like anymore—a man, or a revenant drenched in blood.
---
On the wall, Serenya's arrows slowed. She cursed under her breath, quiver nearly empty. When she glanced down and saw Kael, her eyes widened—not with awe, but with dread.
"Damn it, Kael…" she whispered.
Beside her, Eldran's grip tightened on his staff. He muttered incantations, hurling bolts of fire into the horde, but his gaze never left Kael.
"He cannot keep this pace," the old mage rasped. "The soul was not built to endure such strain."
Serenya's jaw clenched. "And if he breaks?"
"Then the enemy will not be the only thing we face."
---
The goblin warlord revealed itself at last. Not like the one Kael had slain before—bigger, armored in chainmail stolen from fallen knights, scars crisscrossing its face. It carried a jagged blade as tall as Kael himself.
It roared, the sound shaking the battlefield, and the horde rallied.
Kael turned, eyes locking with the beast's. His mark flared, blazing bright through the grime on his hand. For an instant, everything fell silent—the screams, the clash, even his heartbeat. Only the hunger remained.
He charged.
The warlord met him with a swing that split the earth, stone cracking under the force. Kael rolled aside, cleaver flashing upward, carving into its thigh. Black blood sprayed. The beast howled and struck again, faster than something that size had any right to move.
Kael's arm shattered under the blow. Pain blazed—then vanished. He rose whole, cleaver in both hands, eyes burning.
The whispers screamed inside him.
"Kill it. Take its strength. Become more."
---
Their clash became the eye of the storm. Goblins and villagers alike gave them space, too afraid to be caught in the wake. Blades rang, sparks flew. Kael moved like a man possessed—because he was. Each strike grew surer, faster, less human.
The warlord roared and slammed its blade down. Kael caught the strike, muscles straining, feet sinking into the dirt. His cleaver cracked under the pressure.
The mark seared his flesh. For an instant, Kael saw the faceless throne again, the figure waiting, patient. And a voice, deeper than the System's, whispered—
"Claim it. Or be claimed."
With a cry that was equal parts rage and surrender, Kael drove the broken cleaver into the warlord's throat. Black blood gushed, the beast choking, stumbling, collapsing in a heap.
The horde faltered. Their leader dead, their courage shattered. They fled into the forest, vanishing like smoke.
Silence fell.
---
Kael stood over the corpse, chest heaving, body unmarked but dripping with gore. The broken cleaver slipped from his hand. His mark glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The villagers stared, wide-eyed, trembling.
Serenya climbed down from the wall, bow still in hand, face grim. She approached slowly, as if nearing a cornered animal. Eldran followed, his staff glowing faintly.
Kael met their eyes, searching for relief, for gratitude. But all he saw was fear.
"You…" a villager whispered. "You're not one of us. You're… something else."
Kael's breath hitched. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to shout that he had saved them. That without him, they'd all be dead.
But the mark burned in his palm, and the whispers answered for him.
"Not man. Not yet monster. But soon."
---