As the dust thinned, the horror revealed itself.
The giant was standing tall. In his massive fist, he clutched the short-swordsman's head. He used the man's body as a living club. He swung the screaming veteran like a flail, smashing him into the spearman.
The spearman scrambled, but the mountain of muscle leaped.
SPLAT.
The spearman was crushed against the stone. Blood pooled instantly. The giant wasn't done. With a guttural grunt, he gripped the dying short-swordsman by the waist and shoulders.
RIP.
He tore the man in two, hurling the gore-soaked remains at the old man and the scouts who were charging at him. With a sword hilt protruding from his eye socket and a spear lodged in his leg, the giant was no longer human. He was truly a Behemoth.
He turned his head. His one remaining eye—bloodshot and crazed—locked onto Tuka.
Tuka tried to move, he could see his party almost reaching him. But the giant was faster. A backhand strike caught Tuka's body, tossing him aside like trash.
Tuka forced his battered body upward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn't feel a thing below his waist. Panic flared for a second until he looked down; his legs were still there, just numb and unresponsive.
The carnage around him—the mangled remains of the two swordsmen—made his stomach churn. A bitter, acidic taste rose in his throat, and he fought the urge to retch.
Suddenly, a massive shadow fell over him. Above, his party charged the giant in a desperate blur of motion, every second stretching into a painful eternity.
His sword had gone, lost somewhere in the debris.
Desperate, Tuka's fingers brushed against cold steel—a short sword belonging to a fallen comrade. He gripped it with trembling hands and leveled it at the towering Behemoth; his final act of defiance against his shitty fate.
A weary, broken grin tugged at his lips.
All of this for a lost sheep, he thought. What a joke.
Strangely, the fear had gone.
The giant reached down, its massive hand closing in to crush Tuka's skull—
[Congratulations!]
[You have cleared your 1st Penance! Divinity is unlocked!]
Tuka's brow furrowed. He didn't have the strength to be confused.
[The Dead Gods chuckled at The Shepherd.]
He let out a breathy, delirious laugh. "You like this huh? But….your entertainment will end if I die..." he wheezed, the words tumbling out of his mind. "Why don't you…kill him. Please."
The ground shivered.
Suddenly, the ghouls and skeletons—the monsters that had been scattered and fleeing—stopped.
They turned as one.
A tide of death rushed forward. They ignored the scouts. They ignored the old man. They swarmed the giant like starving locusts. Ghouls bit into exposed muscle. Skeletons hacked at his joints with mindless rage. The giant crushed them by the dozens, but they were endless. A sea of rotting flesh drowning a mountain of steel.
What is happening?
The giant was buried under the mountain of the undead horde. He couldn't swing. He couldn't breathe. In a final, desperate act of strength, he threw his entire weight into a massive roll, pulverizing the undead beneath his plate armor.
The old man didn't miss the opening. He skidded through the gore, coming up behind the behemoth.
CRACK.
A bone-shattering slash to the back of the knee, though it can't penetrate the armor, the heavy blow was enough to shatter the bone inside. The giant buckled, falling to its joints, but lashed out with a desperate shoulder bash that sent the old man crashing back into the scouts.
"Holy Light!"
The Acolyte's flash seared the tunnel, blinding the giant's remaining eye.
[Aura Blade]
The claymore swordsman took the leap. His blade was a streak of bluish fire, driving deep into the giant's chest.
Stab.
Refusing to go down alone, the giant roared—a final—spiteful punch connecting with the swordsman's guard.
The impact launched them in opposite directions.
The swordsman tumbled toward the acolyte—but the giant, a mountain of dying flesh, was hurtling straight toward Tuka.
Tuka couldn't move. He stayed rooted to the spot. He didn't have a choice. Grabbing the short sword with both hands, he wedged the hilt against the stone and squeezed his eyes shut. He stopped fighting the fear and simply waited for the end.
STAB.
A thick, sickening gurgle echoed in the sudden silence.
Tuka opened his eyes.
The giant lay slumped over him, the momentum stopped by three inches of cold steel buried in its throat. The killing blow. Delivered by the man who could barely stand. He sat frozen. Hand still gripping the hilt of the short-sword embedded in the giant's neck. The giant's weight pressed down on him, blood flowing freely, smearing his trousers and soaking into his leather armor. It was a fitting gruesome end. A redemption for what he had done to his party.
Steam hissed from the giant's corpse, and a shimmering silver crystal fragment—a sura—manifested in the air.
Tuka didn't hesitate at all. The horror of the last few minutes had burned away his naivety; he knew the scouts were likely watching, and the group wouldn't likely give it to him just because he managed to deliver a final blow; he knew he needed strength to survive them.
He snatched the silver light before anyone could blink.
Crumble.
The sura turned to stardust, seeping into the sigil on the back of his hand. A searing, familiar heat erupted under his skin. It felt like a branding iron. When the pain subsided, he stole a glance at his hand. The sword icon had changed. A thin, sharp circle now enclosed the blade.
it evolved? I hope no one saw, his heart hammering against his ribs.
With a strained grunt, Tuka shoved the giant's heavy, armored arm off his chest. The metal hit the stone floor with a hollow clang. He looked up to see the old man and the scouts approaching. The old man landed in front of him and asked:
"Any wounds?"
Tuka wiped a smear of gore from his cheek.
"No," He said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Fortunately, most of this isn't mine."
The old man raised a gray eyebrow. A dry chuckle escaped his lips.
"You're one lucky bastard. Get up. The monsters are back on the prowl now that their big friend is dead."
He paused, glancing at the scattering ghouls.
"Still... what made them pounce on him like that?"
It was the question everyone was thinking. The old man shrugged and extended a weathered hand. Tuka took it, hauling himself up. His legs were pins and needles, but they held.
The chaos had resumed. The ghouls and skeletons were back to their mindless frenzy, lashing out at anything that breathed.
Tuka felt a prickle on the back of his neck. The two scouts were hovering near the giant's corpse. Their eyes were darting, searching for a thing that all Asura covet. Tuka looked away, feigning exhaustion.
They can't prove a thing.
"Whatever, I can think of it later. My body felt like a wreck," Tuka groaned
He wrenched his short sword from the giant's neck. Then he realized the gory scenes in front of him and lurched, vomiting.
"Ugh….how can someone get used to this." He wiped his mouth and turned away from the corpse.
They pushed back into the fray. The tunnel was a mess of shrieks and clashing steel, but as Tuka swung his blade, a strange sensation washed over him.
The monsters...
Somehow they felt slower.
[Fire Bolt]
Boom.
A roar of crackling heat scorched the air. Tuka threw himself into the dirt as a flurry of sparks hissed past his ear, immolating a cluster of skeletons behind him.
"Was he trying to kill me?!" Tuka grunted. He rolled back to his feet, lungs burning.
Was that accidental? Or did they know he took the sura? Paranoia gnawed at him now, corrupting his mind; every Asura in the tunnel felt like a potential blade in his back.
Sometimes later. From the shadows of the deeper tunnel, the boss emerged.
He looked disturbingly pristine, his cape wasn't even dusted. Behind him, his party looked like they'd been through a meat grinder—dented plate, deep gashes, ragged breath.
The boss ignored his men. His eyes were locked on the fallen giant.
"Wow! You actually took down the Mad Templar?" The boss's cheeriness was hollow, echoing off the damp stone. "My vice-captain really is something else, isn't he?"
The vice-captain—the claymore swordsman only offered a pained, wet grunt. He was barely hanging onto consciousness. The boss stood over the corpse, his eyes narrowed, searching.
"Nothing dropped, huh?" His grin turned serious.
"Consider this a mercy for your past sin." He kicked the giant's body and chuckled. His gaze turned frigid as he surveyed the bodies of his fallen men.
What a mess.