The ogre stepped forward.
Its eyes locked on Ella.
The awakened fire magic. That's what drew it.
The ground sank beneath its weight.
Wood strained under nearby structures. Dust lifted with each step, drifting through the air.
No one moved.
For a moment—even the hunters hesitated.
Not from fear.
From instinct.
Something about it didn't align.
Then Mika raised his weapon.
"Hold the line! Protect the village at any cost!"
The shout broke the stillness.
They charged.
Steel met flesh—and failed.
The first hunter swung at its leg, the angle clean, the timing right.
The blade struck—and stopped.
The edge failed to bite.
The ogre moved. Too fast.
No shift in weight.
No warning.
Its arm swung once.
The hit landed clean.
A body lifted from the ground—weight erased—then vanished into the dark.
No scream.
Just impact.
Ere's gaze sharpened.
Something was wrong.
The speed didn't match the size.
The resistance didn't match the flesh.
Everything about this felt wrong.
Another hunter rushed in—then a second.
They moved together, angling for its side.
Closer spacing. Better timing.
The ogre turned.
Its axe came down.
The ground split beneath it.
Dirt and stone burst upward.
When it settled—both were gone.
Every hunter took a step back.
Then another.
No one gave the order.
Fear spread—small, silent, real.
Ere moved, breaking whatever held him in place.
He didn't know why he hadn't moved sooner.
Part of it was simple—this thing outclassed anything he had seen.
But as bodies began to fall, that hesitation lost its place.
Action became inevitable.
Shadow carried him forward.
The dagger cut across the ogre's arm. A line opened, dark blood spilling.
The ogre stopped.
Slowly, it looked down at him—as if it had found prey worth playing with.
Then it swung.
Ere dodged—vanished, reappearing behind it.
He cut again—faster, higher, deeper.
But the wounds closed quicker than expected.
Watching Ere move pulled the hunters back in—Mika among them.
In that opening, they struck.
From all sides—spears, axes, blades.
It didn't matter.
The ogre pushed forward, each step breaking their formation.
Another swing—another body fell.
This time, Ere felt it.
Familiar.
A hunter from his village.
Fury—the one who had spoken of what lay beyond.
Gone.
Something tightened. Not fear. Not hesitation.
Something colder took its place.
He stepped forward again. Alone.
Shadow deepened beneath his feet.
Das pulsed—hungry.
Ere moved.
Faster now. No wasted motion.
Each strike precise—neck, joints.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The ogre roared.
Its movements grew heavier—but not slower.
Still not enough.
Ere's breath shortened, his body beginning to resist.
Too much.
Das was taking more than he could sustain.
And the ogre was adapting.
Its focus narrowed—tracking his movements, adjusting.
The fight shifted against him quickly.
Around them, the villagers had already retreated. No one stepped forward. No one spoke.
Ere's steps slowed. His strikes lost weight.
He dodged more than he attacked—then mistimed one.
The hit landed clean.
His body lifted—then slammed into a cart at the side.
Wood cracked on impact.
Shadow-stepping was becoming less effective in his current state.
If not for the dagger absorbing part of the impact—he would have died.
He needed to block. Not just dodge.
But how—with such a weak body?
The ogre gave him no time to think.
The axe rose—then dropped straight at him.
Mika cut in at the last second, dragging Ere out of its path.
It paused—then turned away from him, moving toward the village.
A house collapsed under its step. Wood shattered, the roof folding inward.
Another followed.
Structures broke apart like they weren't meant to stand.
Then—a scream.
Familiar.
Too close.
Ere's gaze shifted.
His mother.
Another crash cut the sound short.
Ere swallowed the blood filling his mouth.
And stood.
Das reacted.
A flicker.
The dagger pulsed—different this time.
Not hunger.
A response.
Then—pain struck. Sharp, spreading from his arm across his chest.
His body reacted before his mind did.
Dark scales erupted across his skin—thin, layered, alive.
They spread along his arm, over his shoulder, across his ribs.
Ere stilled, just for a moment.
Stronger. Lighter. Faster.
The ogre advanced toward its target.
Ere stepped—gone.
He reappeared above its swing, already descending toward his mother.
The world slowed for him. Not for it.
He cut.
Once—across the eye.
Twice—into the neck.
Three—deep into the chest.
The strikes punched through muscle—then hit bone with a dull, grinding stop.
Blood surged out, coating the blade as it tore free.
The ogre staggered.
For the first time, it lost balance.
Ere landed—and didn't stop.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each strike drove deeper—each motion sharper, cleaner—stripping everything down to killing intent.
The ogre roared—then faltered.
Its grip loosened. The weapon slipped from its hand.
Its knees bent under its own weight.
Ere stepped in. Close now—within reach.
Too close for anything but the end.
The dagger drove forward.
The tip met resistance—then pushed through.
Through flesh.
Through the thickness of its neck.
Into its throat.
The ogre froze.
For a moment—nothing moved.
Then the weight gave out.
Its body collapsed.
The ground shook under the impact.
Dust rose, slow and heavy, swallowing the space between them.
Then—stillness.
Ere stood there, covered in blood.
Breathing.
Barely.
The scales cracked.
Faded.
His body trembled.
Too much.
The dagger dimmed.
For once—silent.
Ere's vision blurred.
The world tilted.
Voices reached him.
Distant.
Unclear.
He took one step.
Then another.
Then—nothing.
As he fell—he felt something moved.
Beyond the gate.
Deeper in the dark.
Watching. Waiting.