I had gone into this fight with a stupid assumption—that ogres were slow. Big, lumbering, predictable targets. Turns out that was completely wrong. These things were fast. Not graceful, not agile, but terrifyingly quick for creatures their size. Their swings came down like wrecking balls, and their footwork was a lot more coordinated than it had any right to be.

  The battlefield churned around us. Dust clouds kicked up with every ogre stomp, the impact shaking loose dirt into the air until everything had a faint, hazy glow. Men shouted commands I couldn’t make out. The wooden walls of the village rattled at every massive impact, vibrating like they were ready to splinter.

  I dodged most of the green ogres easily, partly because I wasn’t fighting them. Commander’s orders were clear: leaders handle the elites. So I pushed past the chaos and went straight for the nearest purple ogre.

  Up close, fear hit me hard.

  Its skin wasn’t just purple — it was dark and mottled, like bruised flesh stretched too thin over muscle. Veins pulsed across its arms, glowing a sickly violet, and each exhale smelled like rotten meat. It wasn’t as big as the ink golem from the library, but the feeling was different. The golem had fought like a guardian protecting its home. This thing radiated something else entirely. Bloodlust. Hunger. Like it wanted to rip me apart just to hear the sound I’d make.

  I went low and swung for the knee. Sweet Spot triggered instantly, and Density Breaker didn’t even need to activate—kneecaps were already begging to be smashed. The ogre groaned and brought its club down in a vicious vertical arc. I rolled aside, dirt spraying under me, the impact shaking the ground behind me hard enough to rattle my teeth.

  Good. I could handle this rhythm.

  I launched a fire bolt at its face. The ogre flinched, raising an arm to shield itself, and I slammed its knee again. I felt the damage this time—bone cracking under the force. Progress, but not enough. It didn’t buckle or slow. Just got angrier.

  We traded blows like that for what felt like a full minute—me dodging, chipping, striking, dodging again—until a sudden thought hit me.

  There were four purple ogres.

  I turned, scanning the battlefield, and my stomach dropped. The last purple ogre was engaged with a smaller squad of soldiers. Dust swirled around them, and every one of the soldiers looked tiny next to the giant they were trying to hold back.

  And in that squad, swinging his sword, barely keeping up—

  Ben.

  “Shit. I need to keep an eye on that fight. If he goes down…”

  he dies for real.

  That split-second of distraction was all it took.

  I didn’t see the club until it was already slamming into my ribs.

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  The world snapped sideways. Air punched out of my lungs in a single brutal burst as I went airborne, flying at least ten feet before skidding across the dirt. The pain was so sharp it blanked my vision for a moment. Compared to this, that heavy ink orb from the golem felt like getting flicked by a toddler.

  The sky spun above me — a pale, dusty gray smeared with rising smoke. Screams and metal clanging echoed strangely, like I was underwater.

  I tried to breathe. Nothing. My lungs seized up, my chest spasming as my body fought desperately for air. The battlefield roared around me—shouts, metal on flesh, the heavy crashing of clubs—but it all felt far away, muffled behind the ringing in my ears.

  I fumbled for a health potion, uncorked it with shaking fingers, and downed it as fast as I could. Warmth spread through my ribs, knitting bone and soothing the worst of the pain—but I’d reacted too late.

  Because the moment I stood, everything went wrong.

  The purple ogre I’d been fighting turned away from me and barreled straight into my squad. One of my men, maybe nineteen, maybe twenty, barely had time to raise his shield before the ogre lifted its club overhead and brought it crashing down.

  The strike was so clean, so brutal, that it looked unreal. The club went through him like a diver cutting into water.

  My blood ran cold.

  A notification flashed in front of me.

  Secret Objective Failed:

  Keep all soldiers alive for all three waves.

  I sank to my knees. The world tilted. I had never seen a person die like that—fast, violent, erased in an instant. And it happened because of me. Because I got distracted. Because I wasn’t good enough to keep him alive. Chaos erupted around us as soldiers broke formation, scrambling away from the elite I was supposed to handle.

  I could have stayed there, kneeling in the dirt, drowning in guilt.

  But then something grabbed my shoulder.

  “Mike!”

  I turned, still stunned. It was Ben—his face pale with fear, his breath ragged, his sword shaking in his hand.

  “Mike! Are you okay?” he asked, eyes scanning me for wounds.

  “No,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Someone just died.”

  I gestured toward what was left of the soldier—the crushed armor, the broken body. A life erased in seconds.

  Ben followed my gaze, jaw tightening.

  “And more will if you don’t stand up and keep fighting.”

  “I failed,” I whispered. “I was supposed to keep them alive. I couldn’t hold the line. I’m not the right guy for this—”

  Ben grabbed my arm. Hard.

  “Mike, with all due respect,” he said, eyes locked onto mine, “what the fuck are you talking about? You are the goddamn line. Without you, we’re all dead.”

  The words hit me like another blow—but not the kind that breaks.

  The kind that wakes you up.

  His eyes burned into mine, fierce and desperate and trusting in a way that twisted something in my chest.

  I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.

  I understood.

  I pushed myself to my feet, wiped the dirt and blood from my palms, and tightened my grip on my bat. The purple ogre roared in the distance, swatting soldiers aside like insects, rampaging through the left flank I was supposed to protect.

  Not anymore.

  I sprinted forward—pain forgotten, fear burned off, lungs pulling in sharp, cold air.

  I downed a strength potion this time.

  Lexi wrote: “You have one potion left in the next 58 minutes.”

  “Don’t worry, Lexi. I won’t need another. No way I’m letting that purple fuck hit me again.”

  Round two.