There was only so many times a blade could cut down to bone before it dulled.

  Swords were made more for flesh and muscle, a proficient warrior who cared for their weapon would aim for arteries and tendons, avoiding the ivory skeleton entirely. I was no proficient warrior, all I had was half-baked skill from years of training, decent muscle mass for my age, access to my mana, and a burning desire to survive.

  That led to lots of amateur swings that dug into osseous tissue, sometimes even severing it entirely! Well, not anymore. As previously stated, each strike to bone dulled a blade, to the point where it couldn’t reach deep enough without a swing I wasn’t capable of mustering. That was fine. That was all fine. I just needed to keep swinging.

  I panted heavily as my back was pressed against a wall of some fuckface’s home. Blood coated my blade like an extra layer of crimson, alongside a few shallow wounds on my person. Just a few scratches, just scratches.

  Except for the one on my thigh. That one was bleeding quite a lot.

  I kept my blade pointed forward, using my left leg as a crutch and keeping the goblins at a distance. They snapped their teeth at me in a bid of intimidation. Like animals. Because that was all they were, weren’t they? Animals that would kill me. I didn’t want to die.

  Neither did most people, didn’t stop the process. That almost got a twisted chuckle out of me, perhaps if I wasn’t struggling to breathe. Fuck. How long had I been fighting? Bodies weren’t meant for long bouts of intensity, even with mana, and I could swear the sun had moved since I started.

  The cunts kept clacking their teeth and letting out strange whines that sounded something like the death knell of a whale. There was also the laughing, and fuck the laughing. What kind of vocal cords were capable of making that kind of noise?

  I needed to get the fuck out of there, but they caged me in. I didn’t know goblins were capable of strategy but the five remaining had switched tactics after the death of their brethren. Buying time for more to come rather than stupidly attacking me with their claws. I had just been standing there panting, trying to catch my breath as frayed nerves threatened my focus.

  I couldn’t run, I could barely hobble; incapable as I was of placing any weight on my right. I was getting close to the limits of my mana as well. It was just an instinct, but something told me that if I subjected my body to…perhaps an hour's worth of the energy? Yes, that sounded right. If I used about that much I’d meet a gruesome end just the same.

  So, me and my blade, against five goblins, with more on their way.

  Fuck, I didn’t want to die.

  One of the goblins did a kind of growl/laugh, snapping my attention to the thing just before it jumped towards me. I put as much weight as I could on my right leg and ducked, leaving the emerald midget to crash their overgrown skull into a limestone wall. In the time it took me to move, another goblin swiped at my face and clawed off a chunk of my cheek.

  I stabbed the bastard through the eye.

  Yet another crashed into my back, sending me tumbling to the ground. I screamed and swung as hard as I could, putting my back to the ground.

  It hit nothing, nothing at all.

  None of the goblins took advantage of my vulnerability as I got back up and pointed my sword at them, sweating so hard I might’ve genuinely been capable of filling a bucket. My tunic stuck to me like some slime where small gashes hadn’t rented it open. The goblins growled, lower this time.

  The closest comparison I could think of was a lawn mower, if said lawn mower was capable of projecting sadism. I pushed myself back against the wall, pointing my blade at the…seven goblins?

  The colour drained from my face, and the green demons laughed their cursed song.

  Swing, blood, pain.

  Swing, blood, pain.

  Swing, blood, pain.

  The world was so narrow in its vastness, wasn’t it? Somewhere out there was a smith working through metal, and not too far down the street there might’ve been a weaver spinning their fibers into yarn. Perhaps even a carpenter working their craft. The grand sum was something varied, each piece as unique as the last. But what was there besides the hammer to a smith? What worries did a weaver have for sawdust? And why would the carpenter care for the troubles of the loom?

  Each their own, stuck in their cycle. To them the world was small, because they weren’t thinking of the world, just their world. But that could change so quickly can’t it? From beating metal to struggling through survival, all in a single day.

  I wasn’t a warrior, I only knew the basics. My plan was to join the Delvers someday, so I could get some experience before the end came. Maybe become an adventurer for a bit in search of grand artifacts I knew were out there. That plan was dead in the water now, alongside me, inevitably.

  But I didn’t want to die. So I cut, and I hobbled, and I fought and fought and fo—

  I was so tired. If I had the presence of mind, I might’ve been capable of telling the time, but as it stood I was just a thing of violence. My sword so dulled that it barely cut at all, goblins charging at me in a frenzy over the corpses of their fellows.

  There was just so many.

  But the rhythm I’d found was working, and my ears were practically hyperaware of the World’s whispers. They hadn’t managed to deal anything more than scratches in a while, not since one ripped off a chunk of my forearm with their teeth. It was like I could just tell what was going to happen, even with the goblins outside my line of sight, following the cadence of whispers that I thought I understood.

  And so my world was blood.

  Crimson and viscous, it painted the alley I had cornered myself in with its vibrancy. Goblins bled the same red as everything else, despite their otherness. I found that kind of funny, in a morbid sense.

  How could those things hold any similarities with the sane?

  And so my world was filled with swings.

  A tired body struggling through soreness and suffering to stay alive for just a moment longer. Just a moment. Those moments compounded onto one another with each motion, bringing me closer to something resembling survival.

  And survival was a costly thing, wasn't it?

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  So many wounds littered my body, both shallow and deep. The gouge on my thigh had been dug deeper, greenskins possessing some level of intelligence and aiming for my greatest weakness. I’d been stabbed in the belly, and I was surely suffering some internal bleeding.

  Hells, I was suffering a lot of external bleeding right then, so much so that I was a little woozy. Or was that the fatigue? Who knows, it wasn’t much of a priority to weed through the details.

  Every part of my body wanted rest, wanted me to stop, wanted to give up.

  But I wouldn’t give up, I refused to.

  Because I’d live forever.

  Claws coming for my eyes.

  I tilted back, just out of range, and stabbed an incoming goblin on my right. It twisted and dodged, backing away, and I was forced to strike another to the left with what I could manage of a fist. I sent it stumbling, as well as breaking a few of my fingers. I gritted my teeth, I could fix those later.

  Just had to maintain the motion of my blade as another swiped at me.

  They were playing with me, I could tell from the sardonic glee radiating from their forms. There was a point where we were equals, where I could muster the strength to fend off multiple at once. That time had passed. Now they were taking turns, mocking me with grating laughter.

  Teeth, aimed to clamp onto my thigh.

  I’d learned intimately that a goblin’s teeth as well as bite force weren’t to be underestimated, so I struck it with all the force I could muster. Beating it with the dull thing my blade had become, leaving a small mark for blood to flow, so little blood. I caught the next with the pommel of my gladius, hitting it hard enough where one of its large eyes pops out of its skull.

  All of that was pointless, just ineffectual flailing. Entertainment for a bunch of monsters. But still. Still. I fought.

  Then two came for me at once, one swiped down in a long arc and the other aimed to disembowel me. I leaned forward, letting the first strike tear shallow cuts on my back as I stabbed forward and impaled the other before they could hurt me. I turned and smashed my blade into a jumping goblin as the first bit down on my calf.

  I screamed and it tore off a sizeable chunk of muscle, effectively making my right leg useless. I pushed through the pain, because it was the only thing I could do, and brought the point of my gladius down through the bastard’s spine.

  They went limp, and I panted as I took in my surroundings.

  So many goblins filled the alley, each cheering for my death, hoping to be the one to deal the finishing blow. Perhaps if they cared about their lives, I could’ve intimidated them. I’d killed at least ten after all, and surely that should’ve meant something? But it didn’t, so my ferocity was nothing but an obstacle.

  One they could’ve overcome at any time if they chose to attack all at once.

  The screaming stopped—at least the human screaming. I didn’t know when was the last time I had heard one, but it was surely a few minutes. Surely.

  Fuck, I should’ve stayed in the smithy, at least then I’d have some area control. Running away was a stupid choice, which landed me in this stupid alley where I’d die a stupid death.

  Something hurt deep in my chest, like a burning sensation. It got a little worse with each kill, and the demon seemed ecstatic about the whole ordeal, seemingly paying no attention to the fact that I was going to die.

  What would it care though? It was a demon, and that didn’t change just because I was more familiar with them. It already got its bargain, if I died all it would lose was an opportunity to grow, but there would presumably be others. So long as it survived in its hell? I didn’t know how it worked, I didn't particularly care either.

  The goblins growled as they stepped forward, ready to—

  A rumble, so deep it couldn’t come from anything natural, so powerful that it shook me to the core. I fell to my knees, screaming as something invaded my mind. Something strange and filled with rough edges, a fractal of a fractal condensed in a cone of oppressive strength. It was madness and might and death and dominance and—

  It was too much for my mind, too great a burden on my soul, even my demon squealed in pain at the intrusion—

  And then it was over, leaving me panting as I leaned on my blade, digging slightly into the ground.

  Something walked over to me, something huge.

  In the game the excuse for enemies to show up on the minimap was some magic sensor bullshit. Well, whatever it was that had stepped in front of me was screaming to my senses at the sheer weight it carried.

  I looked up, and witnessed a green behemoth of four arms and eyes. Each hand carrying a head, biting through one as though it were an apple. A jaw that was much too wide chewing through skull and brain matter, producing a sickening ambiance.

  It was smiling at me, and it didn't feel like anything kind.

  “Hmmm, don’t get to talk often, elf-kin, not with this lot,” it rumbled, waving an arm around it at the goblins which all cowered in its presence. “Bleh, your tongue is strange. Too flowery. Why not get to the point instead of dealing with all the poetic bullshit? I was hoping you’d know the Old Tongue, but I guess you’re too young for that.”

  It took a final bite of the same skull, fitting the rest in its maw. I was breathing hard, and shaking hard, and I might have pissed myself. Could anyone even blame me? This, this was too much, I could tell that if it wanted me dead then I simply would be, with no chance at retaliation. It wasn’t instinct, it was certainty.

  It swallowed, letting out a contented sigh before going to lick its fingers. “Never have I ever done this with one of your age, but there’s a first for everything isn’t there? Tell me girl, do you want to live? Stupid question, I know, but I do need to ask.”

  I was shaking so much, I might’ve been crying? But still I managed a nod.

  “Good! Then you get to, congratulations,” It rumbled. “we can even make a little deal. You witch types like deals, don’t you? Don’t answer that, I can tell you're a little rattled.

  "So! So, so, so. What might I have to offer? Simple really. Power! The hallmark of anything sensible. I just need you to carry my mark, then all my little minions will leave you all alone.”

  I tried to control my breathing, and failed miserably. I could tell there was a catch to this, but I wasn’t really in the position to bargain. “Do I have a choice?”.

  Its smile was wide, filled with too broad teeth destined to crush, stretching back all the way to its ears. “I like you! Cautious. Don’t worry, whether you take the deal or not won’t change the fact that I’m letting you live. The World doesn’t like these things to be under duress after all.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second.

  “What’ll it do to me?” I asked.

  “No more harm then you’ve already done to yourself,” It chuckled, and it was revelation alongside—

  Focus.

  I just stared at it.

  It sighed. “REGENERATE, deliver unto another.”

  Energy crashed into my body, suffusing me with vitality and—

  My wounds closed, great gashes and rents became shallow scars as skin knitted itself back together. It felt strange, and warm.

  I looked down bewildered at myself, then stared at the orc. “Why?"

  “I told you didn’t I?” It rumbled with disapproval laced in its voice. “I’ll let you live either way, and those wounds would kill you given enough time.”

  I stared hard at the impossible beast before me, blood caked over its form as it crossed its arms. “What do I get out of this deal?” I said cautiously.

  The bulldozer of death perked up. “Spells! A series of them, but just one to start, the others come once you’ve…adapted.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll figure it out,” it waved me off. “But I can tell that the demon you’ve bonded with has been no help, and you can’t exactly integrate into magic society, so learning spells’ll be quite impossible!”

  I tried to be calculating about this, but I was tired, didn't want to die, and the offer was tantalizing all on its own. “What’ll you get out of it?”

  It spread its arms wide. “Not going to tell you everything, little immortal, figure it out on your own.”

  Power, it got power.

  That was the only logical answer, but how much power could it get off of me?

  “Alright,” I nodded.

  Its twisted smile widened, and a hand landed on my head.

  “The names Arr’koro. Don’t forget it.”

  Then I was overwhelmed with Knowledge and blacked out.