The axe screamed as it split the air, aimed directly at Zeke’s head, and for a fraction of a second, it felt like time ceased to exist. He saw everything – the blood-flecked spittle flying from the troll’s mouth, the jagged, uneven teeth, the bulbous snout, the pointed and notched ears. He saw the troll’s bunched muscles, its strangely shimmering scales, and its low-quality chain mail. It was a horrifying instrument of death – a huge, scaled grim reaper – and it was coming for him. Finally.

After two years’ worth of close calls within the cave system, his time had at last come. But in those two years of constant struggle, Zeke had cultivated an unrivaled survival sense. He hadn’t just been living on the edge. He had been dangling from that metaphorical cliff ever since he’d been reborn and promptly attacked by the troll larva he’d referred to as croco-rats.

And he hadn’t fallen yet.

Zeke let go, and for a moment, as a feeling weightlessness enveloped him, panic wrapped itself around his heart. Even as he fell, the troll’s axe skipped off the rocky lip of the cliff, sending out sparks. Then, the monster’s second weapon did the same. But by that point, gravity had asserted its will, and Zeke had begun his plummet to the cavern floor.

An instant later, he’d jabbed his hand into the sheer cliff face, his fingers dragging long grooves in the rock as he tried to arrest his fall. It took longer than he expected, and as he failed to grab purchase, the panic that had snaked its way around his heart squeezed. But Zeke wouldn’t let it throw him off course. He was made of stronger stuff than that. He’d long since learned to control his fears. So, he thrust his other hand forward, and after only a second, he managed to arrest his momentum.

He looked up. The troll stared down at him with unbridled fury. But there was something else buried beneath the anger. It bellowed, “Up! Fight!”

Zeke didn’t really know how to react. Nor did he know what to do. There was every chance that if he climbed back up, the troll would attack him as he climbed over the lip. That’s what Zeke would’ve done. But the warlord also seemed eager to continue their fight as well. Did it have a sense of fair play? None of the other trolls seemed afflicted with that poisonous notion. Or was it pride? It had been winning the fight, after all.

In any case, Zeke was at a crossroads. As he saw it, he had two choices ahead of him. He could trust that the troll wanted to kill him “the right way”, which meant slicing him to ribbons with its vicious axes, as opposed to kicking him while he was down. If he chose that direction, the thing would probably let him climb up so they could resume their fight. However, Zeke was in no way sure that he was even reading the warlord’s intentions correctly. And if he wasn’t, he’d probably end up splattered on the cavern floor hundreds of feet below.

The alternative was to steadily climb his way down to the bottom of the cavern, then mount the ramp to rejoin the fight. That was probably safer, but Makazith would likely grow impatient and meet him at the bottom. And that was assuming his endurance would hold out long enough for him to make that descent in the first place.

Whichever direction Zeke chose, he knew there would be significant risks. Or given that a bloodthirsty and vengeful troll warlord was bearing down on him, perhaps “risk” was too weak of a descriptor. Either way, Zeke needed to make a choice. He couldn’t just cling to the cliff face for all of eternity.

He glanced down. The cavern floor was distant enough that it was mired in darkness that rendered it largely invisible. But it had taken him hours to climb that ramp, so he knew just how deep the cavern went. He didn’t relish the thought of climbing it again. Besides, even if everything went perfectly, he’d expend quite a bit of energy along the way. Fighting the troll warlord while exhausted was a recipe for disaster. It was better to simply take his chances and climb up now.

Hanging on with one hand, Zeke’s other dipped into his satchel, retrieving a slab of the life-boosting fish. He wolfed it down as quickly as possible, hoping that the surge of vitality would make some difference during the upcoming fight. As he chewed, the troll warlord roared its displeasure, but Zeke tuned it out – or he tried to, at least. Ignoring a bellowing, ten-foot troll was easier said than done, regardless of the strength of your willpower. Still, Zeke managed to do just that for a handful of minutes while he let the surge of vitality wash over him. During that time, he constructed a plan – or at least the framework of one, given how few advantages he had with which to work.

So, when he finally made his move, he was just about as prepared as he thought he could be – which is to say that he had the barest hint of a shot at winning the battle. But it was the best he could do.

Zeke shot up the cliff face, his fingers finding purchase on even the shallowest handholds as he propelled himself with inhuman strength and agility. In only a second, he crested the lip of the cliff, and dove towards his mace. As soon as he wrapped his hands around its worn, leather grip, he rolled away – just in time to avoid the troll’s descending axe, which cut a long groove in the tough stone. He came to his feet, crouched in a fighter’s stance as he reactivated [Leech Strike].

For a long moment, Makazith and Zeke faced off, staring one another down. Most of the troll’s wounds had already healed, but it was still hobbled by its crippled foot. In addition, the warlord still favored the side that had been caved in by Zeke’s opening salvo, which Zeke had tried to target as often as possible during their battle. However, injured though it was, the troll’s combat ability hadn’t been significantly affected. But those persistent wounds gave Zeke hope. The thing wasn’t invincible. He could hurt it. And if that were true, he could win.

But that was easier said than done.

Even as the battle commenced, Zeke realized that the problem was three-fold. The first, and most obvious, issue was that Zeke couldn’t afford to take too many hits from the massive troll. He could recover from glancing blows, but the thing was simply too big and too strong for Zeke to tank its attacks. So, he’d been forced to rely on his ability to avoid taking damage, which was a far cry from his usual strategy of simply wading into the fray and taking whatever the enemy could dish out. His stats were high enough to make the new strategy viable, but he even he had to admit that he wasn’t comfortable with it.

Which brought him to the next problem – the troll, for all its barbarism, was simply a more skillful warrior than Zeke. It swung its axes with obvious and clear intent, and each strike went precisely where it meant for it to go. By contrast, Zeke looked like a flailing novice. It was only because of his battle instincts and quick reactions that he’d developed during his long trek through the cave system that he managed to hold his own.

Finally, the troll’s vitality, which was boosted to monstrous levels by whatever skill it was using, largely voided the effects of [Leech Strike], which for all its utility, just wasn’t strong enough to make much of a difference. The surge of vitality it brought with each strike was helpful, but given that Zeke didn’t dare let the troll’s blows connect, it was mostly wasted. For the first time since waking up in the caves, Zeke regretted choosing the skill. It had helped him survive so far, but one of the more impressive offensive-oriented skills would’ve served him much better in the battle with the troll.

However, Zeke had no other choice but to forge ahead. So, he pushed himself past his limits as he tried to keep up with the superior fighter. He made little headway, but as the fight went on, Zeke began to see something buried deep within the flow of the battle. An opening here. An obvious tell there. A slightly more optimal trajectory for his weapon. He sank into a battle trance, and the hints of something bigger grew even larger in his mind.

Soon, he began to incorporate it all into his fighting style. It almost felt like the troll slowed down, but in the back of his mind, Zeke knew that it was rather his perception that had sped up. More, though he didn’t swing Voromir with any more force, his blows seemed to carry more weight. More momentum. It was as if his mace carried three-times its normal mass.

It wasn’t the weapon’s curious ability to adjust its weight to his strength. Voromir hadn’t actually gotten any heavier. Rather, it was something connected to the deeper truths of battle that he’d only barely begun to glimpse. It wasn’t magic – not like [Leech Strike]. It was something mystical and far more profound. Something that Zeke couldn’t even begin to understand. However, he could certainly use it.

The clang of weapons clashing echoed throughout the cavern as the battle raged on. But every now and then, a heavy thud, punctuated by a guttural growl, interrupted the cacophony. As the length of the fight stretched on, Zeke’s blows began to connect more and more, strengthened by that mystical force that he didn’t understand. Slowly, the warlord’s wounds mounted, and its reactions dulled by only a fraction. It wasn’t much, but it was the beginning of the end.

However, in an echo of Zeke’s own refusal to give in, the troll’s fighting spirit never waned. It continued right up to the end, when Zeke finally spotted an opening he could exploit, and he swung his club with all his considerable might. Makazith’s skull didn’t explode. Not like so many that had come before him. But it did crack, its brain instantly turned to mush. And insane vitality or not, nothing could survive that.

It fell with a heavy crash, and the battle was won.

Zeke followed soon after, collapsing in a heap as his breath came in ragged gasps. Even with the mystical advantage he’d gained in the middle of the fight, it had been a close call. Although he had dodged the vast majority of the troll warlord’s blows, Zeke still sported numerous wounds. He’d gained the worst of his injuries when he’d been an instant too slow, and the troll’s axe had shaved a good bit of his quadricep clean off. Despite his earlier doubts about the efficacy of [Leech Strike], it had been the only thing that kept him from collapsing from blood loss.

Or perhaps it had been that curious battle trance; when it had enveloped him, his wounds had faded into the background, and even the worst of them had felt incredibly distant. In fact, once it had taken hold of him, the entire battle had become something of a blur. He could remember bits and pieces, but it felt like he’d watched it all from afar.

Zeke lay there for a while as he caught his breath. He didn’t need to open up his notifications menu to know he’d finally reached the end of his beginning dungeon. If anything had ever felt like a boss fight, then the battle with troll warlord was certainly it. In addition, he could feel the densely packed energy in his core. Not only had he gained a level, but he’d also progressed most of the way to the next. It wouldn’t take much for him to finally reach level ten.

Finally, he sat up and pulled a piece of fish from his satchel. He felt the familiar surge of vitality as he slowly chewed on the meat, but he barely paid attention to it. Instead, he opened up the notifications sub-menu, and he couldn’t keep a wide but exhausted smile from spreading across his face.