With a battle’s worth of experience under their belt Tormacc and Athra finished off a second Stone Giant even faster than the first one, the two of them slipping into a rhythm, pulling the dumb creature back and forth between them until it finally crashed to the ground with an echoing boom. Somehow the second kill was more exhilarating than the first one, and as Tormacc wiped the sweat from his brow he only felt elation from the thrill of battle. That all changed when a voice intruded into the picture, injecting tension into the previously calm atmosphere.

“Hello there, friends! Do you mind if we borrow a bit of your time?”

Two things jumped out at Tormacc as he surreptitiously moved closer to Athra, a task made easier as she did the same, both of them wary of this new presence. The first thing he couldn’t help but notice was the quality of the voice, or rather, the lack thereof. It sounded oily, like the speaker spent his days in a dingy back alley peddling black market goods to undesirable elements. The second was the use of “we”. The speaker evidently wasn’t alone, and that put Tormacc on guard.

Athra gave him a quick jerk of her head which he took as a signal to lead the conversation. He had been expecting her to take charge, but after some reflection, she would make a terrible negotiator: her lack of basic knowledge about Humen needs like food and sleep a rather large red mark on her people skills.

“Of course!” Tormacc yelled back. “You’re welcome to join my companion and I for a chat.” Was that how he was supposed to answer? The abruptness of the situation threw him off, and he tried to collect himself, ready for any situation. The intentions of the other party were certainly suspect, but there was still a possibility there were friendly.

That possibility went out the window as soon as the group came into view. There were three of them, and although he didn’t have access to the majority of his memory, Tormacc was sure he had never seen a group of people that screamed ‘bad guys’ more than these three did.

The leader, or who he assumed was the leader, walked in front. He was wearing what looked to once be a stylish outfit, with a long flowing robe worn open over well-tailored dress clothes. He might have looked dashing at one point, but now the outfit just looked macabre, small rips and tears peppering the outfit along with large, splotchy bloodstains. He had a floppy mop of shoulder-length hair that must have been slicked back from natural greasiness alone. His smile was disturbing, his yellow, rotting teeth exposed in a rictus of a grin, the gaps where teeth were missing like holes in a deep abyss.

He was flanked by two henchmen, one a rat beastman that looked more rat than man, his mangy fur coming off in patches, revealing leaking pustules and open wounds. The third person looked the most normal at first glance, as he was actually wearing some semblance of armor and clothes that were mostly clean, but upon taking a closer look, his disturbed grin and too-pale skin made him look even more deranged then the rest, his image not helped by the serrated short sword he was creepily fondling.

The group of three walked over before stopping a few meters away. The two groups stood there, staring each other down, both sides realizing the gig was up and a fight was inevitable. Tormacc wasn’t sure what their plan was, but once the three saw him and Athra ready for a fight they responded in kind, the poorly-made illusion of their good intentions peeling away like a layer of old paint to reveal the rotting interior.

The leader gestured forward, opening his mouth to say something, but before the words could even leave his mouth the ground beneath the party of three disappeared, leaving them suspended over a large pit.

It was the signal to attack, and once Athra made the first move, as Tormacc realized the pit was her doing, the battle began. Athra wasn’t content with the pit as her only trick and almost before the trio realized they were falling the walls on either side of the pit started to close in rapidly, aiming to squish the would-be assailants and trap them in stone.

It only caught one, the ratman the only one not quick enough to escape the trap before the walls closed in. The other two reacted quickly, the leader sailing up into the sky with some form of wind magic while the pale man jumped off the air, just clearing the lip of the pit before the trap snapped shut behind him on his comrade.

Tormacc was ready, and his hammer swung down, aiming for the moment the pale man was off balance from his jump. Except by the time his hammer came down the enemy was no longer there, and he only had the brief feeling of danger behind him before he had to activate Dash to barely avoid the serrated blade swinging towards his head.

Activating Speed Burst, Tormacc spun around, hammer ready to block the follow up attack he knew was coming. He barely got his weapon into position, the enemy’s attacks lightning fast, each strike accompanied by deranged laughter as Tormacc was pressured by attacks he could barely see.

Those first few moments were tense, and he was almost overwhelmed by the flurry of strikes from the sickly looking man. He was able to hold on, but only by throwing out skills constantly, abilities like Sweep and Double Strike used just to buy him space. But once he adjusted to the pace of the battle he realized his opponent had zero skills: the pale man merely swinging his sword, his lack of form evident to anyone with even the bare minimum of martial training.

That didn’t matter though, the sheer ferocity of the attacks constantly keeping Tormacc on the backfoot, unable to recover and change the flow of battle. The skill his opponent lacked was made up for with his Fate Wheel, whatever abilities he was using allowing him to rely on raw speed and strength to contend with Tormacc’s greater fighting experience. The hammer he was wielding was also a poor match versus the serrated short sword, the greater speed and flexibility of a blade showing its might. A hammer was powerful when it could be used to overpower the opponent with raw force. For defending, almost any other weapon would have been better.

Unable to fully parry the barrage of slashes, Tormacc let himself sustain some small injuries, the serrated blade barely drawing blood as it left light red lines in its wake as it caressed his skin. But as soon as his opponent drew blood the battle changed: mad laugher echoed out as the pale man suddenly sped up, that first increase in speed leading to more unblocked attacks.

“Gihihihihihi!”

Normally Tormacc was able to keep his cool when fighting, the rush of adrenaline bringing clarity to his actions, but the deranged laughter of his attacker seeped into him, darkness closing in and suffocating his mind. He would be a fool not to realize what was happening; each time the serrated blade drew blood his opponent grew stronger, a red light slowly starting to surround him.

It was a ghastly glow, the red light washing out the man’s skin even more, making it appear almost translucent. He was like some sort of mad undead abomination or devil, a red halo from the fires of hell illuminating him and giving him strength.

The rest of the world washed away, the pockmarked plains of stone fading out of focus, the only thing left in Tormacc’s consciousness the man in front of him and the laughter echoing in his ears. Dread was building in him, its cold fingers reaching in and settling in his stomach, causing a knot to form and weigh down his every action. Each block seemed harder and with each exchange he was taking wounds, the cuts building up, the once inconsequential injuries amassing as he lost ribbons of flesh as the serrated sword dug into him.

Tormacc, like many people before him, had made a crucial mistake, and that was unlocking his abilities purely to combat the dangers found on a Shard. While it was true that to farm Essence he needed the ability to kill monsters he had neglected the true danger of Shards: other people. Fighting others was a dangerous business, but killing people did give you Essence, and usually quite a bit more than monsters. The problems with preying on others was when the tables were turned, and the predator became the prey.

None of that went through Tormacc’s mind, his brain focused purely on survival. He was built for sustained battles, but in a situation like the current one where he was unable to land any hits on his opponent abilities like Lifesteal and Stamina Drain were useless. As the person who was going to lose the battle of attrition, he had to make a move.

Activating Speed Burst, he combined it with skills like Whirlwind and Double Strike to go all out, entirely forgoing defense to launch his final offensive. His attacks still carried weight, and despite the bloody aura reinforcing his movements the pale man still had to defend, dodging away from the reckless blows before sliding back in for the kill, his blade like a striking snake.

Clenching his teeth, Tormacc activated Dash, moving forward in a quick jerk, impaling himself on the serrated blade. But instead of the blade piercing his heart, his use of Dash made the blade miss its mark, only stabbing the side of his chest, the wound serious, but not fatal.

Ignoring the sword sticking in him, Tormacc activated Sudden Strike with Stunning Blow, the quick combo attacks finally landing on the pale man, his eyes widening in surprise at the hammer rushing towards his face. The hammer swung true, and while the attack didn’t kill him, Stunning Blow showed its worth, allowing Tormacc the needed time to wind his hammer back before activating Crush to cave his enemy’s head in, ending the battle.

Falling to his knees, Tormacc stared at the headless corpse of his foe as a small amount of stamina rushed into his from Lifesteal along with a surge of Essence. The world swayed around him and he felt his body shudder before heaving gasps shook him and he emptied his stomach amidst the swirling lights assaulting his senses before blacking out.

Coming to a few seconds later, he raised his face out of the pool of vomit, head pounding in counterpoint to his racing heart. He almost died. He should have died. He didn’t realize it until now, but the pale man’s attacks hadn’t been a simple physical assault. His laughter wasn’t just the ravings of a mad man; it had also been a mental attack. It was hard to know the true effects, but he guessed it worked by insidiously subverting his senses with the laughter before suddenly cutting it off, causing his senses to lose all connection with reality. It would have knocked him out for long enough for the pale man to kill him three times over.

Taking out a healing potion from his Spatial Bracelet he carefully removed the serrated sword from his side, wincing as the wound was aggravated, the sharp hooks on the sword pulling at his flesh as he pulled it out. He wouldn’t die from it, but he would be out of action until it healed. Multiple ribs were broken and because of the shape of the sword others were badly fractured, requiring many healing sessions to regrow. Combined with all the other cuts and slashes he was in bad shape, his body in no position to fight.

Which was a problem, because the battle wasn’t over. Dreading what he would see, Tormacc raised his head to inspect the other battle, praying Athra was able to hold her own against the leader.