The gurgle of blood was horrible. In the midst of a town drenched in fog, a young man stumbled through, clinging to a short sword as he tried and failed to gasp for air. A long nail was sticking out of his throat, at the exact wrong angle to miss his windpipe, but it was tilted up, just under his chin, piercing directly through the larynx and into the epiglottis.

He was limping, one hand pressed to the blood seeping out of the gaping wound and the other holding the sword aloft. It was a bit of a mystery as to what he was looking for, but he was clearly rattled and scared. Of what was the question.

Something started up a wail, and he swung around, eyes wide and wild, and then winced as the nail was presumably jostled. Already, he was starting to go a bit blue in the face at the lack of oxygen. It was miraculous that he had survived so far.

Shapes moved in the mist. The young man slid his foot through the dirt and braced with his sword pointed directly forward. There was something between wild, animalistic fear and an unknown, burning determination in his brown eyes, brown eyes more suited for kindness, and it seemed to couple well with the blood leaking out of his mouth.

The wind picked up, sending the fog blowing left, right, parting before a hooded and cloaked figure with glowing red eyes, floating in the air without a single movement beyond the way its robes fluttered in the wind. For a moment, it almost felt like the moments leading up to an Old Western shootout. You could taste the tension in the air, somehow both thick and sharp on the tongue, and the air itself seemed to stop for the two of them.

The figure swept like a creature crawling directly from hell, and the man threw the sword into the air, spinning end over end as his hand flashed to his pocket, withdrawing a sack of wrapped leaves inscribed with some kind of sigil written in blood. With all the might he had left, heedless of the nail in his throat, he threw it at the specter, and it flew forward as the sword fell back into his waiting hand. Without so much as an inch of hesitation, he flung the sword after it, and…

BOOM!

The explosion wracked the world, brilliant, in all the colors of the rainbow, and the concussive blast knocked him down as the ghoul went up in flames, screeching at the very top of its lungs. The man let out a noise somewhere between a cough, gurgle, and splat around the nail as it went further into his throat.

Congratulations!

You have defeated the Monarch of Souls!

You have leveled up!

You have leveled up!

You have leveled up!

You have leveled up!

You completed the bonus objective: a second death in one blow!

A blazing blue portal appeared, and the man stumbled to his feet, barely managing to limp his way to the blackened sword on the ground, and he picked it up as the loot box shimmered. He was swaying on his feet at this point, entirely unseeing, and it was no surprise when he passed over the loot box in favor of the portal. Inches away from it, he pulled the nail from his throat and tossed it on the ground. A fresh gush of blood burst from his throat, and he lunged forward, the sword dragging behind him as he collapsed into the portal.

Safe.