The Goblin Chief advanced slowly, each step a drumbeat of doom echoing through the broken village.
His jagged teeth glinted under the crimson sky, and his monstrous grin stretched wide, savoring the defeat carved into the face of his enemy.
Asael knelt in the dirt, his body a shattered vessel of blood, bruises, and broken bones.
His trembling hands sank into the soil, fingers curling weakly as crimson mixed with the dust.
His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps.
His lips moved—barely a whisper.
"I failed… again."
The words escaped like fragile ghosts, lost in the wind, unnoticed by all but himself.
The Goblin Chief didn’t care.
He was just a step away now, his monstrous shadow swallowing Asael’s fragile form.
A tear rolled down Asael’s dirt-streaked cheek, tracing the outline of his defeat, mingling with the blood dripping from a gash above his brow.
Another tear followed.
And another.
Each drop a silent testament to the countless lives he couldn’t save.
His vision blurred, not just from the blood and exhaustion, but from the weight of failure pressing down on his soul.
The world around him began to dissolve into colors—swirling, meaningless blurs.
A sickening green hue loomed closest, pulsing with malice—the Goblin Chief.
Other colors—red, gray, brown—faded into the background, like distant echoes of a world he no longer belonged to.
His heart was drowning in a storm of emotions.
Rage. Hatred. Loathing.
Not just for the goblins.
Not just for fate.
But for himself.
For being too weak.
For failing when it mattered most.
For surviving when others didn’t.
"Again… and again…"
His voice cracked under the weight of his grief.
His mind spiraled, falling deeper into a darkness that felt bottomless.
And then—
A flicker.
A faint, golden hue bloomed deep within his eyes, like the faintest ember refusing to die in the ashes of his soul.
The Goblin Chief halted mid-step, his instincts prickling with unease.
Asael’s trembling body grew still.
The golden flicker grew.
Faint at first, like the first light of dawn bleeding over a dark horizon.
But then—brighter.
A thin veil of golden light wrapped around Asael, delicate yet defiant, like threads of hope stitching his broken form back together. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
His bleeding slowed.
His breath grew steadier.
The Goblin Chief’s grin faded, replaced by a snarl.
"What…?"
With a guttural roar, the goblin charged, his club raised high, ready to crush Asael’s skull before whatever was happening could finish.
But as he closed the distance—
The golden light exploded outward.
A shockwave rippled through the village square, a radiant pulse of raw power.
The Goblin Chief was hurled backward, his massive frame crashing into a crumbling wall, leaving cracks spider-webbing through the stone.
The goblins froze, their sneers wiped away, replaced by wide-eyed fear.
The villagers, battered and broken, lifted their heads from where they cowered. Their eyes reflected the growing radiance at the center of it all.
Asael.
No longer kneeling.
Slowly… deliberately…
He rose.
His battered body straightened, the golden light knitting his torn flesh, mending broken bones, sealing gaping wounds.
His right arm, once limp and useless, flexed with newfound strength.
His brown eyes were gone.
In their place—pools of molten gold, burning with fury, sorrow, and something else—unyielding determination.
Pieces of golden armor began to materialize, as if forged from the very light that enveloped him.
They shaped around his form, elegant yet fierce, gleaming with divine brilliance.
Across his back, a golden glow twisted and solidified, taking form.
A sword—long, radiant, and humming with an ancient power, its blade etched with symbols of light. It hovered beside him, weightless, as if waiting.
Asael reached out.
His fingers wrapped around the hilt, fitting perfectly—as though it had been made for him alone.
When he gripped it, the golden light flared once more, brighter than before, casting long shadows across the village.
The villagers’ despair flickered, replaced by something fragile yet powerful—
Hope.
Meanwhile, the goblins trembled, their instincts screaming that they were no longer facing a broken human.
They were staring at something else.
A force they couldn’t comprehend.
A will they couldn’t break.
The Goblin Chief staggered to his feet, snarling through broken teeth.
Asael took a step forward, his golden gaze locked on the creature.
His aura blazed like the sun, blinding and beautiful.
And for the first time—it was the goblins who felt fear.
----
The Goblin Chief stared at Asael, unease flickering in his beady, yellow eyes.
The oppressive golden light wrapped around the battered human felt… wrong—unnatural.
Something primal in the creature’s mind screamed at him to be cautious.
He gritted his teeth and growled.
"Are you the hero?"
Asael didn’t answer.
His eyes—once brown and filled with warmth—were now cold, molten gold, devoid of empathy.
There were no words left for creatures like this.
Only fury.
With a burst of speed that blurred the ground beneath him, Asael charged forward, his golden sword slicing through the air with a radiant arc.
The Goblin Chief barely managed to raise his crude, iron-studded club in time.
CLANG!
The collision sent out a shockwave, dust spiraling outward.
Asael was knocked back, skidding across the dirt—but he didn’t fall.
His feet dug in, his stance unshaken.
Without hesitation, he lunged again.
The Goblin Chief roared, swinging his massive fist this time.
Asael ducked, his movements fluid like water, and slashed upward.
A sharp cry of pain.
A gash tore across the goblin’s shoulder, dark green blood spurting out, sizzling slightly as it hit the radiant glow surrounding Asael’s blade.
The Goblin Chief snarled, swinging wildly, brute force behind every blow.
But Asael was relentless.
He darted in and out like a phantom, his golden aura flickering with every heartbeat.
Each time the goblin attacked, Asael was already gone—slashing, stabbing, cutting.
Over and over.
The golden light wasn’t just healing him—it was fueling him, reducing his exhaustion, mending torn flesh, knitting broken bones.
Meanwhile, the Goblin Chief was slowing down.
His massive body bore countless wounds now—deep cuts oozing dark blood, muscles trembling from strain.
Frustration twisted the goblin’s face into a mask of rage.
"What the hell are you?!"
With a furious roar, the Goblin Chief charged, raising his club high to deliver a devastating blow meant to shatter Asael’s skull.
But Asael didn’t flinch.
He met the charge head-on.
Steel met iron.
But this time, the club didn’t hold.
The goblin’s crude weapon splintered, shards of metal and wood exploding like shrapnel.
The shock registered in the Goblin Chief’s eyes—but before he could react, Asael twisted his body and with a vicious, precise stroke—
SPLASH!
The goblin’s arm was severed at the shoulder, green blood gushing out in thick spurts.
The Goblin Chief’s scream was inhuman, a bone-chilling howl that echoed through the village, sending shivers down the spines of both goblins and villagers alike.
"AAAAAHHHHH!!"
But Asael wasn’t done.
There was no hesitation.
No mercy.
The coldness in his golden eyes was like winter''s frost—unfeeling and absolute.
The Goblin Chief stumbled back, clutching his bleeding stump, pure terror etched across his monstrous face.
"You…!" he spat, but the words died on his lips.
With one swift motion, Asael swung again—clean, merciless.
The goblin’s leg was gone.
The chieftain collapsed, howling in agony, clawing at the dirt, trying to crawl away.
But there was nowhere to go.
Asael stalked forward, his golden sword gleaming ominously under the moonlight.
The goblin raised his remaining hand in a futile attempt to shield himself.
Asael didn’t hesitate—
SHUNK!
He thrust his sword straight through the goblin’s hand, pinning it to the ground.
The Goblin Chief’s screams grew louder, ragged and desperate, but Asael’s face remained emotionless—a mask of cold fury.
Then, without warning, Asael grabbed the goblin’s remaining leg—twisting it.
SNAP!
The sickening sound of bone breaking filled the air.
The Goblin Chief’s screams were now just gurgled gasps of agony.
But Asael wasn’t done.
With a final, ruthless motion, Asael plunged his sword deep into the goblin’s chest, piercing through ribs, flesh, and heart.
Silence.
The Goblin Chief’s body went limp, his lifeless eyes wide with terror and disbelief.
For a moment, the entire village was frozen.
Even the surviving villagers—those Asael had fought to protect—stared at him not with admiration, but with a mixture of awe and fear.
The man before them wasn’t the hero they remembered.
He was something else.
The goblins who remained were paralyzed with fear, trembling as their leader’s body bled into the dirt.
Some tried to flee, their instincts screaming for survival.
But Asael moved like a shadow, faster than their fear.
Slash.
A goblin’s head rolled.
Stab.
Another fell, clutching its chest.
He hunted them with precision and fury, cutting through them like they were nothing—mere obstacles to the raging storm inside him.
Green blood painted the village streets, mixing with the red of the fallen villagers.
When it was done, the ground was littered with goblin corpses, their twisted faces frozen in fear.
Asael stood in the center, drenched in sweat, blood—both green and red—and golden light.
His chest heaved, not from exhaustion, but from the unbearable weight in his heart.
Then, from the depths of his soul—
He screamed.
A raw, guttural cry that ripped through the night sky.
"AAAAAAHHHHH!!"
Not a scream of victory.
Not of triumph.
But of pain.
Of failure.
Of knowing that despite all his strength, despite this newfound power, he had still failed to save them all.
The village chief—gone.
Kenta’s mother—gone.
Kenta’s innocence—shattered.
He’d won the battle.
But inside—he lost again.