The massive ogre loomed over them, its three monstrous heads snarling in unison.


    Thick strands of drool dangled from its jagged fangs, glistening in the faint light before splattering onto the ground.


    Its yellow hide, slick with sweat and filth, stretched over bulging muscles that pulsed with sheer brutality.


    With a deafening roar, it raised its enormous club high above its heads.


    The weapon, a crude but terrifying slab of stone and iron, caught the dim glow of the battlefield as it hovered in the air for a brief moment.


    Then, it came crashing down.


    The impact was cataclysmic.


    The earth split apart, a jagged fissure ripping through the battlefield.


    A shockwave erupted from the point of impact, tearing through the land with relentless force.


    Trees groaned as their roots were wrenched from the soil, entire trunks toppling like brittle twigs.


    Chunks of debris soared through the air, pelting the warriors like shards of a shattered world.


    Each impact sent tremors rolling across the ground, as if the very bones of the earth were cracking under the sheer might of the beast.


    Golden light flared around Asael, his divine energy crackling like a raging inferno.


    It burned along his body in radiant arcs, illuminating his figure against the chaos.


    His breath came in measured, steady beats, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.


    Then, in a blur of motion, he shot forward.


    His feet barely kissed the ground as he propelled himself toward the towering monster.


    He leapt—soaring high, his blade gleaming with celestial power, poised to carve into the ogre’s hide.


    To the beast, he was nothing more than a glowing speck, a mere insect buzzing too close.


    One of its massive hands swung lazily through the air.


    The blow struck with crushing force.


    Asael’s body hurtled through the sky like a broken doll.


    He slammed into the ground with bone-shattering impact, the earth cracking beneath him.


    A spray of blood painted the dirt where he landed.


    Pain flared like wildfire, raw and unforgiving.


    His ribs groaned under the strain, his limbs trembling violently as agony lanced through every fiber of his being.


    Yet, even as his body lay in ruin, his divine energy surged once more.


    It pulsed like a heartbeat, wrapping around him in a desperate attempt to mend his shattered form.


    With sheer force of will, Asael dragged himself up, his breath ragged, his vision swimming.


    Steven didn’t hesitate.


    Lightning crackled along his blade, wrapping it in veins of electric fury.


    His grip tightened, his muscles coiling like steel springs. Then, with a single powerful motion, he swung.


    The blade cut through the air with a sharp, deafening crack.


    A thunderous arc of energy exploded forward, colliding with the ogre’s hide.


    The electricity danced along the beast’s grotesque form, crackling over its thick skin.


    But the ogre barely reacted.


    A mere twitch. A slight flinch.


    It was nothing.


    Before Steven could adjust, a massive hand came down.


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    He threw himself to the side, rolling across the dirt just as the ground where he stood exploded into a crater.


    The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield, launching him backward.


    He tumbled through the air before skidding to a halt, his body raking against the jagged earth.


    Blood trickled from the corner of his lips.


    His vision spun.


    But he grit his teeth, swallowing the pain, and forced himself back to his feet.


    A deep, guttural war cry tore from Giren’s throat.


    He surged forward, his massive axe gripped tightly in his calloused hands.


    His muscles burned with exertion, every step fueled by sheer determination.


    With a mighty swing, his blade bit into the ogre’s thick leg.


    The flesh parted, dark blood oozing from the shallow wound.


    But before he could drive the blade deeper, the ogre’s limb jerked violently.


    The force of the movement sent Giren flying.


    He crashed onto the dirt with a heavy thud, pain flaring through his spine.


    And then, before he could react—


    A massive hand clamped around his entire torso.


    His ribs groaned under the crushing grip.


    He thrashed, his muscles straining, veins bulging against his skin as he fought to break free.


    Every fiber of his being screamed in protest, his lungs burning for air.


    But he was too weak.


    His body—still battered from the battle with Movok—couldn’t keep up.


    The ogre lifted him effortlessly into the air.


    Giren gritted his teeth, his vision darkening at the edges.


    The pressure on his ribs grew unbearable, each second an agonizing eternity.


    Then—


    The ogre slammed him down.


    The earth quaked violently beneath the force.


    A thick cloud of dust and debris erupted into the air.


    The sickening snap of bone echoed through the battlefield.


    Blood bubbled from Giren’s mouth.


    His vision blurred.


    For a moment, everything fell silent.


    The ogre snorted, already dismissing him as dead.


    But then—


    A faint golden shimmer pulsed against Giren’s broken form.


    A translucent barrier flickered around him, barely holding together.


    Anne stood firm, but her face was as pale as death.


    Her hands trembled violently, fingers outstretched as divine energy pulsed from her core.


    The barrier she had summoned shimmered like fragile glass, barely containing the raw power of the ogre’s wrath.


    Blood trickled from her nose.


    Her breathing was ragged, each inhale labored as exhaustion pressed down on her like an iron weight.


    The ogre growled in frustration.


    It raised its club once more.


    Then, it brought it down.


    The impact sent a deafening shockwave rippling through the battlefield.


    The barrier quivered, straining against the monstrous force.


    Another strike.


    A sharp crack splintered through the air.


    Anne gasped, her knees buckling.


    Her entire body trembled under the unbearable strain.


    One more.


    The ogre raised its club high, the air around it warping from the sheer weight of the blow.


    Then, it struck.


    The barrier shattered.


    The sound of breaking glass echoed through the battlefield as divine energy scattered into the wind.


    Anne collapsed, gasping for breath, her body barely holding itself together.


    And now—there was nothing left between the ogre and Giren.


    The orc lay motionless, blood pooling beneath him, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.


    He couldn’t move.


    The ogre’s massive hand reached down, fingers curling, ready to crush him completely.


    Just as the hand began its deadly descent—


    A golden light tore through the battlefield.


    Asael surged forward, his sword a radiant beacon against the overwhelming darkness.


    Every muscle in his body burned, exhaustion clawing at him, yet he pushed forward, fueled by sheer will.


    His gaze locked onto the fresh wound Giren had inflicted earlier—a weakness, a sliver of hope against an unstoppable force.


    With a cry that tore from the depths of his soul, he drove his sword into the gash.


    Flesh ripped apart in a grotesque symphony.


    The thick hide surrendered to his blade, parting to reveal the sinewy, pulsating muscle beneath.


    A hot, dark flood of blood burst forth, coating his hands, seeping into his armor, dripping from his chin.


    The stench of iron and decay filled his nostrils, making his stomach churn.


    The ogre howled, its three heads shrieking in discordant agony.


    The very air trembled with its suffering.


    It turned its fury upon Asael, eyes burning with wrath beyond mortal comprehension.


    Its foot lifted, a shadow of death looming over him, ready to crush him like an insect.


    Arrows sliced through the night, whistling like a death knell.


    They struck the ground around the ogre’s feet, and almost immediately, thick vines erupted from the earth.


    They coiled like serpents, wrapping around its ankles, anchoring it just enough to stall its advance.


    The ogre thrashed, muscles bulging against nature’s restraints.


    The vines snapped one by one, their resistance futile against such raw power.


    But it was enough.


    The sky split open, lightning crackling in the heavens.


    Steven charged, his sword wreathed in brilliant arcs of electricity.


    Each step sent sparks cascading from his blade, the raw power humming through his veins.


    His weapon found its mark.


    The blade plunged into the open wound, and in an instant, a deafening explosion of thunder followed.


    White-hot energy surged through the ogre’s body, burning it from within.


    Smoke curled from the gaping wound, flesh searing, nerves frying, a scent of charred meat polluting the battlefield.


    The ogre bellowed, reeling from the agony, its three heads writhing wildly.


    Its grip on its massive club faltered, the weapon tumbling to the ground with an earth-shaking thud.


    Yet even in its wounded state, it refused to fall.


    With a final act of desperation, it slammed both fists into the ground.


    A shockwave erupted.


    The force sent warriors tumbling like ragdolls, weapons scattering, breath stolen from their lungs.


    The battlefield became a maelstrom of chaos.


    And then—the ogre lashed out, an uncontrollable storm of fury, swinging its limbs in reckless destruction.


    Above them all, hidden among the tangled branches of a dying tree, Kenta watched.


    His small hands clenched around the hilt of his dagger, knuckles white with tension.


    He breathed slow, controlled, his heartbeat steady despite the carnage below.


    He waited, watching, calculating.


    And then—his moment came.


    The ogre bent down, scanning the battlefield, its three heads turning in all directions, seeking a target to obliterate.


    Kenta leapt.


    His dagger gleamed under the dim light as he plunged it deep into the middle head’s ear.


    A sickening squelch followed.


    The ogre’s body jerked, its screech so piercing it rattled the marrow in Kenta’s bones.


    Blood, thick and black as tar, gushed from the wound, drenching him.


    The beast thrashed, desperate to dislodge the tiny warrior clinging to its skull.


    Kenta held fast.


    He twisted the dagger, driving it deeper, carving his path through flesh and nerve.


    The ogre’s massive fingers clawed at him, nearly crushing him in its frenzied attempt to tear him away.


    But he was faster.


    With one last strike, he drove his dagger into its massive eye.


    The orb exploded beneath the blade, a sickening burst of fluid spilling down its grotesque face.


    The ogre staggered, its equilibrium shattered, its pain unfathomable.


    Asael and Giren seized their chance.


    They lunged, their weapons carving through the ogre’s already wounded leg.


    Steel met flesh, tearing through sinew and bone.


    The beast’s balance shattered.


    It toppled forward, the earth trembling as its colossal form crashed into the dirt.


    Dust and blood filled the air, a grim haze settling over the battlefield.


    Steven sprinted forward, snatching Kenta from the beast’s face just before it hit the ground.


    Lily loosed arrow after arrow, each one finding its mark, embedding deep into the ogre’s thrashing form.


    Vines coiled tighter around its limbs, restraining its final struggles.


    The beast gasped, choked, twitched.


    And then—the final blow fell.


    Asael and his warriors delivered the decisive strike, their weapons cleaving through the thick neck of the beast.


    Steel met flesh, bone cracked, blood burst forth in a river of darkness.


    The three heads convulsed, mouths opening in silent screams.


    And then—stillness.


    The mighty ogre was dead.


    The battlefield fell into an eerie quiet.


    No cheers of victory, only the ragged breaths of exhausted warriors.


    Asael fell to one knee, chest heaving, his sword slick with blood.


    Steven wiped a hand across his face, smearing crimson across his cheek.


    Giren swayed but remained standing, his battered body refusing to fall.


    Lily and Anne exchanged glances, gazes heavy with exhaustion.


    They had done it.


    The three-headed ogre lay before them, its lifeless eyes staring into the void.


    A monstrous force, once unstoppable, now nothing more than a corpse among the ruins.