Dark clouds fill the sky.
Cold wind crawls across the field.
The reek of blood, rotting corpses, dried gore, and rusted metal hangs thick in the air.
I stand in the mud with no dirt on my skin—only my T-shirt is ripped, my jacket tied around my waist still tugging at the wind. My skin goes cold. The walls of the maze broken. From their perches atop the earthen ribs, the zombies hurl themselves down, eyes milky with hunger.
'I thought they were isekai zombies—how did they turn into horror game zombies?' I think, forcing a crooked smile that tastes wrong on my tongue.
Zombies leap and stamp through broken walls, rubble, glass-bone and torn flesh, coming at me like a single, desperate beast.
A high, cold voice cuts across the field. "I told you to let me help." It belongs to a woman behind me.
The ground shudders, and in a breath something erupts from the soil. It halts the charging horde mid-moment. Deep black, thorned vines—each as thick as a rope but harder than steel—snake upward and coil. The undead are caught from leg to neck, even to skull, as if chained in a monster's cell. Black ichor wells where the thorns pierce skin; the wound edges smoke and weep like burned meat.
Hundreds, then thousands, stop around me—impaled, strangled, suspended in a field of living barbs.
I glance up and find Evangeline floating mid-air, framed by the bruised heavens, Liora cradled in her arms, hair limp against her cheek. The first thought hits me—'Liora!'—and I check carefully. 'She's... sleeping. That's good.' A small, stupid relief fills my chest; I check Liora's status and feel my shoulders loosen a fraction.
I straighten and look at Evangeline. "I told you. I don't need help," I say, trying for calm.
"Why are you doing this?" Evangeline asks.
"What do you mean?" I reply, confused but steady.
"You have killed thousands of undead. At first I thought you wanted to level up or gain experience. But you were done at the start of the fight. When I considered interfering, you suddenly became better. You may be a hero, but I don't understand your point. You look like you want to die. This is an endless horde." Her voice is flat, precise.
I hesitate, then splutter, "Die? They can't even tou—"
"Don't even try to lie. I can see bruises across your chest. Your shirt is shredded. You.can.die." Her tone hardens, every word measured like a verdict.
'I….. can die?' The idea lands like ice.
There are no words. Just the maze, the smeared earth, and a slow, hollow sound—SKREEEEEE—a scream that tears the air.
I pivot and see the Hollowed Maw watching me. The trapped zombies writhe against the vines, shrieking in a chorus that claws at the ears. Black and red roses begin to sprout from their wounds—black petals slick with ichor. Cuts and sores crawl across their skin as if time unspools; flesh congeals, eyes cloud, and one by one they go still, collapsing like puppets with cut strings.
"It is my turn to ask question." Evangeline says. "Tell me: if you keep going like this, do you think you'll come out alive?"
My attention snaps behind me. The Hollowed Maw has closed the distance, enormous and hungry. "You should retreat now," I murmur, tightening my grip and readying my claws. The Hollowed Maw and I launch at each other.
The zombies' screams thin into ragged echoes as we close. I set my stance and lunge; the Hollowed Maw swings a forearm that blurs like wet lightning. I dodge right and counter, but it twists its torso, arms a living shield. The Maw answers with a brutal riposte; I dodge left and drive a claw into its upper arm. Flesh parts with a wet, blunt sound—warm blood paints my gauntlet—but before I can wrench free, the creature clamps its hand around my head and slams me into the ground with bone-shuddering force. It follows with a crushing punch.
As its fist descends I form a sphere of wind around my hand and blast a pressure wave into its chest. The Hollowed Maw flies backward, teeth bared and coating its lips in congealed gore. I scramble up and see the wound on its arm already knitting shut—regeneration like a curse. I compress another wind sphere in my left, and we surge toward each other again.
I leap, slashing down from my right—aiming for the lower abdomen. The Hollowed Maw twists, dodging, and counters with a strike to my head. I raise my right arm to block; the impact rattles my teeth. I shove a gust from my left at its right foot, breaking its balance. The creature pitches forward. I pry its hand aside and land a full-force punch to its face. It cartwheels, body smashing the ground—then, in a cruel flip, it spins as i followed with another puch but he slams a rotating punch into me. I fly, tasting mud and old iron.
I land some distance away; the Hollowed Maw halts too. We both rise and run, closing once more.
This time it grips its arms with both hands, powering itself. I unleash a ring of wind balls, spacing them into a defensive lattice around me. We crash into each other. As it nears, its impact cracks the wind spheres; the close-range contact detonates pressure outward and deflects part of its strike, but another hand intercepts my punch and the clash grinds like gears.
The maze erupts around us—shards of glassed bone and chunks of earthen wall flying outward, each impact a wet, splintering report. The Hollowed Maw's skin is mottled, exposed muscle searing under the blood; every move it makes leaves a smear across the stone. My palms sting where its claws rake through my gauntlets; the taste of copper floods my mouth. I push, pivot, and force another blast of wind beneath its ribs—my fingernails scrape raw as I wrench off another fistful of flesh—only for the wound to knit in slow, obscene silence.
Evangeline watches from above, face stony. Liora sleeps on, unaware. Around us the vines pulse like living veins, black blood trickling down and hissing where it touches the air.
I jump backward as the pressure from a shattered wind ball detonates, each nearby sphere popping outward under the released force. I vault forward, claws out, and fling three wind slashes at the Hollowed Maw. Two slice deep across its skull and shoulder, furrowing gashes that spray dark ichor, but it keeps coming. I reform the wind balls around me.
The Hollowed Maw fires a punch—too slow to connect—and for a heartbeat I think it misjudged the range. Then, with a wet hiss of displaced air, its missed blow channels a violent current that detonates my spheres into a storm of slicing pressure. It follows with a palm strike that sends me flying.
As I skid up, I spark wind balls along my fingertips. The cuts along the creature's arm—my wind blades' work—are gone, flesh knitting with sickening speed. I stretch my arms and summon more spheres. The Hollowed Maw charges; I wait, feel the thrum of its approach, and unleash everything at once. I drop under its sweeping arms and pepper it with a trap of wind mines that hug its body from every angle. They detonate in sequence, slicing into flesh.
I land a deep cut on its left leg, then lash its face—only for it to twist and take the blow on its right arm instead. I leap back and reseed the field with more wind mines. This time it answers with a screech so high and raw it detonates the mines mid-bloom. Berserker zombies surge from the flanks in a tidal wave; they slam into me but are flung back like ragged dolls. Their assault snaps my focus—enough for the Hollowed Maw to plant a fist in the left side of my face and hurl me skyward.
I rise slowly, tasting iron and mud. Its body, which I have watched self-mend again and again, stands whole and shamelessly healed.
'I need to do something about that regen. ' I think as I look down at my boots.
The frenzying zombies press in, but the black vines snake up and snare them anew, holding back the tide.
"Why are you not retreating? I can't defeat them all." Evangeline calls, voice cutting the air like a scalpel.
I glance up—she still hangs in the sky, Liora cradled against her chest. "Why didn't you leave?" I ask.
"It's my turn. Answer my question first." she replies.
"Because I know I can win." I say, turning my gaze back to the battlefield. "The powers I have—I can tell they hold limitless potential, but I won't understand them by wandering. I need situations that force me to think." I flick open my inventory with a motion.
"You can retreat, think, and return. Why struggle so hard now?" Evangeline counters.
I smile, a small, sharp thing. "There's no pause in real life. After the damage I'd do, after the spectacle—demons and humans alike will come. If I don't strike now, the next chance will be worse." A thought tugs at the edge of my mind—'Though I didn't think finding a Lich would be so difficult.' I keep riffling through my items.
'Should I eat the herb and maybe I'll be able to think more calmly? ….. Should I use the spear….? No it is not time for it yet... The Ice patterned axe…..' I consider.
'Ice…. That's it!' My heart spikes; heat blooms through me as a new plan locks into place. Excitement coaxes my limbs alive.
I summon the broken sword from my inventory into my right hand. 'All the elements are made up of four basic element. So I can make this too.' I raise my right hand, sword horizontal, the fractured blade pointing left. I place my left over the jagged edge and begin.
'Slowly… start to make a blade of water' The broken metal drinks the moisture, and a thin sheet of water crawls along the fracture into my palm, lengthening into a blade. 'Then use cold wind to freeze the water.' I pull cold breath into the wind, and the liquid shivers as temperature drops. 'Use fire and control heat. Make the process faster. Decrease temperature of water faster and freeze it.' I force microbursts of heat to accelerate crystallization while the cold scours the blade; the water freezes, rings of frost crawling outward until a solid edge rings the broken hilt.
My hand remains wrapped around the hidden shard of ice, unseen by anyone. A grin splits my face. "My reasons aren't noble." I tell Evangeline.
She does not answer.
"Since I was a kid, certain characters struck me: those who carried pride." I say, moving my left hand slowly. The ice blade lengthens as I speak. "Two types left a mark. One was a prince." I continue. The blade blooms—A blade, forged entirely from ice, extending from the hilt to its very tip. Frost crawled across its surface, and the cold wind swirling around it deepened the chill, dropping the temperature of the surroundings with every breath it took.
[ Your understanding of Ice element has increased significantly ]
[ Ice Affinity Unlocked ]
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[ Your affinity with Ice element has increased ]
I look at the sword—hilt to frozen edge—and then at the figure beyond it. I walk toward them, blade humming with cold.
Evangeline's voice snaps, barbed with frustration. "What's the point of that stupid pride? Even if you weren't together long, she's still your daughter. What about your daughter? Do you think she cares about your pride? SHE ONLY CARES ABOUT HER FATHER."
My steps falter.
"I told you I'm not dying here." I say quietly, and start moving again.
"All of you lie the same." Evangeline murmurs.
I stop and turn to watch her retreat with Liora cradled against her. The battlefield holds—a tense breath between storms.
to be continued…