The invaders tried to hold, tried to rally, but there was no stopping Malik.

To them, he was a force of nature that culled.

One by one, they fell.

But of course...

"ATTTAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKK!"

That trend didn’t last long.

Following a sudden scream, more reinforcements came through, dozens.

"HOLD THE LINE!"

Malik met them without backing away.

His sword flashed once before it was painted red.

An invader’s charge never finished.

He stumbled past Malik, his legs buckling, his eyes confused, until his throat split open, spilling a wet gasp onto the dirt.

The second tried to grab him.

A mistake.

Malik twisted, used the man’s own momentum to yank him forward, and drove his steel into his spine.

There was no time to watch them fall.

Another was already coming, a spear lunging for his heart.

Malik spun, his blade cutting the air in an arc.

Sparks screamed as their weapons met. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Then with a snap, the spear’s shaft broke in two. Before the wielder could blink, Malik drove his sword through him and ripped it free, flame bursting from the wound.

Three dead.

The fourth swung a sword the size of a cleaver. A bad swing with too much strength and not enough control.

Malik ducked, the weapon whooshing overhead, and then quickly punished the mistake with a low sweep, his blade carving through the invader’s thigh.

"AHHHHHHH!"

Malik rose, his sword wreathing in fire as he plunged it through the invader’s chest.

’Four.’

A sword whipped toward him from the side. Malik barely tilted his head, and it missed by a hair. He caught the wrist, twisted, and then shoved the same sword into the man’s eye.

’Five.’

A club crashed down.

Malik raised his sword, one hand bracing the flat, catching the blow. The sheer force sent shockwaves through his arms, but he did not falter.

He drove his knee into the man’s ribs—heard the crunch, felt the breath rush from his lungs—then stepped forward and slammed his blade through his collarbone, splitting muscle from bone.

’Six.’

Even more came, in twos and threes.

Blades whipped at his ribs, forcing Malik to lean back, arcing just beyond their reach, then drove his elbow and sword hilt into the attackers’ faces, smashing their noses into ruin.

With one clean stroke, their lives were ruined right after, their heads tumbling from their shoulders.

’Eleven.’

Malik was soon overwhelmed.

Just as he stepped past two, a third came.

He bashed his shield into Malik, who had no time to dodge.

Taking the hit, he let it push him backward, but not before he flicked his wrist.

A thin, blazing arc followed, and then, in seconds, three throats spilled open.

’Fourteen.’

Yet, no matter how many he killed, their part of the battlefield didn’t turn empty. Far from it.

The enemy truly seemed endless. Making it seem utterly hopeless.

But Malik wasn’t one to give up.

He killed more.

Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

Even as their little battle was a lost cause. When their winning in this little area was not possible. When all they could achieve was survival, and even that was in question.

Malik, who was on his last legs, simply never stopped moving.

And now that fewer of his own soldiers surrounded him, he could use his abilities more openly without the risk of killing them. But that didn’t matter if the enemy never stopped rushing him.

"Die already!"

Another came at him, a spear coated with ice, thrusting for his ribs.

Malik sidestepped and brought his sword down in an arc.

The steel sheared through the shaft and reached flesh.

A head hit the dirt before the body did.

"Damned basta—"

Whoosh.

A blur suddenly came from behind.

Malik couldn’t react in time.

Pain shot him awake.

A dagger had been rammed into his shoulder.

"Urgh..."

Malik’s body jerked as a snarl tore from his throat.

"Hahaha! We got you now!"

The bastard behind him pushed down on the blade, trying to drive it deeper.

"FUCK! OFF!"

Malik roared, throwing his weight backward, caring not for his image.

The impact sent them both staggering, but the dagger wrenched free, tearing flesh and gushing blood.

Ignoring the pain, Malik twisted and drove his sword into the invader, ending his life.

"Piece of sh—"

A cold pain erupted in his left thigh, making his breath hitch.

His eyes snapped down, meeting an icicle buried deep in his thigh.

The frost crept along the torn flesh; the burn of it was worse than fire.

His leg buckled.

’No.’

Malik caught himself, forcing weight onto his good leg, fingers wrapping around the icy intruder.

Wearing a feral expression, he yanked it with an iron grip, tearing the icicle free, dragging a spray of blood with it, hot against the frozen wound.

He barely flinched from the pain, only clicked his tongue, irritation flashing behind his eyes.

With no time to breathe, Malik was forced to dodge more incoming icicles, his fingers tightening around his sword.

Heat rippled through the blade as he thrust forward, fire erupting in an explosive burst.

A snarling tongue of flame licked through the air, melting every attack before searing straight through the enemy Magi’s skull.

Whoosh.

Yet before the invader could drop, another enemy rushed at him, using some sort of camouflage ability.

Sensing the movement, Malik attempted to parry it away, but again, he wasn’t fast enough or strong enough.

His wounds sapped his strength.

A knee to his gut sent him staggering.

Before he could recover, another blow slammed into his side—a mace, this time.

He nearly dropped his sword.

The tide was turning in their little area.

Too many, too fast, and he was too wounded.

Malik’s vision blurred while blood ran down his body, pooling in the mud beneath him.

His fire flickered weakly, whatever that remained of his enhanced strength fading.

The invaders circled him like vultures to a lion.

They smelled his blood; they knew he was done.

Malik raised his sword anyway.

He wasn’t dead yet.