The knife left Eric's hand in a blur.

  John threw himself sideways and the blade whistled past his ear, flying out through the doorway into the hall beyond.

  Eric moved.

  Reality bent around him as he crossed the distance in less than a heartbeat, his sword falling like a mountain collapsing.

  John got Moonfang up just in time.

  The impact was tremendous.

  Not just force, but something more. The blow drove through John's guard, and his wrists screamed as bones ground against each other, almost breaking.

  Then he was flying.

  His back hit the wall so hard the air exploded from his lungs. His vision went white for a moment, and he started to slide down the wall.

  John forced his legs to lock. Forced himself to stay upright.

  Eric stood there, looking at his sword with a frown. The blade was warped, twisted from the impact against Moonfang's enchanted edge like it had been heated and bent. Completely useless.

  He tossed it aside and it clattered across the floor.

  Then he looked at John. At Moonfang. His grin widened.

  "I'll have that sword, boy."

  He drew his second blade. This one was straight and polished to a mirror shine. Beautiful and deadly.

  And then he cut himself.

  Not deep, just a quick slash across his forearm. Blood welled up immediately, running down his arm to drip on the carved symbols beneath his feet. They began to glow with an angry red light.

  Eric's eyes rolled back slightly. When they refocused on John, they were even more manic than before.

  John's wrist throbbed. His back screamed where he'd hit the wall. The haste charm burned through his veins, making everything too bright, too fast, too much.

  Eric attacked.

  Faster than before. His blade came in from what felt like three angles at once. John parried desperately, his boosted Agility the only thing keeping him alive.

  John gave ground. He had to. Eric was stronger, faster, more experienced. Each parry sent fresh shocks up John's injured wrist. Each impact threatened to tear Moonfang from his grip.

  Eric pressed his advantage harder. A high cut. A low thrust. A sweeping strike that forced John to jump back. No pause between attacks. No recovery time. Just relentless, overwhelming pressure.

  Eric's blade came straight for his throat.

  John dropped under it, feeling the wind of its passage as the edge passed so close it nearly kissed his skin. He rolled sideways and came up in a crouch.

  Eric laughed, the sound echoing off the carved walls. "Good! You're good!"

  From somewhere beyond the chamber, John heard the clash of steel on steel. Shouting. Garren's voice raised in anger and pain.

  More men had come. Garren was fighting out there, holding them off.

  His muscles burned. The haste charm pushed his body past its natural limits, and his body was screaming in protest.

  Everything hurt.

  Eric grinned, seeing John's pain written clearly on his face.

  Then his posture shifted into something different. His blade began to move in patterns that made John's eyes hurt to track.

  John's stomach dropped. He knew this skill. Had died to it over and over before learning the counter.

  The attacks seemed to come from everywhere at once. High, low, left, right, all at the same time. Eric moved like water, like wind, his blade a silver blur.

  The impacts rattled up his arms with each block, each parry.

  John was being overwhelmed, his defenses crumbling.

  He made a decision.

  He closed his eyes.

  Trust the pattern. Trust the knowledge. Trust the memories of this exact fight, this exact skill, this exact counter that always worked if you executed it perfectly.

  Sword up. Angle left. Down right. Side parry. Then attack.

  His body moved without conscious thought. Moonfang swept through paths John couldn't see but knew were right. He felt impacts as his blade caught attacks in the darkness behind his eyelids.

  The final movement. The counter. The opening that always appeared.

  John's blade swept forward, he felt it connect, felt it slice through something.

  John opened his eyes.

  Eric stood three feet away, staring down at his sword. The blade was ruined, notched in a dozen places where Moonfang's enchanted edge had caught it.

  Then Eric reached up slowly, almost curiously. Touched his throat. His fingers came away red and glistening.

  A thick line across his neck, bleeding steadily.

  Eric looked at the blood on his fingers. Then at John.

  Then he started laughing. Blood spurted from the cut on his throat with each burst of laughter, spattering across his chest in dark streaks.

  A mad, delighted sound that echoed off the carved walls and made the symbols pulse brighter in response.

  The cut on his throat pulled together.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  John fumbled for another health potion with numb fingers. Nearly dropped it in his haste. He got it to his lips and drank, feeling the warmth spread through him immediately. His wrist shifted as bones ground together, beginning to realign themselves.

  He watched the skin on Eric's neck knit itself closed until there was nothing but a faint red line remaining.

  Eric kept laughing, watching John drink with amusement.

  Then even that line faded away, leaving unmarked skin.

  The laughter died down to chuckles. Eric wiped his eyes, still grinning. "Oh, you're perfect. Absolutely perfect." He looked at John with joy.

  He tossed the ruined sword aside. It clattered across the floor to join the first.

  John lunged. Moonfang swept toward his exposed throat in a desperate strike.

  Eric moved faster than should be possible. His hand came up and hit the side of John's blade away with his bare palm. The edge sliced down his wrist, blood running freely, but he didn't even flinch. Just grinned wider, like the pain was a gift.

  "Eager! I love it!"

  The boss drew one more weapon from his belt. Another dagger, but this one was different. Dark metal that seemed to drink in the torchlight rather than reflect it. Runes ran along its length, glowing faintly red.

  "I'm quite fond of this one," Eric said. His voice was almost soft. Affectionate. "Dwarf-forged. Runebound." He looked at John with that manic grin. "Always wanted a sword to match."

  Eric's posture shifted again, preparing for another devastating charge.

  He started to launch forward. Then something hit him from the side.

  A massive gout of flame that exploded against Eric's body, wreathing him in fire. The charge broke mid-motion. Eric stumbled, roaring with pain and fury as flames clung to his armor and flesh.

  John didn't think. Didn't hesitate.

  He swung with all his might.

  Moonfang met the dagger and stopped dead.

  The blades locked together. Moonfang's enchanted edge met the dark metal and held. Runes flared along both weapons. They screamed against each other, neither giving ground.

  The heat from the flames washed over John. His exposed skin felt like it was blistering again from proximity alone. The flames clung to Eric for another long moment before finally falling away, revealing the man beneath.

  His armor was melted in places. His skin was a burned mess. Red and black and weeping. Parts of his face were charred beyond recognition. But he didn't seem to care. Didn't even seem to feel it.

  Eric's eyes were wild through the flames. His grin was manic.

  He shoved hard. The force threw John backward like he weighed nothing. John's grip on Moonfang almost failed. Almost.

  Eric spun toward the doorway, toward whoever had thrown the fire. His dagger raised to throw—

  An axe tumbled through the air and buried itself in his shoulder with a meaty thunk.

  Eric grunted, looked down at the axe embedded in his flesh. Then back toward the doorway.

  Garren stood there, bleeding heavily from multiple wounds. His armor was dented and torn. He was leaning against the doorframe, barely able to stand. But his eyes were locked on Eric with pure, undiluted hatred.

  John lunged.

  Moonfang drove forward and caught Eric in the back, sliding between ribs and piercing straight through his heart.

  Eric roared in pain and fury. He grabbed the axe still embedded in his shoulder with his free hand and ripped it out. Blood sprayed from the wound. Then he hurled it at Garren in one fluid motion.

  The axe flew like a bullet.

  Garren tried to dodge, throwing himself sideways. The axe caught him in the shoulder instead of the chest. He went down hard, crying out in pain as he hit the ground.

  Eric spun on John. Moonfang tore free from his back in a spray of blood. The burns across his face and arms were already closing, skin knitting together with unnatural speed.

  Eric stopped. Swayed. His hand went to his chest, pressing against the exit wound. Blood poured between his fingers.

  "You almost missed!" His voice was rough, wet with blood on his lips. But the excitement in it was genuine and feral.

  John could see the hole in his chest pulling together even as he watched. Muscle reconnecting. Bone reforming around where his heart should be.

  Eric took a deep breath.

  Then he came at John again. The Blade Dance skill once more. The dagger came in fast, a dozen precise strikes in as many seconds. Each one trying to find a gap in John's faltering defense.

  John parried each strike through pure instinct. Each impact sent fresh shocks up his arms. The dagger didn't chip. Didn't bend. Didn't break.

  His vision was going gray at the edges. He couldn't feel his legs anymore. Couldn't feel much of anything except the desperate need to keep his sword up.

  Eric struck high. John blocked.

  Struck low. John blocked.

  Feinted left, came right—

  John caught a glimpse of the wound in Eric's side. The blood flow had already stopped. It was closing quickly. John ducked under Eric's next swing, moving in toward the man's wounded side where the regeneration was still incomplete.

  Moonfang's edge caught his calf and sheared through.

  Eric staggered backward, his balance thrown by the sudden loss of his lower leg. But his grin only spread wider across his burned face, like losing a limb was just another thrill.

  John looked down. The stump where Eric's lower leg had been was already growing. Flesh sprouting from the wound like plant growth, bone extending, muscle wrapping around it. Fast. Too fast.

  Eric's posture shifted, still somehow balanced on one leg. Another charge coming. Coming right at John.

  John threw himself sideways, blade up. The impact sent John staggering anyway. He fell, and tried to catch himself. Moonfang's edge scraped across the floor, cutting deep through the carved symbols in the stone.

  The runes flared bright. Then went dark.

  Eric screamed. His regenerating leg stopped growing mid-flesh, leaving him with a malformed half-nub.

  John vomited blood, the haste charms and his accumulated injuries finally catching up to him. But through the haze of pain and nausea, a thought cut through. You couldn't do that in the game.

  John dragged Moonfang through more runes. The symbols died under his blade, their red glow fading to nothing.

  Eric pulled an ornate vial from his belt with shaking hands. Crystal glass with liquid that glowed an ethereal gold. Still grinning despite the rage in his eyes, he drank it in one gulp.

  His leg started growing again almost immediately, flesh filling in, bones extending. Almost normal now. Almost whole.

  He readied his dagger.

  John forced himself to his feet. Barely. His legs were numb. His vision swam. Pure willpower keeping him upright. He had to attack. Had to finish this.

  They came together again. John swung. Eric parried. Again. Again. John's arms felt like lead weights. His sword dragged. But he kept swinging. Kept moving.

  The throwing axe tumbled weakly through the air from the doorway. Garren's last effort. It hit the boss in the arm.

  He flinched.

  John thrust with everything he had left.

  Moonfang's edge caught Eric in the temple.

  His mouth opened to speak as John pushed the blade in further. Twisted. Ripped it sideways through bone and brain.

  Eric's eyes went blank. Blood fountained from the massive wound. Then his body collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

  John stood there, swaying on his feet.

  He saw movement in the doorway. Garren. Alive.

  Their eyes met.

  John's legs finally gave out. He hit the ground hard, catching himself on his hands and knees. Then even that was too much. He collapsed onto his side, Moonfang clattering from his grip.

  A notification appeared. Gold text, swimming in his fading vision.

  [Level Up!] x12

  [Defeated An Intelligent Enemy Far Beyond You]

  [Experience Siphoned to Unique Title!]

  [Title Gained!]

  [Skill Gained!]

  John couldn't read it. Couldn't focus. The words swam and blurred and faded.

  Slow, limping footsteps came closer.

  John tried to speak. Nothing came out.

  The chamber spun. Went dark at the edges. He vomited one last time. Then dark.