The shaman then reaches for a pouch near the dead bodies. He pinches a handful of black dust and throws it into a torch.

  Whssh!

  The fire bursts violently, sending thick black smoke swirling through the air.

  The shaman waves the smoke toward the spirits. Immediately, they begin convulsing. Their hunger grows unbearable, their madness amplifying.

  Even Adanu Raksa notices the shift. “The hell is wrong with these bastards?”

  Their shrill cries grow violent, their movements more erratic.

  A few forest demons manage to climb onto the cliff. Without hesitation, Adanu Raksa beheads the first two, then kicks another off the ledge.

  He knows they are endless, but he needs clear space to reach the shaman before exhaustion sets in.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” he taunts after slicing through four spirits in one stroke.

  The shaman smirks. “With this many soldiers at my disposal, why would I need to fight you myself?”

  Adanu Raksa grins. “I mean, you should run while you still can.”

  A dense, suffocating killing aura suddenly radiates from his body. The nearest spirits recoil instantly, momentarily stunned.

  And then—

  Shnng!

  In a blink, Adanu Raksa closes the distance, his sword aimed straight for the shaman’s neck.

  The shaman barely reacts. Instead, he simply tilts his head slightly downward.

  Clang!

  The blade collides with something solid.

  Adanu Raksa’s eyes widen.

  The shaman’s left forehead has begun to shift.

  From his skin, something protrudes.

  A horn.

  It’s growing—slowly, steadily.

  Adanu Raksa exhales sharply. “What the hell are you?”

  The shaman swings his wooden staff with crushing force.

  Adanu barely evades in time, but the impact sends him skidding toward the cliff’s edge. Pebbles crumble beneath his feet. One step too far, and he’ll fall into the ravine.

  But there’s no time to breathe. A swarm of evil spirits already hurl themselves at him.

  “Get out of my way!”

  With a sharp arc of his sword, he cleaves through them, their screams piercing the night.

  Adanu Raksa barely has time to recover. When he looks back, he finds the shaman no longer human.

  His head has twisted into the grotesque form of a goat, curved horns jutting from his skull.

  His legs are now those of a beast, hooved and unnaturally bent. Though his torso remains humanoid, his entire body is now covered in thick black fur.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Adanu Raksa’s eye twitches. “What the hell? Since when did a goat learn magic?”

  The shaman laughs, his voice guttural and distorted.

  Then, he leaps. High into the air. And when he lands—

  BAM!!!

  The wooden staff slams into the ground with devastating force, sending shockwaves through the cliffside.

  Adanu Raksa flips to the left, rolling twice before regaining his footing.

  But no sooner does he rise than—

  SNARL!

  Forest demons charge from the side.

  “Tch.”

  He slashes through two of them—

  But before he can turn—

  WHAM!!!

  The shaman’s staff strikes from behind. The force hurls Adanu Raksa into the rocky cliff wall.

  CRACK!

  Pain erupts through his spine. Blood spills from his mouth.

  He staggers, vision blurred.

  But instead of attacking again, the shaman just stands there, wooden staff planted into the ground.

  He grins. “That arrogance of yours... I don’t know how long you’ve been fighting these demons, but there’s a whole world of horrors you haven’t seen yet.”

  Adanu Raksa spits out blood, wiping his mouth. “And yet, here you are bragging after landing just one hit.”

  He sways slightly.

  Then—

  He starts to move.

  His stance shifts, his feet light, his sword weaving through the air in smooth arcs.

  The shaman’s eyebrow raises. “Dancing? Have you lost your mind after hitting your head?”

  But then, he notices it.

  Something feels different.

  Adanu Raksa’s movements aren’t random. He’s building momentum.

  His blade begins to blur—striking faster and faster, closing in.

  Until then, the tip of his sword nears the shaman’s chin.

  “Too easy!”

  The shaman spins his wooden staff, deflecting the attack.

  But the sword doesn’t stop. Instead of being knocked away, it curves.

  Still moving.

  Still gaining momentum.

  The shaman frowns. “What trick is this?”

  Adanu Raksa’s sword accelerates, his strikes flowing endlessly.

  The shaman parries once. Twice. Three times.

  But each time—

  The force behind the blade grows stronger.

  It’s relentless.

  There is no opening.

  Then—

  Slash! Slash! Slash!

  The shaman’s skin splits, piece by piece.

  He yelps, stepping back.

  His staff swings wildly, trying to push Adanu Raksa away. But he can’t.

  He gasps. “What the hell is this?!”

  Blood sprays.

  Flesh peels.

  More evil spirits and demons rush forward to help. But Adanu Raksa doesn’t stop.

  He cuts them down mid-swing, never breaking momentum.

  His sword never slows.

  His arc of slashes is infinite.

  Until—

  SHING!

  The sword sinks deep into the shaman’s side.

  And then—

  Thud!

  It stops.

  Adanu Raksa’s eyes widen. “…What?”

  The blade can’t completely split the shaman’s body as he hoped.

  It’s stuck.

  “You monster!” he growls, irritated.

  The shaman grins wickedly. “You’re the monster.”

  Before Adanu Raksa can react—

  WHOOSH!

  The shaman spins his staff upward.

  CRACK!

  The wooden staff slams into Adanu Raksa’s chin. His head snaps back.

  For a moment—his vision flashes white. But his grip on the sword never loosens.

  He rips it free, stumbling back. His breathing comes heavy.

  The shaman gasps for air as well, kneeling with one leg down. Blood drips from his wounds.

  Adanu Raksa notices something strange. The shallow cuts in the shaman’s body are already closing, engulfed in smokeless flame.

  The deep wounds remain open, but the fire licking at them violently.

  The shaman glares at him, hate burning in his eyes. “Now I see why the Carrion Flower Devil wants you.”

  Adanu Raksa smirks. “Tell him I’m flattered.”

  But his eyes remain locked on the burning wounds. They’re trying to heal.

  The shaman clenches his jaw. And then, he reaches out.

  The remaining evil spirits jerk violently, their bodies twisting toward him.

  One by one—

  He pulls them in.

  His hands grasp the spirits, his fingers tightening.

  And then, he swallows them whole.

  Soon, his breathing steadies, reinvigorated. His wounds finish closing.

  Adanu notices the oddities.

  But still…

  “Thank you for killing them, but… Are you done?”

  The shaman grins wickedly. “I might already kill a few, but more will come as long as you live. And as long as they come… I will never die.”

  At that, Adanu Raksa can no longer hide his doubts.

  He has confidence to hold off the forest demons until dawn.

  But this goat-like demon?

  He’s not so sure.

  Unlike the mindless creatures he fights every night, this shaman has skill. And if he doesn’t disappear with the sunrise, then it will be a disaster.

  Doubt seeps into his mind.

  And doubt makes him weaker.

  He starts to slip, his reactions slowing. His focus fractures.

  The shaman grins, pressing the attack, landing several blows.

  “What’s wrong? Losing your will to fight?”

  The more he pushes Adanu Raksa into a corner, the more he awakens something primal in him—

  A survivor’s instinct.

  Adanu Raksa’s focus is back.

  But no matter how many times Adanu injures his enemy, the shaman simply devours more spirits and restores himself.

  The cycle repeats.

  And the shaman chuckles.

  “I can go on like this forever.”

  Adanu Raksa grits his teeth. “I can just wait for dawn.”

  “And you really think you’ll last that long?” the shaman teases.

  Adanu Raksa has no answer. Because, truthfully, he’s running out of option.

  The shaman lands another crushing blow.

  Bam!

  Then another. Bam!

  Then another. A series of successive blows.

  Bam, Dsh, bug, BAM!

  Adanu Raksa crashes into the rocky cliff wall, blood dripping from his mouth.

  The shaman laughs, relishing his advantage. “See? In no time, I’ll devour your soul and make myself even stronger.”

  He grabs another spirit—chews—swallows.

  Adanu Raksa breathes heavily. “Is that why you fight with a staff instead of a sword?”

  The shaman smirks. “So you figured it out, huh?”

  Adanu Raksa wipes blood from his lips. “You keep me alive to weaken me.”

  The shaman licks his lips. “Your soul is different, isn’t it?” He grins. “It’s already been mixed with the Carrion Flower Devil’s spirit. I bet it’s more delicious than these girls I sacrificed.”

  Adanu Raksa clenches his sword tighter. He breathes deeply, standing with an unsteady sway.

  He lifts his black Damascus sword to his face.

  And then, he whispers to it.

  “Sorry, guys. Looks like I’ll make you all suffer again like before.”

  “But please—don’t disturb my mind when I’m fighting him.”

  The blade shudders.

  The shaman’s smirk falters.

  “What the hell are you talking to?”

  Adanu Raksa doesn’t answer.

  And then—

  Grooo!!!

  A sudden burst of suffocating killing aura erupts from him. But it vanishes instantly.

  The shaman narrows his eyes. “Did… did he just lose all his life force?”

  Something isn’t right.

  Adanu Raksa falters, limbs heavy with exhaustion.

  His sword grows unnaturally dense.

  Transparent, white plasma engulfs the blade, pulsing like a living thing.