An overwhelming sense of uncertainty and panic filled his heart as he wondered if he had made the right move. In the distance, he could see the blood staining the ground and a pool of black energy devouring the remains of the dead gremlins. The tendrils of the energy were grotesque and slithered across the battlefield, withering every vegetation it touched.

  The dark miasma continued to converge, forming into a grotesque entity at the center. The tendrils slithered and absorbed every lifeform it could feast its eyes on, growing ginormous by the second. The mage then extended its hand, commanding the tendrils to consume the surrounding forest with a more ferocious hunger. Three dark tendrils crawled toward the orc, refusing to let its enemy get away.

  Choppy's axe clashed against the encroaching darkness, but the mage retaliated by sending more tendrils to swarm the orc. The tendrils wrapped around the lifeless gremlins, coalescing them into a clump of dark energy that siphoned their life essence to the mage. As the tendrils made contact with Choppy’s skin, his muscles weakened and wilted almost instantly. The blight drained his strength, preying on his dwindling stamina.

  It was a battle against time; the outcome hinged on who would last the longest.

  Fortunately, with the potion still enhancing his strength, Choppy fought through the debilitating effects. His grip on the axe tightened as he pushed his body to its limits. Since the poison was still at its early stage, he continued to swing his axe against the mage, fighting till his last breath.

  "I’m not going to lose to a filthy creature born from putrid stench!" he roared defiantly.

  Who would have thought his potions would be the key to turning the battle? Whenever the mage cast a powerful spell, Choppy's axe cleaved through the residual energy, creating a brief respite.

  Suddenly, Lionel heard Choppy’s voice cutting through the chaos, followed by a loud burst of shattered energy.

  "Do it now, Lionel!" Choppy’s axe hovered in mid-air as the collision of energies reached its peak. The impact created a fracture that split the ground in two, causing trees along the perimeter to shake violently and birds to scatter in panic.

  Lionel stood there, panting and sweating, paralyzed by the spectacle of the clash.

  "What?" Lionel snapped back to reality as Choppy’s voice echoed in his ears. The [Fireburst Potion] was the last vial he had on his belt. He fumbled to reach it, hoping it was just his imagination. But when his fingers met only an empty pockets, he considered fleeing. Yet, at the same time, he couldn’t abandon his friend. Determined, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and summoned every ounce of courage.

  "How am I supposed to turn this around?"

  "Wait? A plan? Is Choppy telling me that he has a plan?" Lionel smacked his head. "I can do this," he clenched his fist. "There must be a way to overcome this situation, a plan that would catch the mage off guard and turn the tables in their favor."

  "Damn, did he not understand me when I said there's no time for planning? It's all or nothing." Lionel gritted his teeth.

  Squinting his eyes, Lionel noticed a fluid dripping from the axe, a reddish substance oozing from its sharp edge. "Since when did he have the time to grab the vial from my belt?"

  Suspicious, his mind jogged with anxiety as he thought of the orc's plan, skeptical of its outcome. Was his plan made by a whim or an instinct honed by countless battles?

  The image of the orc's axe flailing wildly as the slime dripped from its axe filled his mind. Maybe the slime would stick to these patches and ignite them, giving them an ample chance to win the battle.

  Lionel imagined the slime burning through the mage’s clothes, a desperate attempt but potentially effective strategy. Determined, he steeled himself to help Choppy, even if it meant risking his life.

  Taking a deep breath, Lionel closed his eyes and focused with everything he had. The image of the slime burned vividly in his mind, its shifting form like a living entity, and the world around him seemed to pause as he felt his consciousness intertwine with the essence of the slime. He saw every intricate strand, every subtle shift in its fluidity, as if the very nature of the slime was unfolding before him.

  Before, he had coated his weapon with a flammable substance, enhancing its destructive power. But now, he was determined to push beyond that, to transcend its limitations and force it to act in ways it was never meant to. The boundaries of nature were there to be tested, to be broken by those who dared to push beyond the ordinary. Fire had sparked change, and with it, Lionel sought to create an era of his own—a more rational force born from nature.

  “I have to,” Lionel whispered, a shiver running down his spine. Memories of fire—its blazing power, its ability to change everything in its wake—flooded his mind. He could feel his instincts answering the call, yearning to harness the power he was invoking.

  Lionel willed the fiery essence to surface within him, imagining small flames flickering to life within the slime. The fire surged and swirled, wild and molten, testing the limits of his control. Sweat dripped down his forehead as the intensity of the flames grew, pushing at his grasp. It was chaos, and he was struggling to tame it.

  With no hesitation, Lionel released the volatile elements from within the slime. The liquid from the axe swelled, expanding into a violent inferno.

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  In an instant, flames erupted violently from the mage’s robe. The inferno consumed everything in its path, reducing trees to ash, scorching the ground beneath, and sending waves of smoke into the air. The roar of the firestorm drowned out all other sounds, the world swallowed in an ocean of heat and destruction.

  Lionel leaned against a nearby tree, gasping for breath, his chest heaving with exhaustion. The heat was unbearable, his face streaked with soot, sweat mingling with the grime. His vision blurred, the world spinning as fatigue threatened to drag him into sleep. Just as he felt the pull of unconsciousness, a surge of energy shot through him, jolting him awake.

  With a clenched fist, he focused all his remaining will on the flame, imagining it resting in his hand, waiting for its moment. The fire pulsed with life, its warmth a steady rhythm matching his heartbeat. The flame responded to his thoughts, becoming an extension of his will, ready to be unleashed at his command.

  Lionel lifted his hand high, aiming it toward the remnants of the mage's dark magic still lingering in the air. With a determined thrust, he released the flame, sending it surging through the smoky haze in a concentrated stream of intense heat.

  The inferno tore through the smoke, its bright flames cutting through the darkness like a knife. The concentrated heat struck the heart of the mage’s dark magic, igniting a brilliant explosion that illuminated the entire forest in a blinding flash.

  “BURN-BABY-BURN!” Lionel shouted, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. He let the exhaustion creep up on him, surrendering to it as his body slowly succumbed to sleep. He embraced the bitter sweetness of victory and fatigue, his mind drifting into the peaceful embrace of rest.

  The flames raged on, unstoppable in their fury. The remnants of the mage’s twisted magic were consumed, incinerating the corrupted energy that had tainted the battlefield. Trees cracked and splintered as the heat spread, turning them to ash, the ground below reduced to smoldering cinders. Amid the inferno, the gremlin mage stood, stunned and enraged at its defeat. It flung its wand desperately, unable to comprehend that a mage of its caliber had been outsmarted by a mere child. Its face twisted in disbelief and fury as it realized its fate.

  Unwilling to accept its end, the mage flailed its arms in a panic, clinging desperately to its remaining mana, trying in vain to extinguish the fire with weak, feeble magic. But the flames had already spiraled beyond its control—its struggle was nothing but a futile attempt against an unstoppable force.

  "No, no! Don’t send me to the nether!" The gremlin mage screamed, its voice laced with panic. "My flower, my last reward… my sweet nectar, my sweet flower…" In its final moments, its claws scraped across its own skin, cursing its fate. "Damn you all!"

  “A heretic...” A dark, ominous voice emerged from behind the mage, its figure shrouded in a thick, swirling fog.

  The voice was coarse and unsettling, revealing an entity far more powerful than Choppy had ever anticipated. Choppy tusk glimmered in response, sensing a presence of a far greater force lurking within the mage.

  "How amusing."

  ***

  The smell of charred flesh and gravel wafted through his nostrils. The vitality of once lushed land was now buried in fire, its cries heard but in a crumb of water. Its sorrow left unseen, only to be buried under the ash.

  The rain fell and clashed against the flames. Lionel could feel the droplets of water soaking into his clothes while the fire reached and comforted him. There was something about the elements meddling with each other. In that moment, he understood the whims of nature and the fragile balance between life and destruction.

  "Life," Lionel said with a clogged breath. The smoke was still in his lungs.

  The wind continued to carry him to a distant place, the breeze gliding against his face. A familiar pulse throbbed below his chest. It felt foreign yet strangely reassuring. He strained his eyes as he saw Choppy's back carrying him in haste. In a silent glance, gratitude seeped into his heart, relieved he had someone he could rely on.

  This was his first time fighting alongside someone who had been so close to death. He wondered if every warrior who had fought for their life dealt with such intensity. Lionel stayed on his back for a while, smiling and enjoying the company as Choppy carried him onward.

  "If you are going to plan ahead, do it before you are going to jump into a pit of fire," Lionel said, wrapping his hands around choppy.

  Seeing Lionel waking up from the fatigue, Choppy laughed as he thought of the battle earlier. "It's a plan for you, but it's more than just a plan. It's an instinct. Besides, you are thinking too highly of me. I'm an orc, and our kind only answers with a fist."

  Lionel shot him a stern look. “I thought you were a shaman of a tribe. Aren’t the keepers supposed to be wise?”

  “Digging straight to the point, are you?” Choppy grunted.

  “So you’re one of them,” Lionel’s smile widened as he thought of his father. “The special kind.”

  His thoughts briefly flickered to his father, and a fond smile tugged at his lips. He tapped Choppy’s shoulder to signal him to set him down, the movement light and casual. “That’s a relief... but also worrying.”

  “And why are you taller than usual?” Lionel tilted his head, craning his neck to get a better look at the orc, his expression puzzled. "Did you eat something to grow like that?”

  When Choppy set him down gently, Lionel’s legs buckled slightly, his face flushed with a deep blue as he struggled to find his balance.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to rest on my back again?” Choppy asked with concern.

  “No,” Lionel shook his head firmly. “I know you can’t maintain that enchantment for long.”

  Choppy blinked in surprise. “How do you know it’s an enchantment and not a physical change?”

  Lionel thoughtfully stroked his chin. “I’m not sure, but my dad taught me a lot about transmutation. Any fundamental alteration should result in a noticeable shift in structure.”

  “I also observed various transformations earlier, like slimes,” Lionel continued in a dull tone. “It’s strange. I don’t fully understand how enchantments work.”

  Lionel clicked his tongue in frustration. “I noticed you’re expending the same amount of energy as before.”

  “Stop!. Stop over-complicating things,” Choppy roared, clearly frustrated. “You sound like one of those cave dwellers who live their whole lives clueless about their surroundings.”

  “Oh! That sounds just like my dad!” Lionel’s eyes brightened, a grin spreading across his face as his enthusiasm returned. “Do they poop? Or do they smell like rotten vegetables in the morning?”

  Choppy paused, momentarily speechless, struggling to imagine what Lionel’s father might be like. The sudden shift in topic had caught him off guard, and he found himself pitying the poor man. "Wait, what—?"

  “Oh!” Lionel continued, his excitement contagious. “I know! I know! They all have one thing in common—ladies avoid them!”

  Choppy grimaced, shaking his head as he tried to hold his chuckle. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of sympathy for Lionel’s father, unsure whether to laugh or groan at the child’s outlook on things.