Pain.
Everywhere.
It felt like I had been put through a meat grinder, duct-taped back together, and then kicked down a flight of stairs—twice, just for fun.
My limbs hung limp, my vision swam, and my lungs? Yeah, those weren't working anymore.
Oh yeah. I was dying. Again.
Twice in one week. That had to be some kind of record.
The ogre's iron grip tightened around my throat, its rancid breath blasting against my face like a gust of concentrated death.
I gagged. Not that I had enough air to actually choke on the smell, but if I did, I probably would've passed out just from that.
My hands twitched, trying—desperately—to claw free.
But my strength was gone.
My Regeneration kicked in, trying to patch me up, but it wasn't enough.
Not against this monster.
My vision blurred, the edges of the world fading to black.
My chest burned, my body weakening by the second.
I was slipping—losing.
Then…
Shouting.
Distant at first but growing louder. A human voice.
The ogre flinched. Its grip loosened—just slightly.
I sucked in a wheezing breath—blessed oxygen—before my world went weightless.
And then I was flying.
Tossed.
Like a sack of garbage.
Which was insane, considering I wasn't exactly small—I was a troll.
And yet, the ogre had hurled me like I weighed nothing.
CRACK.
I slammed into the ground.
Pain exploded through me as I bounced, rolling like a discarded ragdoll.
The impact jolted me back to reality—and straight into a world of pain.
A sharp, burning ache flared through my ribs, every breath like dragging shards of glass through my lungs. I wheezed, struggling to pull in air, but forced my eyes open.
Figures.
A group of humans stood at the tree line, weapons drawn and ready.
One of them—a swordsman—held a gleaming blade, the edge catching what little light filtered through the canopy. Beside him, an archer nocked an arrow with practiced precision, his gaze locked onto the beast. The third, a shield-bearer, planted his stance, gripping his massive shield like an immovable wall.
The ogre turned, nostrils flaring.
For a moment, it just stood there, huffing, processing the sudden intrusion. Then its small, rage-clouded mind came to a conclusion:
More enemies. More things to smash.
Its snarl deepened, the sound vibrating through the air like rolling thunder.
Then it roared.
Louder.
A bone-rattling, earth-shaking bellow that sent birds screeching from the treetops and made my very bones tremble.
And then—it charged.
The swordsman moved first. He lunged forward, blade flashing, and slashed across the ogre's knee, the metal biting deep.
The ogre stumbled but didn't fall.
The archer fired.
A sharp twang, a blur of motion—then a sickening thud as the arrow buried itself deep into the beast's shoulder.
The ogre roared in pain, but instead of slowing down—it got angrier.
The ogre howled, a guttural, rage-fueled bellow that rattled my skull.
Its massive club swung through the air in a wild, sweeping arc, splintering branches and tearing up the ground in its wake.
I didn't wait to see what—or who—got hit next.
Pain or no pain, this was my chance to escape.
Sticking around meant two things:
One was becoming an ogre pancake.
Two become the target of the humans.
Neither sounded particularly fun.
So I forced my battered body upright, legs wobbling beneath me. My lungs burned, my ribs screamed, but survival overruled pain.
I ran.
At first, it was more of a stagger—like a drunk troll after a bad night—but my instincts kicked in, and soon I was sprinting into the trees.
The further I went, the darker it got.
Thick branches clawed at me, gnarled roots reached out, eager to send me face-first into the dirt. The forest was alive, shifting around me like a living thing—a maze with no clear exit.
My vision blurred.
My limbs felt like lead weights, every step an effort.
And worst of all…
The hunger.
A deep, gnawing emptiness coiled in my gut, growing stronger with each passing second. Regeneration had burned through my energy reserves, and now my body was demanding fuel—fuel I didn't have.
Healing took energy.
Energy I didn't have.
My stomach growled, the sound deep and feral—less a simple complaint and more a threat from my own body.
I had no idea how long I'd been running.
Minutes? Hours? Time meant nothing when your body was half-dead and running on fumes.
One thing was certain.
I needed food. Now.
Then, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, the grass ahead rustled.
I froze, instincts flaring to life.
Heart pounding, I scanned my surroundings—eyes sharp, ears straining for any sign of movement. Predator or prey? Threat or meal?
Then I saw it.
A snake.
Coiled low, its sleek, scaled body gliding through the underbrush, completely unaware of me.
Ding!
[Venomous Snake Level 2]-
"One bite, and you'll have no time to regret your life choices."
I swallowed hard. Ignoring the warning beneath it.
Then muttered mindlessly.
Meat.
It wasn't much. But right now?
It was everything.
It wasn't massive, but it was long—at least six feet of coiled muscle and instinct.
Its dark green scales shimmered faintly, perfectly camouflaged against the underbrush.
Its head lifted, tongue flicking the air. Tasting me.
I swallowed hard.
I also salivated.
This wasn't my first-choice meal, but right now?
Food was food.
I took a step forward, careful, and the snake hissed, clearly warning me it was going to bite.
I was going to bite as well.
I extended my hand inch by inch, reaching for its neck.
If I could just grab it—
HISS!
The snake struck.
A blur of green. A flash of fangs.
Slight pain exploded in my forearm as two sharp fangs sank deep into my skin.
I flinched, expecting the burn—venom flooding my veins, muscles locking up, body shutting down.
But… nothing came.
The pain was sharp, but there was no spreading fire, no dizziness, no paralysis.
I blinked, wondering if I was immune.
Then, something dinged in my head.
A glowing notification flickered into view.