If Luka were to throw in the towel, no one would dare to blame him.
The odds weren't just against him—they were stacked so high it was laughable. Survive for two hours? Against a creature designed to rip things apart? Armed with a broken sword he could barely lift, no less?
It was absurd.
Downright impossible.
But here's something about Luka.
Something that defined him.
Ridicule was ofcause his middle name. He had spent a lifetime swallowing insults, enduring degrading glares, and being the butt of everyone's joke. He had been called useless, a waste, a mistake—so many times that the words stopped stinging a long time ago.
People had tried to break him in every way imaginable. And sure, maybe he bent under the weight of it all. Maybe he cracked here and there. But breaking? That wasn't in his DNA.
Because no matter how many times he had been pushed down, there was one thing Luka had never been able to stomach.
Giving up.
And he wasn't about to start now.
He stood there, panting, blood dripping from a dozen wounds and onto the forest floor. His vision blurred, every nerve in his body screaming for him to rest. But Luka forced himself to stay upright, even as the beast growled, circling him like a predator savoring the end of a hunt.
His hand trembled as he clutched the broken hilt of his sword, the jagged remnant useless in his grip. His blood rushed hot and fast, his heartbeat hammering like a war drum in his ears. His body screamed at him to stop, to lie down and let the beast finish it.
But the fire burning in his chest wouldn't allow it.
The werewolf lunged, its massive form a blur of fur and claws. Luka twisted just enough to avoid being impaled by it, but the beast's claws raked across his side, tearing flesh and muscle like paper.
Luka screamed, his voice raw and guttural, but he didn't fall. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his clothes and pooling at his feet. He stumbled back, his boots slipping on the slick ground, he staggered but he kept his footing.
The beast turned again, yellow eyes glinting with cruel amusement as if mocking Luka's defiance.
Luka roared and charged, the jagged hilt in his hand swinging like a club. The werewolf swiped it's claw at him, but Luka ducked low, sliding under the beast's arm and slamming the hilt into its ribs.
The impact was pitiful. It barely phased the monster. But Luka didn't stop.
He swung again, aiming for its legs, its chest—anywhere he could reach. Black blood sprayed from shallow wounds, but it wasn't enough. The beast was too fast, too powerful. Too strong.
The werewolf lashed out, hitting Luka with a force that sent him spinning, crashing into a tree. His vision darkened, pain exploding in his shoulder as he hit the ground.
The beast was on him in an instant, its jaws snapping inches from his face. Luka rolled to the side, scrambling to his feet just as the werewolf's claws came down.
But... Luka wasn't fast enough.
The claws caught his left arm, ripping through flesh and bone like wet paper. Luka's scream tore through the forest, raw and agonized, as his arm fell uselessly to the ground. Blood gushed from the severed limb, painting the dirt in a violent streaks of red.
He should have collapsed. Stayed down by the unbearable pain he was feeling.
Every nerve in his body alight with agony.
His vision swam.
His knees buckled.
But something deep inside him refused to stop.
Luka stood.
His breaths were ragged, his remaining hand trembling as he tightened his grip on the broken hilt. Blood poured down his side, pooling around his feet. The world tilted, the edges of his vision darkening.
But he stood.
He was still standing.
The werewolf tilted its head, watching him with something like curiosity. As if wondering why this weak, pathetic human refused to die.
Luka spat blood onto the ground, his lips curling into a grin that was equal parts defiance and madness.
"Is that all you've got?" he snarled, his voice a guttural rasp.
The beast growled, its muscles coiling as it prepared to lunge again.
Luka didn't wait for the beast to make a move.
With a guttural roar, he charged.
His broken sword raised high. The werewolf leapt toward him, its claws outstretched, but Luka didn't falter.
The beast's claws slashed across his chest, opening deep gashes that sent blood spraying in every direction. Luka screamed in pain but kept moving, using the momentum of the blow to bring him closer to the monster.
With a desperate leap, he slammed the jagged hilt into the creature's chest, aiming for the glowing core beneath its thick fur. The blade skidded off, leaving only a shallow wound.
The werewolf howled in rage, slamming him to the ground. Its claws raked across his back, shredding flesh and muscle. Blood poured from Luka's wounds, soaking the ground beneath him.
But he still didn't stop.
He rolled onto his back, using his remaining arm to drive the jagged blade into the werewolf's throat. The creature reared back, blood spraying from the wound, but it wasn't enough to kill it.
Luka pushed himself to his knees, his vision blurring. The world spun, but he forced himself to focus on the glowing core in the creature's forehead.
Just one more hit.
The werewolf lunged again, its jaws snapping. Luka ducked low, driving the hilt into its chest once more. The blade shattered completely, leaving him completely unarmed.
Luka stumbled back, his body trembling. Blood dripped from his mouth, his nose and every opening on his body. He was out of weapons, out of strength.
A familiar soft chime filled the air.
Hp: 2/10
The werewolf growled, its glowing eyes narrowing as it stalked toward him. Luka's knees buckled, but he forced himself to stand tall.
"I'm not done," he spat, his voice a hoarse whisper.
The beast lunged, its claws aimed for his throat.
Luka roared, charging forward with nothing but his bare hand.