The giant was dead.

  Its massive corpse lay in the dirt like a fallen monument, still twitching with the final echoes of defiance.

  The air had shifted—no longer heavy with bloodlust, but silence… yet filled with dread.

  The Drax tribe warriors, once beast-like, drunk on murder now stood paralyzed. Their god had forsaken their champion, their colossus, war-painted instrument of death, had fallen not by some divine wrath, but by a mortal man not even half his size.

  Faith fractured in their panicked eyes. Giving room for fear to take root. One by one, they turned. Then they ran. Pride forgotten, weapons abandoned. They scattered like sheep trying desperately to escape a hungry wolf—fleeing the man that still stood in what remained of the ring.

  Lucian didnt chase them. He stood, motionless, hair drenched and covered in sweat and blood. The broken stumps of his broken swords still clutched tight in his hands as blood dripped to the surface below.

  He merely watched them run.

  To the Drax, he was no longer a man. He was death incarnate. The undying shadow of death. The Mazzaroth.The cursed omen that had struck down their god's will. None dared test if he could still die.

  —-

  Thrown to the edge of the clearing by the giant's earth-shattering smash, Anne and the ginger were still in disbelief. For a long moment, they didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Then Anne collapsed to her knees, the tears she had held back for so long streamed down her face

  “We survived,” she whispered, then shouted, grabbing the ginger and pulling him close. “We’re alive! We’re free!”

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  They wept, clinging to one another in the ruin of the battlefield. The joy of survival mingled with pain.

  But Lucian didn’t join their celebration.

  He still stood where the giant fell. Anne ran to him, smiling, arms wide, a song of praise on her lips.But the second she touched him, Lucian's body crumpled. Like a marionette with its strings severed.

  The shattered blades slipped from his hands. His weight fell into Anne’s arms, limp, breath shallow, eyes unfocused.

  “Lucian!?” she screamed.

  He didn’t answer as an unbearable, indescribable pain took hold of his very being.

  Just moments before in the dust cloud, the giant’s axe, thrown in that final moment, had not missed its intended target. In that moment, the axe ripped through his blades and buried itself in Lucian's chest, tearing his lungs to pieces. His heart danced on the edge of failure. Yet beneath the surface, something else stirred.

  From the brink of life and death, the [Ill-Fated Deck] curse awakened once more.

  Before, twenty-eight glowing dominoes circled slowly through the void again. Lucian stood before them, ready and waiting to choose once again.

  He stepped forward.

  The deck spun. Slowed. Then stopped.

  His finger trembled as he reached out. The tile flipped.

  A four, and the other side empty. (Blank)

  A 64% chance to survive and no drawbacks.

  “Yes—” he whispered, beaming with hope….

  But fate, as ever, had a cruel sense of humor. Blood erupted from his mouth, pouring like a river. His legs buckled in that dream-space, and pain returned in full, tearing him from the brink of salvation. In a twisted turn of events, his 64% chance did not roll in his favor.

  “Curse my damn luck…”

  And then it came again, the voice.

  “Child of Perdition. Will you tempt fate again?”

  The voice was devoid of all emotion.

  Lucian didn’t flinch.

  Death was no stranger anymore. It was a companion. A rival. A shadow that had grown too familiar to fear.

  “Again,” he growled.

  The deck spun faster this time, glowing brighter. Then it stopped.

  Lucian hesitated for just a second. His mind was strong and determined to face whatever was on the other side of the tile, but his mortal flesh was weak as his finger trembled even more.

  He chose.

  The tile flipped.

  Six.

  Both sides.

  The tile was his salvation and his suffering. A 96% chance to survive, but with it a dear cost. The pain of death would be multiplied sixfold….And so it began.

  Every nerve screamin anguish,his bones snapped back into place, Muscles reknit like cords pulled too tight. Blood reversed its flow, soaking back into veins like ink into parchment.

  The was very good but the bad was even worse. Lucian’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain. His eyes went bloodshot,his pupils darkened , as every cell in his body revolted against its host. Breathing became agonizing. Could not twitch without fire coursing through him.

  But he was alive. He endured. Because he had to. He had decided he would not die here.

  —-

  Back in the present, Anne cradled his body, sobbing uncontrollably. His blood-soaked rags draped his battered and bruised frame, but she held him as if he might vanish if she let go.

  “Lucian… please…”

  His breath weezed. A twitch in his fingers. A soft groan.

  Her heart leapt at the fact that he was still alive.