Demos heart racing with each step the man takes,Demos heart was beating so loud even the man could hear Demos heart beat
The man's laughter echoed through the clearing, causing the other four men to turn and stare at Demos. Their faces, etched with battle scars, seemed to gleam with excitement.
The man speaking:"Ahahahaha! Look at him,
brothers!"
the man exclaimed, pointing at Demos.
The man speaking:"He's so scared, his heart is beating like a warrior's in the heat of combat!"
The other men chuckled and snickered, their eyes fixed on Demos. One of them, seemingly the leader, stepped forward. He was a towering figure, with a thick beard and a fierce gaze. His body was covered in battle scars, a testament to his many victories.
The leader speaking:"Enough laughter, brothers,"
the leader growled.
The leader speaking:"We have a feast to prepare. And our guest, is the main course!"
The men cheered and began to close in on Demos. But Demos, fueled by adrenaline and determination, stood his ground.
Demos speaking:" which of you is the leader I challenge you, leader,"
Demos declared, his voice steady.
Demosspeaking:"If I defeat you, I'll become the new leader."
The leader sneered, clearly amused by Demos' bravery.
The leader speaking:"You think you can defeat me, little one? I am Gorthok, the greatest warrior of our tribe!"
After cutting the vines setting Demos free, Demos introduce his self, Demos stood tall, his eyes locked on to the tribe leader.
Demos speaking:"I am Demos, a Spartan warrior,"
he declared, his voice firm and commanding.
Demos speaking:"I challenge you, Gorthok, for the leadership of this tribe."
Gorthok's expression changed from amusement to curiosity.
Gorthok speaking:"Spartan warrior?"
he repeated, his voice laced with skepticism.
Gorthok speaking:"I have never heard of such a thing.
Gorthok speaking:What is this 'Sparta' you speak of?"
Demos smiled, a fierce glint in his eye.
Demos speaking:"Sparta is the birthplace of the greatest warriors to have ever lived,
" he explained.
Gorthok's eyes narrowed, clearly intrigued by Demos' claims.
Gorthok speaking:"I will enjoy watching you eat back those words.
" he said, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.
Demos nodded, his jaw set. "I will not disappoint," he said.
The two men faced each other, their eyes locked in a fierce stare. The air was electric with tension, thick with bloodlust and anticipation, as they circled one another, shoulders tense, muscles coiled like springs, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Gorthok, fueled by a wildfire of rage and adrenaline, erupted forward with a guttural roar that echoed across the battlefield. His massive foot thundered against the ground as he charged. Demos, anticipating the bull-like rush, sidestepped at the last second with practiced precision. As Gorthok's momentum carried him forward, Demos twisted his hips and drove a tight, snapping right hook into Gorthok's ribs. The impact landed with a sickening thud, like a hammer striking wet leather.
Gorthok stumbled back a step, snarling, his eyes ablaze with primal fury. He spun with brute force and swung his massive fist in a wide arc, aiming to cave in Demos' skull. Demos ducked just in time, the wind of the blow cutting past his head with enough force to rustle his hair. The sheer power of the miss sent shockwaves through the air, the ground quivering beneath their feet.
Without hesitation, Demos countered with a flurry—his fists pistoning forward in rapid succession. The first punch cracked into Gorthok's cheekbone, snapping his head sideways with a spray of sweat and blood. The next blow—a sharp left jab—struck his nose, drawing a fresh spurt of crimson. Demos followed with a roundhouse kick, his shin slamming into Gorthok's side with a dull crack, the force rattling through bone.
But Gorthok was relentless.
With gritted teeth and a beast's growl, he absorbed the punishment and surged forward. He blocked Demos' next punch with a crushing forearm, then parried a follow-up kick by slamming his elbow down onto Demos' thigh, momentarily numbing the muscle. Gorthok's counterblow was savage—his fist hammered into Demos' ribs like a battering ram, and a second uppercut struck his chin, snapping Demos' head back.
They collided with the full force of fury and pride, their bodies slamming together in a brutal grapple. They stumbled, legs entangled, and crashed to the ground, rolling across the dirt and grit as fists and elbows flew. Gorthok's knee drove into Demos' stomach; Demos retaliated with a headbutt that crushed their brows together, blood pouring down both faces.
With a feral roar, Demos threw a vicious right cross that landed square on Gorthok's jaw, the impact sending a spray of blood and spit flying from the side of his mouth. Gorthok reeled, stumbling back—dazed, but not defeated. He shook his head, blood dripping from his split lips, eyes still gleaming with hatred.
He roared and surged again—this time lunging with animalistic desperation. Gorthok tackled Demos like a charging boar, slamming into his midsection and driving him to the ground with earth-shaking force. Dust and blood sprayed into the air as Demos hit the earth hard, Gorthok's massive body crushing him beneath it. Thick arms wrapped around his chest like iron bars, the breath squeezed from Demos' lungs.
But Demos refused to yield.
With a roar of defiance, veins bulging, he summoned every ounce of raw power left in his battered frame. His muscles flared, tendons straining as he twisted and heaved. With a bone-jarring roar, he rolled his hips and launched Gorthok off him, flinging the brute to the ground with a thunderous slam.
They lay there for a breathless moment, blood-soaked and heaving, their chests rising and falling with exhaustion. Demos' eyes, though blurred with blood, never left Gorthok's. He spat blood to the side, fists still clenched.
Gorthok snarled, his face drenched in gore, the three deep claw marks on his face leaking blood down to his chest. He struggled upright, staggering, swaying—more beast than man. Demos followed, teeth grit, pain stabbing through every limb as he rose, fists trembling at his sides.
They faced each other once more, chests heaving like dying engines. The world around them disappeared—only blood, pain, and vengeance remained.
With a bone-shattering bellow, Gorthok launched forward, rage incarnate. His massive fists crashed down like falling boulders—one struck Demos' shoulder, nearly dislocating it, while the next crushed into his ribs, bending him sideways. A third punch landed squarely on Demos' face with a wet, sickening crack—his nose flattened, cartilage shattering, blood gushing. Another blow crashed into his temple, his vision swimming in red haze as he crashed to the ground like a felled tree.
Demos gasped, spitting out shards of broken teeth. His face was a ruin—swollen, bruised, barely recognizable. His arms shook as he tried to push himself up, only to be knocked back down by another merciless stomp to the chest. His body was a battlefield of slashes and bruises, every muscle shrieking in agony.
But he refused to stay down.
With a final, guttural cry, Demos surged upward with one last defiant burst of strength. He lunged at Gorthok, fists flying with the wrath of a vengeful god. He drove a punch into Gorthok's throat, staggering him. Another followed—this time to the temple. The third punch—raw, primal, final—landed square on Gorthok's jaw. A crack echoed as his head snapped back violently.
Demos didn't stop.
He grabbed Gorthok's head and plunged his thumbs deep into his enemy's eyes. Gorthok shrieked—a monstrous, gurgling scream—as his sockets filled with blood and darkness. Demos' jaw was broken, his breath ragged, but his wrath was pure. He roared in the blinded warrior's face.
Then, with a brutal, final blow—a full-bodied haymaker—Demos drove his fist into Gorthok's jaw. The bone cracked like dry timber. Gorthok collapsed, limbs twitching, his body landing twisted and mangled in the dirt, motionless.
Demos stood over him, swaying, drenched in blood—his own and Gorthok's. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. Every inch of him throbbed with pain, but he stood tall. Victorious.
"It's over," Demos declared, his voice hoarse but commanding.
"I'm the victor."
The tribe men , who had been watching the fight in awe, nodded in agreement. They acknowledged Demos as their new leader, and Gorthok as the defeated warrior.
But as soon as he declared victory, Demos' body gave out. He fell to the floor, his vision blurring as he struggled to stay conscious.
The tribe's warriors carefully lifted Demos and Gorthok off the ground, carrying them to a small cave nearby. The cave was cramped and dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of sweat and blood.
The warriors laid Demos and Gorthok on the cold, rocky floor. The tribe's healer, a wise and aged woman named Akira, began to tend to their wounds.
Akira cleaned Demos' wounds, applying a special poultice to his broken jaw. She worked with equal care on Gorthok, cleaning his wounds and applying a soothing balm to his battered face.
As the two warriors lay there, the tribe gathered around them, their faces illuminated only by the faint moonlight through the cave.
"What shall we do with him?" one of the warriors asked, nodding towards Gorthok. "He has brought shame to our tribe."
"We should banish him," another warrior suggested. "Let him fend for himself in the wilderness."
But Akira shook her head.
Akira speaking:"We cannot banish him,
"Gorthok is one of us. We must help him to heal, and to find his way again."
The tribe nodded in agreement, their eyes fixed on Demos and Gorthok.
3 DAYS AFTER
Demos woke up to see the system task Complete
Just as Demos was about to learn more about the system he heard a sudden noise to his left he noticed that he's in a cave and his wounds from his battle were healing at a speed fast to the naked eye that when he realized a unfamiliar person was walking towards him.