The Iron-Keep was a jagged mountain of black, repurposed steel, held together by the dried gore of a thousand sacrifices. At its base stood the Gate of Teeth—a massive portcullis made of sharpened mammoth ribs.
Two Rank-3 Gate-Guardians, hulking Orc-Beasts clad in rusted plate armor, stood watch with twelve-foot halberds.
"Halt, scrap-meat!" the left guardian roared. "The Warlord is busy carving your friend's heart. You want to watch? You pay with your head!"
Kane didn't halt. He didn't even slow down. He began to run, his boots cracking the iron-clay with every stride.
[SKILL ACTIVATED: BLOOD-LUST STACKING]
[CURRENT STACKS: 1]
"Fine! Die then!"
The Guardians swung their halberds in a pincer move meant to shear Kane in half. Kane didn't duck. He leaped, his Agility (85) turning him into a black blur. He kicked off the left guardian's helmet—snapping the creature's neck instantly—and spun in mid-air.
The Twin Fangs flashed.
SHLICK.
The right guardian's head hit the dirt before its body realized it was dead.
[BLOOD-LUST STACKS: 5]
[DAMAGE INCREASE: +10%]
"Sully! Vance!" Kane's voice wasn't human anymore; it was a sonic boom that rattled the iron plates of the fortress. "I'M HERE!"
He slammed his shoulder into the Gate of Teeth. With 70 Strength and the momentum of a freight train, the mammoth-rib portcullis didn't just open—it shattered.
The Corridor of Carnage
Kane marched into the main hall. An army of sixty Rank-2 Iron-Orcs stood between him and the sacrificial altar. They were a sea of green flesh, rusted steel, and screaming fury.
"KILL THE OUTLANDER!"
Kane met them head-on. He didn't use tactics. He used Erasure.
He moved through the ranks like a scythe through wheat. The Twin Fangs were no longer just axes; they were extensions of his Ashen Scales. Every swing sent arcs of violet-black fire through the air. Each time an Orc fell, its soul was vacuumed into Kane's spine, fueling the fire.
Kill. Step. Kill. Spin. Kill.
[BLOOD-LUST STACKS: 25... 40... 55!]
[CRITICAL THRESHOLD REACHED: BERSERKER STATE AWAKENED]
Kane's eyes turned a blinding, predatory silver. The grey steam rising from his skin turned blood-red. He wasn't dodging weapons anymore; the Orcs' blades were snapping against his Ashen Scales like glass against stone.
By the time he reached the Great Door of the Altar, the hallway behind him was a river of dissolving mist and scrap metal.
[BLOOD-LUST STACKS: 60 (MAX)]
[TEMPORARY STRENGTH: 140]
[TEMPORARY AGILITY: 170]
Kane kicked the final door. It flew off its hinges, tumbling across the sacrificial chamber and crushing a Rank-3 Shaman against the far wall.
In the center of the room, Vance was chained to a slab of black obsidian. His chest was bare, a jagged ritual knife hovering inches above his heart. Sully was caged in the corner, her hands bound in mana-suppressing silver.
The Iron-Orc Warlord, a seven-foot mountain of scarred muscle and gold-plated armor, turned away from Vance. He held a massive, dual-headed warhammer that glowed with a Rank-3 Peak light.
"You..." the Warlord growled, his eyes narrowing. "You're the one the Ash-Walker spoke of. The God-Feeder."
Kane stepped over the threshold, the Twin Fangs dripping with fresh ichor. His silhouette was wreathed in a terrifying, blood-red aura.
"Step away from my squad," Kane said, the ground beneath his feet liquefying from the sheer pressure of his essence. "Or I'll feed your soul to the dirt before you can even scream."
Vance looked up from the slab, his eyes widening. "Sarge...? Is that... you?"
"Close your eyes, Vance," Kane rasped, his silver-amber gaze locking onto the Warlord. "This is going to be messy."