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The Apocalypse Grinder - Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 09:33:58 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 29 | Index | Chapter 31 >>
A lance of searing agony sliced itself into the side of Ronan’s head. A mist of blood trailed behind his body, his figure blurring as he combined swift strike with a shoulder charge.
In the blink of an eye, he went from being at the end of the goblin’s spear to in front of its chest. He was leaning down, his momentum forced into a single point at the edge of his shoulder.
A sickening crunch sounded out as he smashed into the goblin’s chest, breaking half of its ribs instantly. His legs exploded with force, lifting its body off the ground. Then, the swirling torrent of mana burst outwards, bringing the second step of his strike.
The monster’s stomach rippled as the mana passed through it. For a second, the pair were frozen in place, resembling a carving by an ancient roman as they were locked in battle.
With a pop, the goblin’s skin peeled from its back, revealing its spine moments before it shattered. Its guts sprayed across the ceiling and out onto the nearby goblins.
Ronan slumped forwards, throwing what remained of its corpse onto the ground. He panted, feeling an itch on the side of his head as the savage wounds left by the warrior’s barbed spear repaired themselves.
“Holy shit, Ronan. That was wild!” he heard Dana exclaim. He barely had the mental energy to look in her direction.
While leveling up restored health and stamina to perfect condition, he realised there was still a layer of exhaustion and fatigue that remained. But the battle was not yet over.
He straightened up, staring out at the last goblins. “Just doing my job,” he replied with a weak chuckle.
There were two shamans left, one berserker, and an elite archer. Aside from those big threats there were a ragtag bunch of lesser goblins.
“Last push. I’ll take out the shamans,” he called, slapping his cheeks twice before racing at the lanky bastards.
As he ran, he pulled the cursed goblin axe out of his inventory, feeling its weight in his arms. It was chipped, decorated with ornate swirls of red that ran down the steel handle. He hadn’t been able to use it when it dropped due to his low level, but this brawl had taken him above and beyond that cap.
He’d never swung an axe before. Not a battle-axe, anyway. His dad had shown him how to chop wood when he was a kid, but that was a lost skill since he’d moved to the city.
In the corner of his eye he spotted the berserker moving to intercept him. Before it could, the crack of a whip sounded out. The leather coiled around its neck and it stumbled sideways as Dana tugged it towards her.
One of the shamans raised its staff and shouted as he approached. A purple glow fell over his body.
You have been inflicted with [Curse of Slowness] by [Goblin Shaman Lv.24]!
The second stack. His steps slowed, almost making him fall from the sudden shift in momentum. However, Ronan couldn’t be stopped.
He badly wanted to take his time carving them apart, but that was a fool’s game. He raised the axe in two hands, charging up both his skills in tandem.
Swift strike had worked with a charge, so it clearly recognised various types of ‘strike’. When he was four steps away from the first shaman, his mana tingling in his fists, he unleashed his skills. The effect was devastating.
The goblin’s screeches blended into a sharp whine as his body shifted unnaturally. The feeling was similar to being compressed, as if he were deep underwater.
He arrived in front of the shaman, his axe already descending like the executioner’s blade. Ronan hadn’t known why it was labeled a ‘cursed’ axe, but the moment it’s chipped edge tasted blood, he understood.
As it cut through flesh, the shaman’s blood flowed into the axe. The red carvings lit up as it drank, the weapon growing heavier in his hands.
Ronan’s raw strength was far beyond the scrawny shaman. The axe-blade sheared through its torso, cleaving off its arm and shoulder in a single swift slash.
It screeched, the ear-splitting noise shocking Ronan momentarily as his senses returned. Swift strike had an odd way of scrambling his mind. Two uses was not enough to acclimate.
The ripple of mana that followed exploded like a grenade, blasting the shaman to the ground. However, Ronan had miscalculated.
The angle of his slash carried the force of the blow away from its core. Rather than exploding his mana inside its chest, the majority of it shattered the stone tiles beneath its feet.
Even so, it didn’t matter. The other shaman roared and slammed the butt of its bone staff into the ground, muttering incoherently.
A green glow covered its comrade’s mangled shoulder. The flesh writhed and started to knead together as a new arm took shape.
The screams of mana bolts and the crack of Dana’s whip came from behind. He trusted his party members to handle the other goblins. He was free to fight as he pleased.
Ronan had tasted blood. He would not let his prey recover. With a grunt he hefted the cursed axe overhead. It was harder than before, now that the curse had flared to life.
Harder, but not difficult. With the added weight, the axe would bite deeper. His swings would carry more strength. Ronan’s muscles tensed as he gripped the shaft. They were compact. He felt as though he could snap a steel bar with his bare hands.
A wild grin decorated his face, along with blood stains and tiny shards of bone. The voodoo was potent, half of the shaman’s arm already restored in a few breaths of time.
Healing magic was powerful, especially if it could restore limbs. It couldn’t restore life. Ronan roared as he pounced forth, the axe screaming its bloodlust as the edge sang through the air. The second shaman stepped forward, thrusting its staff to intercept.
The skull at its tip caught his axe. Its arc shifted, missing its mark by a hair’s width. Rather than decapitating his target, he split its torso from its collar to the base of the ribs. The skin peeled back and blood squirted out with the shaman’s scream. Ronan didn’t stop there. Before the swing reached its end, he spun with the axe and brought it high into the air once more.
They both screamed for blood. His next strike fell against the bone staff once again. This time, it didn’t stop.
The axe-edge sliced through the bone as if it were butter, then bit into the shaman’s freshly healed shoulder. With a bestial roar, he stomped his foot down and pulled the axe towards him.
In a spray of blood and guts, it tore through the shaman’s chest. The goblin fell to its knees, its flesh and blood pouring out in rivers. The notification flashed in his face before being dragged into a flashing ‘!’ in the corner of his eyes.
Ronan didn’t spare it a glance. The second shaman was still reeling from the loss of its staff. He grasped the base of the shaft with his left hand, heaving as he shifted his right.
The weapon trailed behind as he lunged forwards. It was almost triple its starting weight, most of the chips on its edge restored by the blood it had drank.
Ronan was starting to fall in love. It was a perfect weapon for him. His gaze met the shaman’s, its yellowed sclera resembling two hollowed out moons.
With a final roar, he brought his arms forward, the tendons snapping into place one after another. The shaman lifted the two halves of its broken staff to block.
It was futile. The axe broke its pathetic guard with ease, before burying itself in the monster’s chest. Ronan raised his knee and smashed his foot against its gut.
The shaman flew back, slamming against the wall. Blood streamed from the gaping wound, but it barely had time to raise a finger before the axe thudded into stone.
With a sound like a squeegee scraping a wet window, the goblin’s head slipped along the blade before tumbling to the ground. Ronan placed a foot against the wall and yanked the axe back.
He raised it to inspect the blade’s edge, noticing that almost all the chips and cracks were gone. Suddenly the shaft wriggled, as if trying to escape his grasp.
Ronan clamped down, locking the weapon in place. Cheeky little sod. Behave, you’ll be able to drink your fill soon enough, he thought, returning it to his inventory.
He turned around, but all that met his gaze were the haggard forms of his four allies. All the goblins lay dead, hacked to pieces or shot through. They’d done it.
Breaths came short and sharp as he recovered. He hadn’t escaped entirely unharmed, but the damage wasn’t lethal. A few seconds later, the notification for completing the stage still hadn’t arrived.
With nothing else to do for now, he pulled up the collated kill messages to see how far that fight had taken him. His jaw dropped as the words appeared, but they just kept going and going. It took almost a full five seconds for the entire message to appear.
He grinned. Honestly, for all its faults, the system had changed his life. Perhaps not for the better, but it was definitely a lot more exciting living on a knife’s edge than in an office chair.
Without hesitating, he began to read. It was time to take stock of his sweet, sweet loot.
<< Chapter 29 | Index | Chapter 31 >>
