Reality Breaker: Edge of Reality

Minho stood alone in the eerie silence of the fracture, the goblin corpse lying at his feet. His breath still came in short, sharp bursts as he replayed the battle in his mind. One goblin down, but many more lay ahead. The trees around him swayed gently in the unnatural wind of the fracture, their twisted branches casting strange, looming shadows.

'This is it', he thought to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow. 'This is where I prove myself.'

The goblin’s blood still clung to his arcane blade, its cold steel catching the light as he gripped it tightly. He glanced up in the direction Cale had gone, the faintest shadow of his brother already disappearing into the thick of the fracture’s twisted forest. Cale had left him here, alone, with no help and no advice beyond his cold warnings: “If you die, you die.”

Minho shivered, not from the cold, but from the weight of his brother’s expectations. He was fourteen—almost fifteen—but now, in this world shattered by fractures and teeming with monstrous creatures, age didn’t matter. Strength did. Cale had already carved his name into this new world as the "Dark Scythe Wielder," a title whispered all over the world and creatures alike. Minho wanted to stand beside him, not as the little brother who needed protection but as an equal. This fracture was his test, and failure was not an option.

He scanned the forest ahead, the trees dark and unwelcoming. His task was simple: survive the fracture, clear out the goblins, and prove himself capable of more than being just Cale’s little brother.

Suddenly, the sound of rustling leaves snapped him from his thoughts. His grip tightened on the arcane blade as he crouched low, his eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. From behind a large rock, two more goblins emerged. They were just as small and savage-looking as the first, their beady red eyes gleaming in the dim light, their mouths twisted into sneers.

Minho’s heart pounded in his chest. This wasn’t going to be easy. The first goblin had been a test—a single enemy, weak and alone. Now, there were two, and judging by the sounds echoing through the forest, there were plenty more nearby.

He readied his blade, keeping his stance low and his feet light. The goblins hissed, their jagged teeth bared as they brandished their crude weapons: one wielded a rusted dagger, while the other carried a spiked club. They didn’t attack immediately, sizing him up, their eyes flicking to the corpse of the fallen goblin behind him.

'They’re smarter than I thought', Minho realized. 'They’ve seen what I did to their friend, and now they’re more cautious.'

But caution didn’t mean fear. After a tense moment, the goblin with the dagger lunged at him, its small, wiry body moving faster than Minho expected. He sidestepped the initial attack, barely avoiding the sharp blade aimed at his gut. The goblin followed up with another quick strike, but Minho was ready this time. He parried the dagger with his arcane blade, the clang of metal against metal ringing through the air.

Before he could recover, the second goblin came at him from the side, its club swinging wildly. Minho raised his blade just in time to block the blow, but the force of it sent him stumbling back a few steps. He barely had time to catch his breath before both goblins attacked again, this time in unison.

Minho gritted his teeth, fighting back the surge of panic rising in his chest. 'Stay calm. Focus.' Anticipate their moves. Cale’s words echoed in his mind.

He ducked under the first goblin’s swing and slashed at its leg, feeling the satisfying resistance as his blade cut through flesh. The goblin screamed, staggering back with a limp, but it wasn’t out of the fight yet. Its companion, the one with the dagger, took advantage of the distraction and lunged again. This time, Minho couldn’t dodge fast enough.

The dagger grazed his arm, a sharp sting spreading through his skin as blood oozed from the wound. Minho hissed in pain but refused to let it slow him down. He swung his blade in a wide arc, forcing both goblins to back off.

'I can’t let them surround me', he thought, retreating a few steps to gain some distance. His arm throbbed, but it wasn’t a deep wound. He could still fight.

The goblins circled him now, their movements more calculated, their eyes gleaming with the prospect of an easy kill. Minho could see their confidence growing with each second, feeding off his hesitation.

'No more holding back', he told himself. If he was going to survive this, he needed to stop second-guessing every move.

He took a deep breath, centering himself, and then, without warning, he rushed forward. The sudden aggression caught the goblins off guard. Minho’s blade flashed through the air, cutting into the first goblin’s chest. It shrieked in pain, collapsing to the ground, writhing in its death throes.

The second goblin snarled and charged at him, swinging its club wildly. But Minho was faster this time. He ducked low, spinning to the side, and drove his blade into the creature’s side. The goblin let out a final, pitiful wail before slumping to the ground, lifeless.

Minho stood over the two goblin corpses, panting heavily. His arm ached, and sweat dripped down his forehead, but he was alive. Two more down.

'How many more of them are there?' He asked himself. He wiped the blood from his blade and glanced around, listening for any signs of movement. The forest had fallen eerily silent again, but he knew better than to let his guard down. The fracture wasn’t cleared yet.

He moved forward cautiously, stepping over the fallen goblins and making his way deeper into the forest. The further he went, the denser the trees became, their twisted branches forming a canopy that blocked out the light. Every shadow seemed to hide a lurking danger, and every sound made his heart race.

After what felt like an eternity, he reached a clearing. In the center stood a large, ancient-looking tree with gnarled roots stretching out across the ground. Close to the Tree was another Goblin but larger than the others. This goblin was different, standing nearly twice as tall, with thick, sinewy muscles bulging beneath its leathery skin. Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, filled with malice and intelligence far beyond the mindless rage of its kin. In its hands, it gripped a massive, jagged axe, its edge stained with dried blood.

Minho’s breath hitched. This was no ordinary goblin. It was a goblin chief, the leader of the horde.

'This is it,' Minho thought, his heart hammering in his chest. 'The final test.'

He tightened his grip on his arcane blade, feeling the familiar hum of magic course through it. His mind raced, analyzing every possible move, every opening. He couldn’t afford any mistakes—not against something this powerful.

The goblin chief let out a low growl, its eyes narrowing as it spotted Minho. It didn’t rush toward him like the others. It took its time, savoring the moment, relishing the fear it sensed in him.

Minho swallowed hard, forcing his fear down. He had come this far, fought through the lesser goblins, and now this was the last obstacle standing between him and victory. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—back down.

The goblin chief roared, and in an instant, it charged. Minho barely had time to raise his blade before the goblin was upon him, swinging its massive axe in a wide arc. He leaped to the side, the axe crashing into the ground where he had stood moments before, sending dirt and debris flying.

The sheer strength of the chief was terrifying, but Minho didn’t let it paralyze him. He spun around, slashing at the goblin’s side, but its tough, thick skin absorbed most of the blow. The goblin barely flinched, swinging its axe again, forcing Minho to retreat.

'Think. Find an opening.' Minho circled the goblin chief, his mind racing for a strategy. He couldn’t match it in strength, but he didn’t have to. He had speed and agility on his side.

The goblin swung again, this time aiming directly at his head. Minho ducked, feeling the rush of air as the axe passed overhead. In the same motion, he lunged forward, driving his blade into the goblin’s leg. The chief roared in pain, staggering back, but the wound wasn’t deep enough to cripple it.

Minho cursed under his breath. 'I need to aim for a weak spot.'

He needed to end this—quickly.