Madman’s Descent

The Demon’s sneer was the final, irrefutable data point. It was a declaration that in this world, logic was a joke, and suffering was the punchline. Rovy's severed head lay in the mud, a testament to that fact. Sylv's scream had faded into a series of ragged, choked sobs, her body crumpled on the ground, a system that had completely shut down.

Data input: Subject Rovy, status: non-functional. Fatal damage sustained. Subject Bane, status: non-functional. Fatal damage sustained. Probability of survival for all known variables: rapidly decreasing. This event... it deviates significantly from predicted outcomes. Anomaly in the calculations. My logical processing unit... experiencing interference.

My motor functions experienced a subtle, uncommanded pause. My vision blurred for a moment, the light from the burning buildings seeming to flicker strangely. My limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if my commands were delayed. A strange stiffness settled in my shoulders, a tremor I couldn't control. It was a clear deviation from my baseline, a sign of internal dissonance that defied immediate logical comprehension.

Amidst her utter despair, Sylv’s wet gaze, unfocused moments before, snapped to me. Her eyes, red-rimmed and brimming, widened further as if perceiving a new, equally horrifying truth. "You... you don't feel anything?! She... she's dead! How can you... you just watch?!" Her voice, raw with anguish and accusation, was a desperate attempt to elicit a response from what she perceived as my profound apathy.

The battle around the shattered east gate intensified, a maelstrom of green skin, crude steel, and desperate human cries. Goblins, emboldened by the breach, swarmed through the gaping hole. Orcs, massive and brutal, followed, their heavy clubs and axes carving wide arcs of destruction.

My visual field was saturated with conflict. A burly adventurer, one who had argued loudly in the Guild, now lay pinned beneath a fallen timber, a goblin repeatedly stabbing at his exposed chest. The Demon, a dark, towering silhouette, remained at the heart of the breach. It moved with a horrifying grace, its every action a testament to overwhelming power. A veteran adventurer, wielding a two-handed sword, charged the Demon, his battle cry echoing. The Demon merely extended a hand, and the adventurer's body contorted mid-air, then exploded into a spray of red mist. Efficient. Terrifying.

Sylv, after her outburst, had stumbled back, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with a horror that eclipsed even her grief. Her knees buckled. Her body swayed, a precarious structure on the verge of collapse. Her golden eyes rolled back, and she pitched forward, collapsing bonelessly onto the blood-soaked debris. Unconsciousness. A temporary cessation of function.

The cacophony of battle, previously a series of distinct data points, began to merge into a single, overwhelming roar within my auditory sensors. My visual field, once sharp and analytical, flickered. The scent of blood and sulfur, previously a mere chemical signature, now felt... oppressive. My internal processes were rapidly degrading.

System defense: failing. Probability of continued function: rapidly decreasing. This data... inconsistent. My core processing unit... feels... empty.

Hahaha! Look at them! Dropping like flies! Idiots! Weaklings! This is a real party! Blood! Death! Come on, show me more! What else can you lose?!

No... no more. Why... Why is this happening? This pain... I don't want it anymore. Please... make it stop. Everything... it's breaking.

The internal dialogue, once a structured exchange, became a cacophony. Voices overlapped, words tangled, concepts fragmented. I was sinking, losing connection to the external world, adrift in a sea of my own unraveling consciousness.

Then, a sudden, jarring shift. A violent jolt. The internal cacophony was silenced, replaced by a single, dominant voice. A voice I recognized, yet felt alien.

Alright, enough of this pathetic moping. Time to have some fun.

The world snapped back into focus. Battle sounds roared, blood stank, bodies piled up—all clear as day. But things were different. No more analysis. No more quiet sorrow. Just pure, raw sensation. And an ecstatic, overwhelming urge to hit stuff.

My arms and legs, heavy a second ago, now buzzed with a wild, untamed power. My eyes, sharp as a predator's, locked onto targets. The tremor in my shoulders became a coiled spring, ready to explode. The world was no longer a puzzle to be solved. It was my damn playground.

"Let's dance, you pathetic bastards!" The words tore from my throat, rough and ugly. My voice, but not my voice. It was sharper, laced with a manic joy that made my own skin crawl.

The body surged forward, a wild blur. Feet danced, dodging a clumsy goblin's lunge with contemptuous ease. A hand shot out, magic erupting from my palm. No careful shaping, no mental pictures of combustion. Just raw, exploding power.

Fire blasted from my palm, a hungry, wide wave that swallowed a cluster of charging goblins. Their screams choked off as they became charred husks, the stench of cooked meat filling the air. "Hah! Toast! Anyone else want some breakfast?!" The words were mine, but they weren't.

I spun, twisting like a madman. A large orc, its axe raised, was met with a violent jet of water that slammed into its chest like a battering ram, sending it stumbling back. Before it could regain its footing, I was on it, my foot kicking its knee with a sickening crack. The orc roared and fell. "Too slow, big boy! Did your momma never teach you to tie your shoes?!"

The air around me bent to my will. A sharp, cutting wind sliced through a group of goblin archers on a pile of rubble, sending them flying. I moved through the melee, a storm of pure instinct. My fists, my feet, my entire body—everything was a weapon. I punched through a goblin's skull, its head exploding in a spray of green. I kicked an orc in the gut, launching it into its comrades. No plan, no defense, just endless, brutal attacks.

This is... awesome! Watch 'em run! Watch 'em break!

This is inefficient. Reckless. The body will sustain irreparable damage.

Shut up, Einar! You always ruin the fun!

The Demon, still a dark, towering figure, watched my rampage. Its sneer, previously one of pure contempt, now held a hint of surprise, perhaps even a flicker of respect. It moved to intercept me, its large hand swinging in a dark arc. I didn't block. I met its attack with a wild, chaotic burst of magic. Fire and wind twisted together, a searing, sharp tornado that slammed into its arm. The Demon grunted, a genuine sound of pain, and recoiled. A faint, smoking scorch mark appeared on its dark skin. Not a kill shot, but a mark. A crack in its perfect armor.

"Oh, did that sting, big guy?! You look surprised! What, did you think you were the only freak show in town?!" My voice was a loud, taunting dare, full of a manic, unholy joy. I lunged again, a blur, aiming for another unpredictable strike. The Demon, for the first time, seemed to be reacting, not commanding. My attacks were not logical. They were not predictable. They were pure chaos, and chaos was something its cold, calculating mind could not process. The fight raged. I was a whirlwind of flesh and magic, a laughing, screaming avatar of destruction. Goblins and orcs were no longer threats; they were just meat. More bodies to break, more blood to spill. And it felt good.