Shireuga, engulfed in the lingering feelings of the battles that had just occurred, tried to catch his breath. He had ripped apart and slaughtered any opponent he could get his hands on. He had gleefully crushed the skulls of those begging for their lives, and then erupted in laughter as he grabbed their brains and scattered them in the air.1

But this wasn’t his usual self. It wasn’t the way Shireuga, the Great Warrior of the chiefdom who courageously roamed the battlefields, fought. He was the son of Shiktulla, the greatest warrior of the Iron Axe Tribe and had a reputation to live up to. He clutched his restless heart as the pounding in his chest shook his whole body. With each pulse, he was taken over by a thirst for blood. A dark elf who had been hiding behind a building came swinging his sword. Shireuga grabbed the throat of the dark elf.0

“Ahh!”0

The dark elf’s eyes grew wide. Shireuga tightened his latch on to the dark elf’s neck. Locked in the grip of death, the dark elf drooled as life slowly faded from his eyes.0

Shireuga lifted up the dark elf and stared into his frightened and half-open eyes. He saw his own reflection in the dark elf’s eyes and realized that his eyes were the same red as the chieftain’s. Shireuga was taken aback by the sight and swung his fist to crush the dark elf’s face. The dark elf’s corpse drooped like a rag. Shireuga...1