The Apocalypse Grinder (LitRPG Apocalypse, Timeloop)

Duck. Parry. The crack of bone. Flesh giving way to the pounding of his fists. Ronan loved this.

He'd been denying it for a while, but as he fought the elite berserker, he understood. This was what he was born for.

He used to work out pretty often. Weights, calisthenics, and even the occasional session of combat sports. It all seemed so tame now.

His foot slipped on a loose pebble. He righted his balance quickly, but the berserker was fast. Its sword sang as it split the air, biting deep into his shoulder.

Stepping back, the goblin prepared to rip out its blade, but Ronan had other plans. Clenching his shoulder as hard as he could, he stepped into the goblin's face.

It grunted when it couldn't remove its sword. Ronan's right arm crackled with mana as he prepared to use magic strike. However, that wasn't all.

He had another skill that was yet to see the light of day. Swift strike.

How powerful would his punch be if he combined the two? He couldn't wait to see.

As the mana flowed through him he focused his intent, willing himself to use the skill. He felt a strange emptiness for a breath's time. His stamina dropped and then his arm flashed.

One moment he was standing in front of the berserker, and the next his fist was outstretched, coated in blood. He heard a squelch and looked down.

Two feet were resting on the ground, bones sticking out from mangled ankles. A few lumps of flesh lay around them in the puddle of blood. The rest of the goblin was nowhere to be seen, but Ronan saw the kill notification flash in his face.

What the fuck!? That was insane, he screamed in his mind. Combining the two skills had an absolutely devastating effect. He glanced at his resources.

It had drained a similar amount of mana, so the combo didn't add any extra strain. Swift strike said it cost 10 stamina, but he wasn't able to tell since he'd leveled up and restored it all after ending the berserker's life.

All of the goblins around him had been stunned by the sudden death of their champion. They stared at Ronan with trepidation. However, the first garbled screech broke the trance.

They all charged as one, blades waving as they sought his death. "Haha! Let's have it you bastards," he roared, taking a fighting stance and preparing to unleash hell.

While Ronan was doing his best impression of a berserker, the others were giving it their all. Dana's whip cracked and whirled as her arms waved around her head. Every strike bit into a goblin, leaving deep gashes.

Sometimes she would wrap it around a neck, yanking an unfortunate monster towards her before ending its life with a swift stab of a dagger held in her other hand. Where Ronan was brutal, she was elegant. Where he was an avatar of fury, she was an elegant reaper.

They both slaughtered goblins in droves, keeping the endless waves of monsters from rushing past and attacking their backline. Keith was doing an admirable job, though he wasn't even close to matching the other two.

He was wielding a spear that he'd obtained from killing a goblin warrior, clutching it in his sweaty hands as though it was the most precious treasure in the world. His technique was shoddy, but he had a lot of weight in his thrusts.

The weaker goblins couldn't get in range to strike before he poked holes in their necks and chests. Suddenly, he heard a roar and froze. A towering goblin rushed out from the line of monsters, wielding a huge hammer and covered in crimson marks.

[Goblin Berserker Lv.19]

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He gulped, taking a step backwards. He wasn't a fighter. He knew he wasn't brave. Yet, after seeing what they'd seen, Keith detested these hideous creatures with all his heart.

Gathering his courage, he stepped forwards, holding out his spear as his determined gaze locked onto the approaching goblin. He started yelling, hoping the shout would drown out any lingering fears.

Jackson and Terry were protected from the worst of the chaos, but that didn't mean they had an easy task. Constantly draining one's mana and trying to pick out important targets on the fly was mentally exhausting.

Terry had hunted recreationally in the past, but using a bow for battle was another beast entirely. His skill allowed him to use mana to create arrows, but his pool was fast draining.

Before that happened, he needed to take out as many of the shamans as he could. They were the real threat. Luckily, his son was a smart kid.

While he fired arrow after arrow, the boy was tossing out mana bolts as if they were baseballs. Where they struck, they exploded with lethal force, burning flesh and melting bone.

They were rapidly gaining levels, but that wouldn't help restore their mana. Terry was holding out on using his stat points, but that would soon have to change. There were just too many goblins.

At that moment there was a loud bang. The ground trembled as a red glow fell over the entire horde of screaming goblins. Ronan recognised it instantly. This was the shaman's strength buff.

Even though Terry and Jackson were doing their best, they were only two men. There were at least three or four more shamans hiding in the crowd.

A purple glow fell over Ronan, Dana, and Keith.

You have been inflicted with [Curse of Slowness] by [Goblin Shaman Lv.22]!

Ronan felt the effects immediately. They were weaker than the last time he'd experienced the curse, likely due to his much higher agility. However, he could feel the lethargy in his muscles.

It was as if he was paddling in the shallows of a swimming pool as he fought against two goblins. Not yet enough to stop him, but this was only the beginning.

He kept punching, kicking, and smashing his shoulder into the weak shields of goblins. Another berserker rushed out from the crowd to challenge Ronan, but this one wasn't an elite.

The air stank, the heavy scent of copper, the gory thickness of guts, and the foul stench of emptied bowels. Ronan's health and stamina were constantly refilling as he leveled up, but the time between them was slowing.

His mana was still at a decent level, but he'd been sparing with his magic strikes. However, they were clawing closer to victory. No longer were they facing a horde. The goblins had been packed shoulder to shoulder, filling the entire room, when they'd first appeared.

Now they were sparser. Only the strongest remained—and the most cowardly. Ronan spotted quite a few elites hanging back, having waited for the chaff to die before they made their challenge.

He didn't have time to let his gaze linger. A goblin charged at him, far faster than any of the others. Before he had time to blink it was on him.

Wielding a barbed spear that flashed and danced through his guard, Ronan cried out as it sawed through his flesh with ease. This was no ordinary monster.

Through the red mist of his own blood, he spied its tag.

[Elite Goblin Warrior Lv.27]

Another elite. This one wasn't a berserker, which to him made it a deadlier threat. The berserkers were strong and fast, but their lack of control left easy openings to exploit.

This warrior tightly controlled every step and slash, thrust and parry. Its spear twirled around it in an elegant dance, a contrast to its twisted smirk and gnarled face.

Ronan was bleeding profusely from three savage cuts on his torso and arms, left by the nasty barbs on its spear. It was more like a saw than a pointed speartip. He wasn't discouraged by the fact he'd finally met an opponent who could match him.

It only made his heart beat faster. Gathering himself back into a fluid fighting stance, he faced down the goblin. His eyes darted about, watching for any twitch of movement that might telegraph its next strike.

At that moment, a red glow fell over the goblin and its muscles swelled. It screeched. The glow of shaman voodoo covered its slight step. A silver flash.

The spear shot towards his eye, a single moment stretching into infinity as Ronan stared death in the face. He was no stranger to it now, so he didn't falter.

Even with his enhanced agility, already well beyond the limits of a peak human athlete, avoiding the strike would be impossible. Rather than escape pain, he embraced it.

Ronan started to lean sideways, knowing that he would lose an ear. Better an ear than his life. At the same time, the crackling ball of mana in his chest started to flow into his arm. His heart pulsed as he drew on his stamina, hoping his gambit would pay off.

The cacophony of battle returned, roaring in his ears as he unleashed swift strike, leaning into an instantaneous charge. The world flashed and his gaze zeroed in on his target, the disgusting warty face of the goblin warrior looming large.

In that moment, Ronan felt as if he'd found his true purpose in life. Whether he lived or died, he wanted to spend every second he had left experiencing this thrill.