Snow-laden, weathered.
His sweat hit the ground. He turned left and right, his head a beacon. The world around him slowed and blurred. What had he done wrong? Rocks crashed nearby. He jolted. Above, dragons swung their wings and blew their hottest flames into the tower windows. Men’s screams resounded in the towers.
He tightened his grip on the bag over his shoulder. Whatever was inside this better be worth it. His shoes padded down the steps leading to the lower section of the city. Around him, men and women screamed and blasted colorful bursts of magic at each other. Avoiding them all, he managed to leave the thick of the fray. At the bottom, in a side street, several men gestured at him. Moving over to them, he let them help him lay the bag on a cloak-concealed wagon.
“Where’s Festus?” he said.
Michael held onto the blade, the world around him spinning. What else was he going to do? Die? No, he had to confirm his prowess. He swung at the goblin, chopping it in half. The flesh, meat, and blood burst everywhere. He squeezed his eyes shut, then wiped his face clean. Slamming his blade again, he split and broke the earth. A crater formed. From the side, a goblin ran over to him with flames in its hands and slammed them against his face. He screamed as his skin boiled, cracked, and blackened. His grip tightened around his blade. He knocked the goblin off him before bludgeoning it with the bottom of his sword. It sent the steel-clad goblin back once, then twice, then in a final thud. Rotating his blade, he stabbed it through the head and twisted it, the crunch a sweet melody. He kicked at the corpse multiple times. After a deep breath, he crouched, clutched it by the chest, and heaved it over his shoulder. He dumped it onto a nearby scratched wagon, making it shake. On the wagon, a glasses-adjusting boy examined the blood and slop and drew a squelch from a poke.
“Do you know what these goblins do?” the boy said with a hum.
Frowning, the man stopped and turned halfway. “What do you mean? Goblins are goblins. What else do they do?”
The boy rubbed his chin. “I mean, where do they hide them? It feels like their patterns aren’t matching. Something’s off, and I need something tangible, lest we all get thrown off the next time we track them to their next hideout.” He wiped his dirty finger with a dark turqouise cloth.
The man scratched his head. “Patterns? Don’t you see them? They run at you and try to kill you. That’s all you need.”
“Yeah,” the boy murmured absently, already poking something else.
The man swept his eyes over the bushes for a moment. He jerked at a rustle, then stabbed through it. Pulling his blade out yielded a few wood chips. Furrowing his brows, he swung his blade around and rested over his shoulder as he stalked back to the boy. “Where’s the gobs? I expected recruitments.”
“Don’t ask me. You’re the one who’s got the instinct for this.”
Sighing, the man swiveled and marched in a line, stamping his foot wherever a brush pricked him.
Behind him, the boy rubbed his face as blue particles swirled around his poking finger. Upon making contact, a blue rippled across the surface of a corpse before rippling back to his fingertip. The blue climbed his finger, ran along his arm, chest, and neck, and stopped at the top of his head. The boy’s eyes flickered blue for a moment.
Meanwhile, the man palmed the blood and sweat off his upper cheek, the smudge drawing a grimace.
The bush rustled twice this time. He stabbed through it the same number of times.
Something thudded the ground behind the bush. The sound of a liquid trickle carried through.
He jumped back, turned, and bolted. His arms stirred a breeze behind him. The brushes flattened underfoot.
The bushes swooshed. Goblins shot out like arrows and hounded him.
On the wagon, the boy yelped and leapt on top of him, straddling his shoulders.
The man continued across the glade and through the trees. He descended the slope and darted a glance behind him several times. Each new figure drew an eye twitch.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut and covered his head as vines grazed him.
An arrow flew and hit a nearby trunk.
Another came and landed a few inches from the man’s foot.
More came, but the man hurried behind a tree. It caught all the arrows.
He then turned and ran west.
The sound soon trailed off, and forest drones resounded.
They dropped by a stream with fish. He started a fire, impaled two of them, and cooked them. The meat broke down in their mouths, and the bones littered the ground.
“Let’s return,” the boy huffed, clenching his teeth.
“Back there?” The man looked back.
The boy burst out a sigh. “No. Home. The captains are waiting. We should have taken over the hideout by now, but your negligence—or should I say your incompetence—has brought us to a standstill. What a calamity this day is. That we have to bear with your lack of initiative is irritating. I said make sure you cut them quickly! No more playing!”
The man pressed his lips together. “I’ll do it next time.”
The boy raised his palm like he was reaching to the heavens. “And next time you will!” He then struck the man’s shoulder. “Now get home before I start blasting this holy land of yours to the ground.”
The man nodded.
“Now, let me off.” The boy palmed him repeatedly, making the man lower himself to the ground.
After he leapt off and landed with a soft thump, the two set off.
Removed:
Goblins shot out of the bushes like arrows and ran straight at him. With a shield he snatched off the ground, he held still. The first flew at him, and its insides tore. The life drained from it in moments. The second speared at him from the side. The ground quivered after he slammed its head against it. The third leapt at him from behind with three daggers. One dagger vanished from its hand. It looked. The man grinned at it, and the tip of the dagger poked through its head. Its eyes had gone blank. The fourth flourished its blade by swinging diagonally at the air multiple times. He charged right in its face and knocked it unconscious. It later awoke to steel edges slicing through its throat. Its eyes darted around, then fell still.
Two more goblins sprang into sight, treading the tree-flanked path. They swung at the trees and left many cuts.
He grabbed a rock and swung around.
The first goblin stared at his empty hand. The rock collided with the second on the forehead. It collapsed, limbs flung out widely.
The first yelped and ran around with arms in the air.
He threw another.
Its arms hit the ground, kicking up a splash. Mud seeped into its leather.
A murmuring rippled through the canopies. Calm sun dapples flickered. The wind whispered through the forest.
Two goblins looked up, then back on the road.
A hand snatched them from behind and penetrated them with several small spears.
The man, Michael, stepped back, grabbed a rock, and then beat them for the rest of the afternoon.
As night approached, goblins scurried out of the darkness beside the lamps. They whispered to each other and headed inside their huts. Armored goblins stood guard, looking around the corners. A howl carried across the field. The forest crackled, and insects buzzed. A village dog’s barks echoed into the night.
Next morning, a goblin looked over at the light blue sky and sighed, its features softening.
To be continued...