**CLACK!**
I was barely able to move the bo in to intercept the strike, cursing/praying at the same time at the bo, in hopes some mild-mannered words would keep it from falling apart.
**THWACK!**
"Keep your guard up!" Godspeed's voice yelled from beyond the treeline. "Blocking is not the only option; redirect its weapon! Use its momentum against it!"
**SCHACK!**
His words were just noise. I was too lost in the fight, in the memory of how this felt the first time. The fear was thick and growing, robbing me of the air in my lungs and oxygen to the brain. I dodged another swing, my armor feeling heavier than lead ever could. Every step was a fraction too slow, every parry a desperate reaction.
My brain couldn't keep up.
I just wasn't thinking anymore. It was all based on instinct. The instinct of prey trying to survive against predator.
I managed to thrust the end of the staff forward, a clumsy jab that the Hobgoblin easily sidestepped. It retaliated with a furious, three-swing combo. I blocked the first two, but the third skidded off the side of my pauldron with a high-pitched screech of metal on metal. I stumbled back, my feet almost getting tangled in their own panicked retreat.
'This stick is too fucking long to swing! My range of motion is gar~~bage slow! And all I hear is the rattling of this damned armor!'
"Your footing is a mess!" Godspeed critiqued. "Widen your stance! You're fighting like you're on pavement, not sand!"
My brain failed to listen, much less comply; plus, it was far too late. The Hobgoblin lunged, sword pointed straight at my chest. I twisted at the last second, the blade glancing off my breastplate. I was getting lucky, and I knew it. With every passing second, the fight felt less like a controlled test and more like a desperate struggle for a few more seconds of life.
'Again?? I have to go against -life or death-, AGAIN!?'
'How about I use some sk—'
"And no using skills!!!!"
'--Oh, COME ON!!!!'
As the battle raged on, what grew alongside my fear was my annoyance. Godspeed's commentary, meant to be helpful, was as grating as nails against chalkboard to me. A backtrack to my failure. He was teachy and preachy over there, while I was fighting for my life OVER HERE.
And even he was getting to a point…
"You're too slow! The load is too heavy for you!" he shouted, his voice laced with a frustration that mirrored my own.
And then he said it.
"JUST TAKE YOUR ARMOR OFF!"
I risked a glance toward the treeline, my face a mask of disbelief. "What kind of pervert are you to be telling me that right now?!" I shrieked, promptly ducking under another wild swing.
"NOT LIKE THAT!" he called back, and I could practically hear the eye-roll in his voice. "You're fighting with too much of a load on! It's too heavy for you! Just shed the armor!"
The words, the frustration, the rattling of my own plates—it all blended together, and the present moment dissolved, pulling me back into a memory from just a few days ago.
{{ FLASHBACK: START ; DATE: [[May 10. 2038.]] }}
I was sitting cross-legged in the sand, leaning heavily against my bo staff stabbed into the dune like a flagpole. The virtual sun beat down on my helmeted head. I was gasping for air, as my stamina bar blinked red, red, and red.
"--Get up, and let's get back to work," Godspeed said, his shadow falling over me.
"I can't," I wheezed. "You've already beaten me ten times straight… I don't have the energy for ten times more."
He circled me like a vulture, his footsteps silent in the sand. "We're not talking about wins and losses right now." His voice was low, analytical. "We're pivoting and talking about this."
He reached out and tapped my pauldron with the tip of his staff. CLANK.
"This is a problem."
He tapped my breastplate. CLONK.
"This is a problem."
He crouched down, tapping my greaves. TINK. TINK.
"All of this," he said, standing up and gesturing to my entire suit of armor, "is a problem."
"A problem, howw~~?" I'd asked, genuinely confused.
"This," Godspeed had stated, tapping my pauldron with his staff. CLANK. "Is a problem."
"It's armor," I'd retorted. "It protects me. It keeps me from getting really hurt."
"That, is a small-minded view."
The casual insult stung. "You're going to call me small-minded?"
Blink. He held up a hand, a rare flicker of concession in his eyes. "Okay, let's rephrase. A small-minded view when I know you're capable of much grander thought." He continued his analytical circle around me. "You fight with power and speed. Those are the two attributes you're chasing. But what you're wearing is heavy armor, and for your stats, it's an anchor."
He explained that the set bonus was a joke—a tiny bump to Strength, Defense, and Endurance, while it actively crippled my Speed and Dexterity. In normal people terms, half of what the gear helped me barely, the other half crippled me big time.
"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked, the frustration mounting. "Go buy some light armor?"
"That would be the ideal solution."
"And how much is that?" I challenged.
"About as much as you paid for that set."
I slumped. "I don't have that kind of money."
He stopped circling and looked at me, a hint of a shared, tired reality in his gaze. "Me neither."
I threw my hands up in exasperation. "So that whole speech was for nothing!? You could have just asked me if I'm broke! We'd be at the ending anyways!"
He had simply shrugged. "So for now... take it off."
"... Are you really perving—"
"I mean in a fight," he'd cut in, deadpan. "Your only option–REALLY–is to remove the liability."
"Youneed the experience."
{{ FLASHBACK: END ; RETURN TO PRESENT DAY: [[May 12. 2038.]] }}
The memory fractured as the Hobgoblin, spitting spit and yelling piggish vulgarites, scrambled back to a more aggressive stance. It was becoming enraged now, but I had to take a chance during its pause.
'{Inventory.}'
My hands moved, tapping the commands in my UI. 'You need the experience,' his voice echoed in my head. With a series of soft clicks, invisible clasps undone, my armor fell away.
**CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.**
The pauldrons, the greaves, the breastplate—all of it dropped into the sand, leaving me in the simple padded under-garments.
The change was,… obvious as hell. I rolled my shoulders. No resistance. No rattling. Definitely felt lighter. Less of a slowpoke. More in sync with that mind-body meld than I thought was realistic.
Way more.
The Hobgoblin stomped suddenly, recovering my attention and establishing his feign dominance. With a roar, it barreled at me with its blade pointed straight at my heart.
I refused to only react this time around. My mind flashed back—recalled, if you will—a perfect, crystal-clear image. Chapter One(meta, lol). The desert. The first Hobgoblin. Its patterns came back to me, as well as its signs of attacks, the way it telegraphed its lunge with a shift of its weight, or the specific grunt before an overhead smash.
That one and This one were one and the same.
'Breathe.'
'Let's get back to the basics.'
'Focus…'
'And let's beat this bitch!!'
It swung its sword in that classic wide, horizontal arc. My mind saw the attack, and my body was already moving. I sidestepped, the blade cutting nothing but air. I was faster than its own thoughts now.
I pivoted—a movement that would have been a clumsy shuffle in my heavy boots—and brought the staff around, connecting with a solid **THWACK!** against its ribs.
It let out a short, sharp bark of pain. I recognized the sound. 'That's the tell. It's off-balance.'
Can't let it recover. I pressed my advantage, driving the tip of my staff into its knee with a sickening **CRACK!** The monster howled, its leg buckling.
It shrieked—a high, keening wail. Another signal. It was abandoning defense for a desperate, suicidal tackle.
I was ready. As it lunged, I stepped aside, using its own momentum to guide it past me with my staff. It crashed face-first into the dirt.
I stood over it, chest heaving, staff held high. Forget just surviving.
I'm past that now.
It's my turn to lead… No.
It's time to end this.
**CRACK!**
The staff connected with the Hobgoblin's jaw, sending a spray of blood and spit into the air. The monster stumbled backward, dazed, its eyes rolling in its head. It tripped over a protruding root and went down hard, the back of its skull smacking against a jagged rock with a sickening thud.
It didn't get up immediately. It lay there, groaning, twitching.
I stood over it, sweat dripping from my nose to its face, diluting and smearing the red spilling over its body. My muscles burned the good burn. The kind that meant I was alive. I pointed my weapon at the sky, giving the monster just one string of pity; I hoped the blindness from staring up at the sun would distract it from getting its head knocked off…
"NOW!" Godspeed's voice roared from the sidelines. "TAKE IT NOW! TAKE IT OFF NOW!"
I froze mid-swing, almost toppling over from the force I was going to deliver. "Take what off?! I'm already in my underwear!"
"THE EXPERIENCE!" he shouted, gesturing crazily. "Take the experience! Don't hesitate! Hesitation is what kills you!"
"???!? I-I'm literally trying to—"
The Hobgoblin recovered in that moment. Snarling, it pushed itself up, and lunged for my ankle, a desperate, scrabbling grab.
But, too late. Much too late…Because I wasn't there anymore.
I didn't have to think about it. Once again, I was back to being instinctive, but in a, like, more advanced way, you know? Compared to this guy, and I bet any other fugly-pigs in the future, my instincts felt like I was reading into the future, not reacting to what already happened. I just... moved. My body feeling more responsive than ever, I hopped back, avoiding the monster's digits raking through empty air.
'A desperation lunge, turned into a lower-body attack. It'll follow up with a wide sweep, then.'
The memory from the first fight flashed in my mind. I saw the pattern before it even happened.
The Hobgoblin scrambled to its feet and swung its sword in an uncontrolled arc—exactly as I predicted.
I ducked. The blade whistled harmlessly over my head.
I swiveled on my left foot, driving the butt of the staff into its stomach. It doubled over. I brought the staff down on the back of its neck right after.
**CRUNCH!**
The Hobgoblin collapsed face-first into the dirt and didn't move again.
"Huff... huff…"
Silence fell over the oasis clearing, broken only by my ragged breathing and the distant buzz of insects.
"Huff... huff... oh my gawd," I wheezed, leaning heavily on the staff as the rush died down in me. "I did it."
I looked down at the corpse. Messy and brutal as it was, I had done it. I had won. Without armor. Without dying.
**Fssh.** **Fssh.**
**Clap!**
**Clap!**
Finally caring to make a damned appearance, Godspeed walked out of the brush, breaking branches and thorns off as he clapped slowly and theatrically for no reason. "Not bad," was his first comment, his tone casual. "Sloppy footwork in the middle, and you panicked a bit when you lost your rhythm, but... solid recovery."
"Y-yeah, well," I gasped, wiping sweat from my forehead. "I'm alive. That's what counts."
I looked at the dead Hobgoblin, then back in the town's direction. "Okay. Cool… huff… Cool. So, like... mind being a nice guy and helping me drag this thing back? I'm pretty spent."
Godspeed stopped clapping. He looked at me, then at the corpse, then back at me. A small, amused smile played on his lips.
"Drag it back?" he asked. "Why is that?"
"Becausssse... we're done?" I said, the statement turning more into a question as a pit of dread opened in my stomach. "Right? I killed the monster. Lesson learned: Armor, BAD. Speed, GOOD~." I gave two thumbs up in agreement, only to let the bo staff smack me in the face upon its release.
'Owch! Thing's got a mind of its own, I swear…'
"Oh, no," Godspeed chuckled, shaking his head. "We're definitely not done."
My jaw dropped. "What do you mean we're not done?! I just fought for my life in my underwear(exaggeration)! What more do you want?!"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out into nothing, only for the space around his hand to become nebulous and fizzle, breaking and shattering.
"Catch."
From his inventory, he tossed something at me.
I fumbled, my exhausted arms barely reacting in time to grab the long, wooden shaft before it had its chance to hit me in the face. I clutched it to my chest, staring at the object in my hands.
It was a spear. A simple, iron-tipped spear.
I looked up at him, wide-eyed.
"Well then," Godspeed started, pointing a finger back toward the dense foliage of the oasis. "Next up."
He grinned, a terrifying, swirling-eyed expression of pure teacherly sadism.
"Now you have to go kill one with this."