The hobgoblin's greatsword descended in a vertical arc that could have split a lesser man in two.
I pivoted to the right, the weapon's massive edge grazing the air just inches from my shoulder as it passed.
The force sent a tremor through the ground and a faint wind against my face.
Holy shit. This guy's no joke.
"You're one of the ugliest sacks of shit I've ever had the displeasure of meeting." I taunted, stepping out of range of his next horizontal swing. The tip of his blade ripped a trench in the dirt as I dodged. I retaliated with a swift, diagonal slash aimed at his arm. It connected, but my sword barely bit into the beast's tough hide before skittering off, doing little more than drawing a thin line of dark blood that seemed to anger him more than harm him.
I frowned.
Jeremy's arrow flew past my head, thudding into the creature's shoulder with enough force to stagger him. "You're welcome!" She chirped from a distance.
The hobgoblin roared, a raw, guttural sound of fury. He swung his massive sword again in a wide, telegraphed arc. I ducked, the blade humming over my head.
I needed to find an opening.
A goblin shrieked as Oliver dispatched one with a vicious kick, sending its skull cracking against a rock. Theo, meanwhile, managed to disarm another, slamming the pommel of her borrowed dagger against its temple.
They were holding their own. For now.
"Seb! Stop playing with your food and just kill him!" Oliver shouted.
"I'm trying!" I snapped, ducking under another swing. The blade hummed overhead.
Did she think I wasn't trying to kill the bastard? I'd like to see her try to land a decisive blow on this walking tank. No matter. The hobgoblin was strong, but he was slow. Predictable. His rage made him sloppy. But being predictable was a weakness only if you had the power to exploit it.
My sword, a scavenged piece of scrap, wasn't cutting it. Literally.
Then there was the fact that compared to this thing, I was a small, fragile creature. One solid swing from that overgrown butter knife of his, and I'd be reduced to a rather abstract red painting on the ground.
I had to be fast. Unpredictable.
But that wasn't my style. Or was it?
I'd been a careful, methodical fighter up until now. Calculated. But that had gotten me nowhere. This wasn't a chess game.
As the hobgoblin lunged again, I saw my chance. Instead of dodging, I met his charge, dropping low and thrusting my sword upward toward his exposed armpit. The blade sank in, deeper this time, not that it was doing any real damage.
The hobgoblin bellowed in pain, stumbling back. I pressed the attack; I'd realized I had to always be on the move. This wasn't a turn-based game. I couldn't give him room to breathe.
As if to answer my unspoken question, the world around me seemed to slow down, my senses sharpening to a near-impossible degree. I could see the tension in his muscles, the way his weight shifted, the subtle twitch of his eye before he made his move.
It was a feeling I'd felt before, during our first fight with the goblins, and again during the troll encounter. It was a surge of unnatural clarity, a cold, detached calm that settled over me in the heat of battle.
A stranger's instinct, guiding my hand.
I didn't question it.
I flowed with the new sensation.
I feinted left, then dashed right, sliding under his next swing. As I came up behind him, I drove my blade into the back of his knee.
The creature bellowed in pain, stumbling forward and dropping to one knee.
Finally. An opening.
But as I raised my sword for a decisive strike to his neck, another goblin lunged at me from the side, its rusty knife gleaming. I swerved, the knife tearing through my shirt but missing my skin. I kicked the goblin away, before my blade moved on its own, and the creature's head took an unscheduled vacation from its shoulders.
That brief distraction was all the hobgoblin needed. He scrambled back to his feet, his eyes burning with a renewed, more focused hatred. He was no longer just angry. He was hunting me.
Jeremy's bowstring gave a little merry thrum as another arrow politely introduced itself to the hobgoblin's spinal column. The creature responded with a grunt that suggested mild inconvenience rather than, say, a fatal puncture wound. "Hey, big guy! Over here, you walking compost heap!" She yelled, gesturing with her bow. "Your face could curdle milk and your mother probably still regrets not swallowing! Fight someone your own... species, you glorified beanbag!"
I believe in that instant I made a very accurate impression of the blinking white guy meme. Jeremy had truly outdone herself. The hobgoblin's head, with the absence of both ears and a surplus of rage, swiveled towards her.
He had the audacity to look offended.
Now.
While he was busy being verbally berated by the world's most aggravating archer, I saw the perfect opening.
I moved.
"Go for his dick!" Jeremy shrieked, a gleeful, unhinged note in her voice. "It worked last time!"
"I'm not aiming for his dick, Jeremy!" I yelled back, my voice strained with effort as I closed the distance in a single, explosive burst. The hobgoblin barely had time to turn his head before I was upon him.
My blade wasn't strong enough to cleave through his thick hide. But I didn't need to cleave. I just needed to accumulate damage in a singular point, and that's exactly what I did. I poured everything I had into a single, downward thrust. I drove the tip of my sword into the existing shoulder wound—the one Jeremy had so graciously gifted him.
The creature roared in agony, his arm spasming, causing his grip on the greatsword to loosen. I twisted the blade, forcing a choked gasp from his mangled throat. Still, it wasn't enough. It was far from enough.
The hobgoblin swung his free arm at me, a massive, clumsy backhand that connected with my chest with the force of a battering ram.
I flew back, the air rushing from my lungs as I collided with the ground with a sickening thud. Pain lanced through my ribs, but I pushed through it, scrambling to my feet just as the hobgoblin charged, his greatsword held high.
I dodged, rolling to the side as the weapon came crashing down, pulverizing the spot where I'd just been lying. Mud and debris splattered everywhere.
I was getting tired. And this thing was still kicking.
"Seb!" Jeremy shouted, her voice tight with concern.
"Seb!"
"Sebas!"
Came the remaining choir of concern from my lady friends.
I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a pained grunt and a thick clot of blood.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I'm fine..."
I wasn't fine. I was crying on the inside, but I had to see this shit through.
"You damn bastard!" Jeremy bellowed in white-hot fury. She then drew her bowstring back and, without a moment of hesitation, let loose another arrow.
And another.
And another.
And another.
They all found their mark, peppering the hobgoblin's torso. He covered his eyes, for if he let even one hit home he would be blinded. Jeremy's accuracy was insane. She wasn't just an archer, at the moment; she was a machine. A beautiful, red-headed, foul-mouthed killing machine.
An unstoppable, sexy gatling gun.
While the creature was distracted, Oliver and Theo seized the opportunity, launching a coordinated attack on his legs. Oliver, her face a mask of grim determination, slashed at the hobgoblin's hamstring, while Theo, with a cry of effort, jammed her dagger into his knee.
He staggered, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He was being worn down, but he wasn't going down. Not yet.
With a mighty roar of indignation, he swung both arms in an arc to swat them away like flies. Oliver and Theo were barely grazed but still sent rolling backwards.
The hobgoblin was so enraged that he was ignoring the two. He was sensing my weakness, my injured, shaky posture. The blood that smeared my lips.
He lunged again.
I sidestepped, my sword flicking out, tracing a shallow cut across his thigh. My whole body shook with pain, but I forced myself to keep moving, to keep fighting. The hobgoblin was an unmovable object. I was a very squishy unstoppable force. I was in a bad spot. But I didn't want to die.
Not for myself.
I didn't fear death.
I didn't fear pain.
They were just things.
They happened.
I didn't want to die because I had people behind me.
Three of them.
They needed me to stand.
And I needed to stand for them.
They needed me to be the wall between them and this thing.
This beast with the big sword.
So I stood.
Not for me.
For them.
Because if I fell, they would fall after me.
And that I could not have.
I knew what my role was. The sword and the shield. I'd take the hits and deliver them. I would stand here until my legs gave out or my heart stopped. Whichever came first.
The hobgoblin's charge was a stampede of hate. I met his eyes.
I drew a ragged breath. It tasted of blood and dirt. My lips peeled back from my teeth, stained red from the coughing fit, and smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. It wasn't a sad smile. It was the smile of a cornered animal that had just discovered it was also a monster.
The world faded to a pinprick. Just me and the charging wall of green flesh and rusty metal.
I didn't have a plan.
I just had whole fucking lot of will. I'd fell this motherfucker.
I shifted my weight, my body screaming in protest. I ignored it. I lowered my center of gravity, my grip on the sword tightening until my knuckles were white. The hobgoblin was almost upon me, his greatsword raised for the final, decisive blow.
I didn't dodge.
I didn't parry.
I did the last thing he would ever expect.
I dropped to my knees, sliding under his swinging blade, the wind of its passing whipping my hair across my face. The move was pure desperation, a suicidal gamble.
As I came up, I was directly under him, my body framed by his tree-trunk legs. I looked up and saw his dangling, primitive loincloth. My mind, for a fraction of a second, flashed back to Jeremy's earlier suggestion.
Fuck it.
I plunged my sword upward, not towards his groin, but into the soft, unprotected flesh of his belly, right under his sternum. My muscles coiled, veins bulging as hysterical strength — the kind that surges when you're faced with certain death—fueled by pure adrenaline. With a roar that was half pain, half defiance, I drove the blade all the way to the hilt, then twisted.
The hobgoblin froze, his roar of triumph dying in his throat. He looked down, his eyes wide with disbelief, at the hilt of my sword protruding from his stomach.
I wrenched the blade free in a spray of dark, foul-smelling blood.
He swayed, a gurgling sound escaping his lips. He dropped his greatsword, which fell to the ground with a deafening clang.
He took one faltering step forward.
Then another.
And then, with a sound like a sack of wet cement being dropped from a great height, he collapsed.