The night had become a storm of screams. Blood slicked the mud, the stench of iron and bile thick in the air. The goblins swarmed like ants, endless, shrieking, clawing. And above it all, Selvara stood outside the barricade, her silver eyes alight with fire.
Her body trembled faintly from exhaustion, but she forced it down, gripping her sword so tight her knuckles whitened. The warrior goblins loomed ahead, hulking, snarling, their jagged blades dripping black ichor. Twenty of them left. If they reached the wall together, the village was finished.
Selvara whispered under her breath, voice sharp as steel.
"Faster..."
And then she moved.
She vanished in a streak of silver, her agility snapping the night apart.
The first warrior swung its cleaver high, but Selvara was already inside its guard. Her blade split its throat, blood spraying across her face. Before the body hit the ground, she'd pivoted, sliding low beneath the second's hammer. Her sword lashed upward, carving its belly wide open, steaming entrails spilling out.
Two dead.
The third raised its axe in rage. Selvara kicked its knee, the bone cracking loud as thunder. It fell with a howl, and her sword lopped its head clean, sending it spinning into the horde.
Three.
Her speed blurred her shape, a ghost weaving through monsters.
The fourth came at her with a spear. She sidestepped, snapping the shaft in two, and shoved the broken wood straight through its eye. It twitched once before collapsing.
Four.
Her chest burned, but she didn't stop.
The fifth leapt at her, roaring. She twisted mid-step, her blade carving across its ribs, then spun with the motion, cleaving through its neck.
Five.
The sixth and seventh charged together, flanking her. She ducked under the first's wild swing, ramming her shoulder into its chest. It staggered back, and she spun toward the second, stabbing her sword straight through its chest. Black blood poured. She ripped the blade free, turned on the first, and split its skull open in one brutal downward slash.
Seven.
She gasped, lungs burning, but the eighth was already there. A towering brute with a jagged axe, it swung down. Selvara stepped inside, so close she could smell its rancid breath, and drove her sword up through its jaw. The blade burst from the top of its skull. She yanked it free, kicking the corpse back.
Eight.
The ninth roared and charged, club raised high. Selvara darted forward, faster than ever, and in one lightning motion, her sword carved across its throat, so deep the head hung by a shred of skin. She kicked it hard, and it toppled, the head tearing loose as it hit the ground.
Nine.
She stood panting, blood dripping from her blade, from her hair, her armor. Around her lay a ring of corpses, steaming black blood pooling into the dirt. Her body ached, every muscle screaming. But she was still standing.
Then the earth split with a thunderous crack.
The barricade.
Selvara's eyes shot up. Part of the wooden wall had collapsed under the ceaseless pounding of goblin bodies. The timbers splintered, crashing inward. Villagers screamed as a flood of goblins poured through the breach, claws scraping, teeth snapping, weapons raised.
"Hold the line!" Roderick's roar shook the night.
The commander was already there, shield braced, sword raised. He met the swarm head-on. His shield smashed into the first goblin, crushing its skull with a wet crunch. His blade swung wide, cutting two more in half in a spray of gore. But there were dozens, then hundreds, forcing through the gap.
"Roderick!" one of the guards shouted. "They're pouring through!"
"Then we cut them down!" he roared, his voice raw with fury.
Every swing of his sword split goblins apart. But even his immense strength couldn't hold them alone. The guards fell into formation, shields raised, spears stabbing into the tide. Villagers hacked from behind, axes and pitchforks cracking bone.
Still, too many.
Selvara turned, sprinting back toward the breach. Her legs burned, but her eyes blazed. She vaulted over the wreckage, landing inside the square where the defenders fought desperately. Her sword flashed again, splitting a goblin that had climbed onto a guard's back.
"Selvara!" Loid's voice cracked, relief cutting through his panic. He was on the wall, jabbing a spear down at the swarm. His eyes found hers, wide with desperation. "You made it back!"
"I'll hold them," she called back, silver eyes hard as ice. "Do not falter!"
She dove into the melee, her blade carving a storm. Every swing split flesh, every thrust pierced through skull or chest. Goblins shrieked as they fell before her, their blood soaking the mud. Guards fought harder at her side, their fear steadied by her presence.
One villager stumbled, his pitchfork knocked from his grip. A goblin lunged at him. Selvara blurred, her sword slicing the creature in half before it touched him. She grabbed the man by his collar and shoved him back toward the line.
"Pick it up. Fight or die."
The man, trembling, nodded and snatched his weapon back.
The tide raged, goblins clawing, screaming, dying by the dozens. But still they came.
Then a shadow leapt over the wall.
The ground shook as a new warrior landed inside the square. But this one… was different.
Tall, lean, almost elegant in its monstrous build. Muscles rippled under green-gray skin, but its limbs were longer, its stance sharper, its yellow eyes glimmering with something alien: cunning.
It didn't charge blindly like the others. It moved with deliberate ease, its jagged blade resting lazily on its shoulder. Its gaze locked on Selvara immediately.
She stepped forward, blade ready, silver eyes narrowing.
The goblin tilted its head. And then... it spoke.
"Interesting." Its voice was low, guttural, but disturbingly clear.
Selvara froze for a breath. She had never heard a goblin speak before.
The creature's lips curled into a grin, sharp teeth glinting. "You're fast. Very fast. A human blade-dancer."
It licked its lips, eyes roaming over her like prey. "The name's Gib. Remember it, my soon-to-be bed warmer."
Selvara's eyes widened, shock breaking her calm mask for just a moment. Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with a deadly, rising fury.
Around them, the battle raged on, the walls groaning, villagers screaming, Roderick roaring as his sword split goblins apart. But all Selvara saw was Gib, the predator standing before her, matching her speed, daring her with that vile grin.
Her grip tightened on her sword until her knuckles went white.
"You'll regret those words," she whispered.
And then the night swallowed her roar as she charged.