The instant Thorian snapped his fingers, a thunderous roar reverberated through the air, disorienting his opponent. Caught off guard, the hobgoblin champion—clad in flickering lightning—instinctively covered his ears.
Seizing the moment, Thorian lunged forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His eyes met those of the hobgoblin, and the scant inches that separated them filled with an electric tension. Unleashing a rapid-fire series of strikes, Thorian's palms—ablaze with ethereal, purple flames—seared the flesh of his opponent with each devastating impact. He concluded his frenetic assault with a precisely executed uppercut, catapulting the champion into the roiling tempest of the Dust Devil.
However, respite eluded Thorian. Before he could even draw another breath, a torrent of foes surged toward him from either side, their aura-imbued blades gleaming with deadly intent. With a fluid grace, Thorian parried the onslaught, his hands still aflame, warding off swords and spears that sought to claim his life. Each deflected blow forced him a step backward, but he calculated every movement to ensure his enemies remained squarely within his field of vision. He would not be so easily outflanked; not when the stakes were this high.
Dammit, they’re stalling me.
Thorian felt the strain of maintaining his Dark Flame Palm technique; his reserves of qi were dwindling perilously close to exhaustion. The ceaseless onslaught from his enemies left him little room for planning, let alone recovery.
He gritted his teeth, eyes glinting like ice as he surveyed his would-be executioners. I'd hoped to avoid this, but it seems you've left me no choice.
Just as he conjured the thought, a goblin champion lunged at him, brandishing a long sword imbued with malevolent energy. Thorian met the blade with the back of his flame-enshrouded hand, effortlessly turning it aside. But this time, he held his position, eschewing the calculated retreats that had marked his earlier defense.
Combustion Touch.
The transformation was instant and astonishing. Within the deep purple of Thorian's flame, a piercing red light erupted, melding with the original hue to create a chaotic swirl of crimson and violet. With the lethal grace of a predator, Thorian lunged at the green-skinned champion who had dared to attack him. His palm, now a turbulent confluence of red and purple fire, struck true, targeting the vulnerable solar plexus of his foe. Flames engulfed the champion's muscular frame as he was hurled backward, his anguished howl slicing through the air.
That cry of agony seized the attention of the remaining champions, diverting their focus for one fatal moment. In the deadly dance that was this battle, even such a brief distraction was inexcusable. Seizing the opportunity, Thorian lunged at the nearest opponent, a spear-wielding hobgoblin. With a single, devastating blow, he shattered the spear's shaft while his fiery aura incinerated the splinters. Before the stunned goblin could even react, Thorian delivered a brutal kick to his stomach, rendering him defenseless.
As his foe hurtled toward the ground, Thorian deactivated his Dark Flame Palm, allowing his hand to revert to its natural state. In the same fluid motion, he snapped his fingers to reactivate Thunderclap.
The hobgoblin champions, having experienced this skill twice already, were not as affected as before. They simply took a step back, gritting their teeth through the spine-chilling sound. However, that momentary lapse was all Thorian had wished for.
With an incantation as quick as thought, Thorian summoned his next spell, the Mist Veil. Once again, a white fog billowed forth, enveloping the battleground in an occlusive, burning haze. Visibility plummeted; the goblin champions could hardly see their hands in front of their faces, and each breath they took was tinged with pain from the fog's caustic effects.
Convinced their prey was still before them, the goblins lunged with weapons extended, hoping to bring Thorian down in one fell swoop. But they met only the insubstantial mist where he had stood. The moment the Mist Veil was in place, Thorian had melted into the fog, exploiting its cover to reposition himself.
Emerging from the murk, he invoked another spell, this one a battle-worn favorite. A sphere of flame materialized above his palm, swirling and expanding until he hurled it with deadly accuracy at a sword-wielding champion. No sooner had the fireball found its mark than Thorian flicked his fingers upward, triggering yet another incantation. Beneath the stricken goblin, an intricate magical circle materialized, its radiant light almost too bright to bear.
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The goblin had no time to react. A pillar of fire erupted from the magical circle, roaring skyward in a blazing fury. The champion was consumed in a turbulent inferno, his screams drowning in the roar of the flames. A nearby compatriot, standing too close to the spectacle, was caught off guard; a wave of fire licked at his right arm, igniting it in a dance of agony.
With a keening wail, the hobgoblin abandoned his spear to frantically extinguish the flames devouring his arm. His green skin was a pocked landscape of searing burns and blistering welts. When he finally dared to glance up, terror flooding his eyes, he found that Thorian was not even looking at him. Instead, Thorian’s attention was riveted to the sword-wielding champion who had borne the brunt of his fiery assault.
Swiftly conjuring a sphere of water, Thorian hurled it at the charred form of his unfortunate foe. The ball hit its mark and evaporated instantly with a hissing sound, succeeding mostly in quenching the flames. As the mist of his Veil spell began to dissipate, the full horror of the champion's condition became visible. His body was grotesquely scorched, limbs and torso turned an ashy black, though his face was mercifully spared—streaked only with soot.
Thorian then turned his gaze toward Elder Omn, the appointed referee of this harrowing duel. What he saw in the elder's eyes was a complex cocktail of emotions: a visceral horror mingled with a sort of schadenfreude-tinged fascination.
"End this farce and declare my victory," Thorian commanded, his voice pitched to carry. "There's still time to save your men."
Elder Omn seemed momentarily stunned, his words stumbling over themselves before he barked out a proclamation in his own tongue. While Thorian couldn't comprehend his language, the message was unmistakable.
A murmur rustled through the crowd of goblin spectators, their faces a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions—bewilderment, trepidation, and a palpable tension as they wondered what would come next.
The mostly unscathed champions, including the one Thorian had dispatched earlier with a kick, huddled together. Their expressions held no anticipation, only a fog of confusion and the visceral imprint of fear, branded by Thorian's demonstration of power.
The two other elders accompanying Omn were visibly discomfited. Their eyes averted from Thorian's gaze, their movements nervous and twitchy. Engaging in subdued conversation amongst themselves, they were a stark contrast to the arrogance they'd displayed earlier during negotiations with Brix.
With an impatient click of his tongue, Thorian interrupted their hushed conference. "Discussion can wait. Tend to your men now; I can't say for certain how deeply my flames have damaged them."
Jolted into action by Thorian's brusque admonition, the trio of elders hastened to attend to their grievously wounded champions. The caustic purple flames from Thorian's earlier spells still clung to their skin like ravenous parasites, devouring flesh in an unrelenting assault. Thankfully, the elders managed to neutralize the magical fire before initiating their own healing incantations.
As the shamanistic rituals unfurled, Brix darted to Thorian's side, his eyes alight with a blend of awe and contrition. “I’m sorry master for having doubted you. You are truly the strongest! I can’t believe you have beaten all six of the great champions at once.”
Thorian offered a dismissive shrug. "What's there to celebrate in besting a handful of amateurs?" His gaze wandered past the immediate scene to the goblins assembled beyond the ring of trees. "We'll need a significant amount of Wood Units to accommodate so many new residents."
“Don’t worry about that, master,” Brix shook his head, a note of earnestness coloring his tone. “We’re used to sleeping in bushes and small caves. Just being inside the walls of the village is a considerable upgrade to our normal living standards.”
Thorian nodded, his clawed fingers idly scratching at his furred chin. "After we clear the wooded area between the two walls, it would serve as an excellent residential zone for the civilians and lower-ranking officers. Construction can commence tomorrow."
“The guards on the second wall would also appreciate their houses being near,” Brix chimed in, eager to contribute. “It would allow them to make their shift in a much more timely manner.”
Thorian nodded again, silently acknowledging the validity of Brix's point. He'd already implemented such conveniences for the inner-wall guards but had overlooked doing the same for those manning the outer defenses. With a significant influx of new civilians, it made perfect sense to extend this courtesy to the second wall’s sentinels as well.
“Master, I am truly impressed.” Brix started, his voice somewhat shaky with excitement but his eyes bright. “It’s only been a couple of days and the village has grown so much. I can’t even begin to imagine how it would look in a few months or even a few years.”
For a moment, Thorian looked genuinely surprised at Brix’s ebullience, then a wry chuckle escaped him. "Well, you'll just have to stick around to find out."