Endhi smashed his cudgel into another centipede, blue blood splattering onto his face. Another demon pounced at him, but he moved to the side, bludgeoned it on its carapaced head. He felt the weight of his strike crack it, watched as it fell lifelessly before withering away into black smoke. Disappearing to someplace only the Ascendants knew of.
A demon attacked a Talis goblin nearby. He was struggling, wounds staining his body, cuts along his skin. The man was clearly no combatant. In fact, most of the tribespeople weren’t. Most of them were ordinary labourers and craftsmen. Still strong—they were goblins, it was a given—but not strong enough. Yet they still fought courageously, with their lives on the line, with their families behind them. That was why Endhi needed to protect them.
He dashed towards the demon, pushing it away with his shoulder, momentum knocking it back. It was stunned, momentarily off balance, so he struck. Again, with strength like his, only one strike was required to break through their protective shells. One strike and they were dead. The corpse turned to smoke.
“Thank you, Hekit Endhi,” the goblin breathed out. The man was clearly worn out, body rising and falling in heaves, marred with sweat. Endhi propped him up.
“You’ve done enough. You need rest,” he said. “Go.”
And the goblin obliged, walking off weakly in relief.
He inspected the rest of the battlefield. All around him was nothing but battle. Goblins fighting against a horde of demons. Most of them were failing, falling down one by one to the wave of centipedes. It was no surprise. The goblins were no match for creatures from the Abyss. He needed to help them. He needed to save more people.
He thought of his children: Klik, Onko, Isha. Before dying to these demons, he’d probably die from the worry he felt for them. But he knew that Talis Kekta and Garin would have evacuated them, that they’d be in safe hands. Worry would only hinder him. It would only prevent him from doing his one job: To protect the tribe.
A barrage of fire arrows shot towards them. Goblins tried running, scampering away weakly, but were hit anyways. They went down in flames, intense fire roaring from their bodies. Their numbers were whittling. Could he still protect his tribe?
Mage.
There was a mage among their ranks. A strong one, too. Someone that could annihilate a whole group of goblins with just one spell. Endhi was unsure now, if his one job was possible.
He ran towards the source of the magic, muscles overexerting themselves. He needed to remove the threat before it could do anymore damage. He knew that a mage was at their weakest at close range. He just had to reach that range. Easier said than done.
A fire arrow flew towards him, aiming for his head. He felt the heat rush towards him, felt it almost burn him as it brushed his face while dodging to the side. He barely evaded it. From this far, the mage was able to pinpoint his location and accurately attack him. The closer he got, the harder it would be for him to dodge. He touched the side of his face, felt the tender skin licked by the flame. He understood how vulnerable he was.
He kept running, lungs aching against his ribs, breath frantic. He needed to reach the mage before they could unleash another spell on him. Before he could possibly die.
As he got closer, he started to see the mage faintly.
Human.
A young man with blonde hair, an adventurer. He burned his image into his mind. This was the man who had massacred all the other Velhana goblin tribes, he was sure of it. He needed to avenge them.
“Lightning, send.”
Lightning shot out of the man’s hand, flashing towards Endhi. It was fast, instantaneous. He tried moving to the side, but it struck him, echoing through his whole body. Paralysed. For a moment, he struggled to move. The shock from the strike hurt him, left him breathless.
Move!
He needed to move, or the next spell would kill him. His body hurt. His legs ached. He needed to get up.
So he did. Gritting his teeth, he slowly stood up, legs shaking.
“Axe, cleave.”
To his side, mana coalesced, materialised into a translucent axe. It wound up, then swung towards him. He couldn’t evade in time. So he raised his cudgel towards it, gathered the little mana he held, and reinforced it with resistance and durability. The axe struck. He blocked it, the force reverberating throughout his body, the weight straining against his arm. But it held. Barely.
Then it disappeared. So he ran again. This time, he sprinted in erratic patterns, zigzagging towards the mage in hopes of obfuscating himself as a target. His cudgel could almost reach the man.
“Hekit Endhi,” the man said. “You’re as strong as your son remembers.”
What? How did this human know his name? And his son? He was stunned in motion, still for the slightest of moments.
“Ensnare.”
And that moment was enough. Magical chains formed around him, closing in on his body. They wrapped around him. Trapped. He couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. He tried exerting his strength, but it was no use. All it did was tire him.
“How do you know my name, human?” he spoke in the human tongue. “What is this about my son?”
The man walked closer to him, smiling. “I’ve met him, your son. Does he wear that mask around you, too?”
Endhi tried darting towards the mage. He struggled against the chains, shackles pulling him back. “Bastard, what have you done to him?”
“Why so aggressive, Endhi? Well, you are the head hunter of the tribe after all, a bit of aggression is required for your profession, right?” he laughed. “No, I haven’t done anything to him. He’s safe and sound. All I did was teach him magic. In exchange, I scrawled through his memories, probed into his mind for information. That’s how I know of you, Endhi.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“That’s new,” he said. “Throughout all those memories, you never seemed like the one to joke around. I guess in the face of death, your true self is revealed.”
No matter how much effort he exerted, the chains wouldn’t let loose. He needed to get out. He needed to kill this man. He had manipulated and uses Klik for his own, disgusting purposes. He knew too much about the goblins. He was too dangerous. He needed to die.
But trapped like this, with chains shackled around him, killing the mage was impossible. In fact, he was the one most likely to die. He needed to find a way to get out or his death was inevitable.
“The Eye of Zokurath. Where is it, Endhi?”
What? Eye of Zokurath? What was he talking about? Endhi had never heard of it.
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you playing dumb, or do you truly not know?” the man asked. He stepped closer, grabbed Endhi’s head and tilted it up. “I’ll find out.”
“Mind, sca—”
An arrow shot towards the man, aiming for his arm.
Olna.
A transparent sheen automatically glossed over his body, protecting him from the arrow. It didn’t penetrate through, but it did knock him off balance. Enough for him to let go of Endhi’s head. Enough for him to lose concentration. Enough for the chains to unravel.
Enough for Endhi to reinforce his cudgel with mana, dash towards the man, and smash into his body. The sheen, the barrier, shattered. He was knocked back. Still mostly unhurt. Endhi sought to change that.
He kicked him in the legs, swept him cleanly off his feet, watched as he fell onto the ground. The man coughed weakly from the impact. He wound his cudgel up, striking downwards for the kill.
The man panted. “Re–Recall.”
He teleported away.
Endhi swivelled his head around, trying to track the mage’s location.
“Force, lance, send.”
An invisible projectile punched his stomach, sent him reeling back, knocked onto the ground. He felt like vomiting. Where is he? Where did he attack me from?.
An arrow flew towards the mage. It seemed like Olna was able to track him down.
“Force, barrier.”
The arrow struck the barrier, bouncing off of it uselessly. Endhi tried to get up but failed, his muscles weak and fatigued.
“I understand now. It was rude of me to call you by your names without introducing myself,” the man said, wiping blood from his mouth. “Heal.”
And his wounds faded away, regenerating. He stood straight again with renewed vigour.
“I am Jelnar Lariel, and I will kill every single one of you.”
—— – -
Klik felt like vomiting. Over Talis Kekta’s shoulder, they were blitzing past demons, their surroundings blurring by sickeningly. The goblin carried both Klik and Sheiha while running as fast as he could. He didn’t even know where they were going, what was happening, what the shriek was, why there were demons here…
A centipede creature tried pouncing onto them but Kekta dodged aside and kept running. He didn’t bother attacking them—he couldn’t, his hands were full with two children. All on his mind, Klik inferred, was getting from point A to point B.
“Where—” he panted “—where are we going? What’s happening?”
Another demon ahead of them, moving towards them. Kekta stepped to the side.
“The hunters have come like we expected. But they’ve arrived with unexpected friends,” he grunted. “Don’t worry. You two will be safe. I’ll escort you to our designated stronghold where you’ll be protected.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Sheiha shifted uncomfortably on Kekta’s left shoulder. “I can help! I can kill these demons with my magic!”
“The battlefield is no place for a child. You will not be fighting.”
“But—”
“I said, you will not be fighting.”
Sheiha stayed silent.
Kekta was right, though. What help could the two of them do in this battle? There were demons infesting the whole place, centipedes running rampant. Maybe Sheiha could do something with her offensive spells, but she had no experience in combat. Neither did he. They’d only be burdens.
A body launched into them, knocking Kekta back. They flew back into a nearby wall, the impact knocking the air out of them. Klik and Sheiha fell out of Kekta’s grasp. Klik blearily looked around, tried seeing who had knocked into them through the dust and daze.
On the ground, collapsed and bruised, was Hekit Asan. His body was battered, beaten. The head warrior of the tribe looked like a husk of his former self. The man returned to consciousness, tried to shakily get up, cudgel supporting his ascent.
“Asan?” Klik whispered.
The man looked toward him, eyes widening in shock. “Klik. Why are you here? You must get away from this—”
A golden crescent shot towards Asan. He weakly raised his cudgel, positioning himself defensively, ready to block. The attack hit him, knocked him through the wall, breaking it.
Kekta stood up, cudgel now in hand, scanning the area for the attacker.
“This goblin doesn’t die in one strike. Have I stumbled across the strong ones now?” a deep voice resonated through the dusty shroud. A man lumbered towards them. Silver armour covered his body. A black sun was tattooed on his forehead. Glowing, golden eyes stared them down. The knight was giant, equalling Kekta in size. He was a monstrosity.
Kekta ran towards the knight. He swung his cudgel towards him. It was easily blocked, greatword intercepting it. The knight pushed against Kekta, knocking him off balance. Then slashed at him. He tried moving, dodging backwards. But it was too late.
Blood erupted. A laceration across his chest, red spilling outward. He stumbled back. The knight walked towards him, winding his greatsword back for another strike.
“Father!” Sheiha shouted.
Klik’s heartbeat quickened. He felt the blood coursing through his veins, felt it pump across his body. He breathed erratically. He didn’t know what to do.
Could he help? No—if Asan and Kekta were easily defeated by the knight, he wouldn’t fare any better.
Should he run? If the knight was distracted by the two goblin warriors, he could take Sheiha and escape. It was cowardly, but he saw no other choice.
He felt an intense heat to his side. He looked to the left.
In front of Sheiha’s hand was fire, gathering up, accumulating into a ball. The heat gradually increased, almost scorching him from this distance. He slowly inched away. Was she going to shoot a fireball at the man? Would it work?
The knight stopped in his tracks, head turning to Sheiha.
“Mage?” he whispered.
“Sheiha! No!” Kekta shouted in front of them.
Intense orange light washed over the area, becoming brighter and brighter. This fireball was larger than the last one. Sheiha looked like she was struggling to hold it together, straining under the pressure of the mana she was controlling. She released it.
It shot towards the man, the ball of pure heat and fire directed at him.
“Goddess, grant me protection.”
It struck him. An explosion of flame erupted from where it hit him. Klik felt the shockwave of heat, the flames almost licking him. Gusts of wind flew against him from the force of the spell.
Klik watched the aftermath in anticipation. The dust and debris subsided.
His heart dropped. The knight was unharmed. Not a scratch on his armour, his body. Only a golden, translucent sheen was present. Some type of protective shroud. It covered his entire body. Then it disappeared, washed away immediately.
“No…” Sheiha said.
He slashed downwards, a vertical crescent blitzing towards Sheiha.
Klik tried moving towards her, tried pushing his cudgel towards the attack, but he was too far. He wouldn’t make it in time.
Asan appeared in front of the strike and blocked it. He was knocked back by the impact but still held strong, still standing despite his injuries. He breathed heavily, back rising and falling in sharp rhythms. His legs were shaking.
“Run.”
Klik obeyed. He grabbed Sheiha’s arm and tried yanking her forward, away from the battle. She resisted.
“We’re not leaving them!” she cried.
“We have to.”
“You’re gonna leave them to die?”
“We’ll just be burdens staying here. We can run and go find help,” he said. He tried instilling confidence and strength into his words. He squeezed her arm. “Please, Sheiha.”
She looked towards her father and Asan, both worn out, standing weakly against the human warrior. She looked conflicted, took a deep breath. “Okay.”
And they ran away as fast as they could. His legs, still hurt from the previous impact, exerted as much force as they could onto the ground. They needed to get to the stronghold.
Klik smelt the overwhelming stench of blood. All around them was battle between goblins and demons. And they were losing. As they ran, he watched as his brethren fell one by one, overtaken by the centipede creatures. If they stopped for one moment, got distracted, paused in the slightest, they could be next. He ran fast, tugged Sheiha by the arm along desperately.
They passed countless battles. Left people to die. Klik felt helpless. What was the point of learning magic if he couldn’t save anyone? What was the point of his goblin strength if he couldn’t defeat a human? Why was he nothing but a burden to be carried over the shoulder?
He had come asking Zelena for power, and she denied him. He came to Jelnar for power and it wasn’t enough. And now he ran away from the people destroying his tribe, powerless. He realised that he was crying.
And he realised the place where he belonged, where he lived in… his home… was being destroyed. And he couldn’t do anything about it.
A piercing shriek.
From above, a giant, flying centipede flew towards them. Compared to the other demons wreaking havoc throughout the Velhana jungle, this one was a behemoth. It’s inky red carapace covered its whole body—dozens of segments partitioned across its length. Its fangs looked sharp, gleaning against the moonlight, shining like a pair of hideous blades. It flew closer and closer towards them.
It was fast. It was careening towards them and there was no escape, not even if they tried to run their hardest away from it. He stared at the demon as it started to reach them.
“Sheiha,” he whispered. He knew that she saw it too. She was silent, staring at the monster with him. He raised his cudgel weakly. He knew he wasn’t ready. He knew he wasn’t strong enough. He knew his spell wouldn’t help in a battle against a giant demon. But he also knew that his brothers and sisters were dying, that each moment they spent fleeing, running away, another goblin was killed ruthlessly.
“I’m tired,” he said. “I’m tired of running.”
“Me too,” she said.
He was tired of running, tired of lying, tired of hiding behind a mask. This time, he’d face his problem head-on. If he died, he’d die telling the truth.
—— – -
When Kekta saw red, he was reminded of his mother. He remembered mornings spent on her lap, watching her paint on the stone walls of the tribe’s outer walls. The sun, still peeking over the ground, would shine on them, illuminate her art. He’d notice the beauty of it all, but he’d notice the colour red first. It was bright, it was bold, it was booming.
“It’s like you,” she said. And he thought so too. “Your name, Kekta, means flower. Your father and I must’ve been prophets.” She laughed.
“What? Because I’m a late bloomer?” he rolled his eyes.
“No, because you possess the beauty of one. Your soul is like that of a flower’s. Blooming.”
The ground was painted with red. His body was on fire. His chest felt like it was on fire. The slash burnt deeply. He was losing blood. Vision fading. Mind waning. He laughed, but that hurt too.
Mother, I think I’m withering.
He looked up towards the fight. Asan was fighting the paladin, the knight, the warrior—whatever you wanted to call that behemoth of a human. Their strikes echoed throughout the battlefield, rumbled against the ground. Asan was battling against the human. And he was losing.
He stood up slowly. His limbs and joints buckled under the pressure. He hadn’t hurt like this since the first time he trained with his father. He almost enjoyed the pain. It reminded him of peaceful times. It also reminded him that his end was nearing.
He used to believe that death was like a giant explosion. That it was like a culmination of your whole life, a grand end—every thread, every road of your past all joining together for an epic finale. And then he’d close his eyes wistfully, let the curtains close, and then he’d hear the Ascendants applaud and cheer, scream his name for infinity. He hoped he was right. Because he needed to die in a bang.
And in that explosion, he’d take that big fucker down with him.
He took a deep breath. Then dashed towards them.
Asan looked miserable, like he was on his last legs. He probably was. The man had been beaten and battered around by the knight for a while. As Asan blocked another strike with his cudgel, his legs shook again, breath hitched. He felt sorry for him despite being in a worse state.
While the knight was preoccupied with Asan, he snuck to his side. He swung at the man’s head, but he noticed at the last second and moved backwards. The strike landed on his shoulder, but still knocked him back. He was momentarily stunned.
The moment of surprise allowed Asan to bludgeon his chest, the impact vibrating through his armour. But the warrior was stunned for only a moment. He rammed into Kekta with his shoulder, pushing him aside, then struck Asan in the stomach with the pommel of his sword. They were now too far to strike him.
“Goddess, grant me strength.”
They felt a vibration, a rumbling of the earth. Something about the knight had changed, a slight golden glow emanating from his body. He looked invigorated. The man dashed towards Asan. He was faster than before, blitzing towards the goblin. He left trails of dust in his wake. He slashed towards the him. Asan raised his cudgel in front of the strike.
And it cut right through the piece of wood.
Into Asan’s arm, cleaving it cleanly. His limb flew off onto the ground, blood splattering with it.
Asan screamed in pain, holding his shoulder, grimacing. His arm was gone. Kekta was too late to stop it.
The knight raised his sword up for another strike. Kekta ran towards them. Asan was on his knees, debilitated. With only one arm, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. One more strike and he’d die.
He tried to ram into the man to knock him off balance, tried to stop him from killing the goblin. But he stood unbothered, firmly anchored to the ground. He wouldn’t budge. But he still noticed Kekta pushing him, disturbing his attack.
So he repositioned his sword, aimed towards Kekta. He saw it above him, landing right above his head. Before the blade could bisect his entire body, Kekta stepped backwards, barely evading the strike. He felt the blade slice at the skin of his forehead, blood dripping down his face. He could’ve died right there.
Kekta felt hopeless. The two were on the brink of death, barely holding onto their lives. They were only stalling the human from killing more goblins. There was almost no chance they could beat him. Blood was still leaking from his wound, his legs were still weak, his body still ached. Time was running out and he was afraid there’d be no explosion. His life would end like a flower’s, wilting.
He watched as the knight prepared to kill Asan. The sword went up again. It was like watching an execution. Like a perfect painting: A sword hung above in motion, like a harbinger of death; A man, head drooped downward, grimacing in anticipation, in acceptance. Kekta felt his stomach drop.
He needed to stop him. He needed to get one good strike in. Knock him off balance. Wound him. Smash his head open. He wanted to see his head explode. Maybe then this all would end. Maybe then Sheiha would be safe.
He remembered seeing her cast that fire spell, watching as it launched towards the man, exploding in fiery beauty. He was shocked and appalled. But he was proud. She’d tried so hard to protect him.
He ran towards them. The man needed to die or he’d kill others. He needed to die or Sheiha would be in danger. He needed to smash his head open.
To smash something was to obliterate it. To shatter it completely, to break it to pieces. He needed to do the same to do this man. He needed to tear him asunder. To smash him to pieces.
He was closer now. He raised his cudgel, wound it up. The man was distracted, sword still raised, focused on Asan. This would be his only moment. To him, Kekta was nothing but a fly, a distraction. To him, nothing he could do would ever harm him, even touch him. Kekta needed to prove him wrong.
Obliterate. Shatter. Break.
Before he could kill Asan. Before he could kill any more goblins. Before he could hurt Sheiha.
“Smash.”
He felt reality shift. He felt it break slightly, the world zoning in on one moment, one area, one action. He felt his existence hone in on one purpose. He became a machine that served one goal and one goal only. To hurt the man in front of him. To shatter him to bits.
His cudgel went from one point to the next. At one moment, it was in the air, ready to attack. The next it was touching the knight’s head, resting against his grey hair. Then it went through. And it kept going.
He saw red. That beautiful, bright, bold colour. He felt the man’s skull break, crack from impact. He felt it shatter. He felt blood splattering onto his face, onto his body, onto the ground.
He saw the man’s head explode.
The body dropped to the floor, headless. A heavy impact resounded from the weight of his corpse.
Kekta breathed rapidly, taking in the night air, feeling its coldness, letting it refresh him. He’d done it. He’d killed a giant. He collapsed onto the ground.
There was his explosion.
Boom.