Damon’s feet hammered against the stone and dirt as his heart ran like an engine, adrenaline pumping through his veins and bringing the dimly lit world around him into sharp contrast. His brain rushed through every possible question and possibility. Why were these hooded people going after Idina? Wasn’t he supposed to be the one being targeted?

He grit his teeth, glancing at the map. Twelve dots, five on the street he was at, seven in the other. All moving in unison, all chasing after Idina.

Club in hand, he pushed aside questions of ‘why’, and focused on the ‘how’.

Twelve tangos, he was outnumbered, and if his spars with Sybil and Han were anything to go by, he did not have good chances in a direct confrontation. Hit and run?He needed to prioritize getting them away from Idina.

A check on the minimap and their dots. Each had a name.

“System, if at any point there’s someone behind me within less than two meters of distance, blink the map red.” Damon whispered under his breath as he prepared himself, raising his voice to a shout. “Vonani!”

The figure that was near the tail of the pack jolted, turned around, looked his way, and froze in shock. It was clear he’d not heard Damon getting closer, nor expected an attacker at all. Because that split second of hesitation was all it took for the human to swing the club low.

It connected with the knee, something cracked.

Vonani screamed and crumbled, turning into a mess of cloth and limbs as he couldn’t keep standing.

Damon didn’t stop to finish him off, eyes locked on the next target, the hooded figure nearly stopping to turn and confirm what had just happened to his companion. The club crashed against their lower back. The inertia of the attack nearly sent them flying forwards, crashing against one of the companions and turning them both into a spinning tumbling heap of limbs and cloth.

“ATTACKER!”

The remaining two leapt out of the way, turning to-.

To look at the back of Damon as the human had immediately taken a sharp turn into one of the streets leading away from them and towards the second team. His boots smashed against stone and dirt, his focus on the map. The group of five had effectively ground to a halt, not giving chase.

It made sense. It was the most logical choice for them. The fact that they could not sense his hymn meant they couldn’t tell if he was going to come back and finish their companions off. Or if he was potentially leading them to an ambush. It gave him a moment of relief and concern. They were trained.

The suspicion was confirmed when the other team had split into two.

Of the seven, four had moved to block his way from being able to reach the other three that were still in hot pursuit of Idina. The reliance on the hymn that made them blind to him also made them far better coordinated. The advantage of surprise was mostly gone now. Most likely, the instant he engaged those four, the three he left behind would very likely follow suit and surround him.

He caught sight of the four figures, weapons raised. Two had knives, one had an ax, the third a sword. The ones with the knives were standing on the rooftop at either side of the street.

Damon had two options.

One, barrel through.

Two, barrel through harder.

A rictus grin grew on his face, he raised the club and charged, roaring at them with all his might, aiming at the guy with the shield and sword. The distance closed, and they tensed, ready to pounce on him. The man with the shield and ax solidified his stance, while the other had taken a step away but raised his blade.

He knew. If he attacked, they would hit him from the back or sides. If he ran, they would hit his back. And to that he said: let them try.

Ten meters to impact, the man with the blucker shield looked at him from under a hood, eyes narrowed, the shield in front, the ax raised in the back.

Damon’s steps lengthened, he raised the club over his head. One step, two, three. The third fell firmly into place, the fourth step was mostly for stability, twisting his body to send the inertia up his legs, through his torso, into his arm. He was too far to hit, too far to actually whack the guy.

But at the perfect distance to throw the heavy wooden club.

He saw the whites in the man’s eyes as the club soared like a truck that was falling down a cliff. It hit the buckler, the man looked like he’d tried to deflect it away, failing miserably as he was lifted off his feet and thrown backwards against the wall instead.

Damon was speeding back up as he chased after his weapon. The man that had cushioned the club’s fall was hacking and trying to scream but barely able to draw breath, likely broken ribs, the buckler had bent inwards and green blood was pooling around his arm. The ax lay forgotten on the ground.

In the dim light it was impossible to determine what grafts he had, but Damon suspected he had… none?

His focus turned to the man with the sword and the one with daggers. The sword-wielder was too stunned to move, the other was not. The second figure leapt down, blades flashing to cut at Damon, there was not enough time to get fancy, and he was not fast enough to dodge. So he did the only thing he could.

With a second shout, he spun and swung a closed fist at the figure.

The blades sank through his clothes and bit into his flesh. Damon clenched his teeth and pushed. The swing threw the figure into a tumbling roll, and that was good enough. It bought him exactly the amount of time he needed to pick up the club with his uninjured hand and go back into a run.

He’d barely stopped to fight and the distance with Idina had grown too much. With a groan he ran harder, ignoring the screams from behind him. They were giving chase, and he didn’t have an easy immediate solution. If he hammered the remaining three would the others move to keep chasing after Idina?

His main advantages were strength and stamina. How could he draw this out?

A pang of burning pain shot up his left arm, the knife was still sticking in it, but now it felt as if he'd just dunked the cut into alcohol. He wanted to slow down, remove it, maybe even put some improvised bandaging. But with the second group in hot pursuit he didn’t have many options. Damon grit his teeth and pushed to keep himself at a dead sprint, he had to reach the three pursuers that were still chasing after Idina.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

They were slowing down, slightly, ever so slightly, but they were slowing. So was Idina, but Damon was catching up, and that was what mattered. Twist right, take left, go straight. The houses were growing further apart as they were moving further and further away from the commercial district. Where were the guards? Why was no one sounding alarms?

Problems for later.

The dots had stopped and quickly moved out of the road. Damon had little doubt they’d been informed he was coming, and there were at least five abled fighters hot on his heels. Had they changed priorities and seen him as too much of a threat to ignore?

Good enough.

Idina was getting further and further away. No dots chasing.

Damon came to a halt, the trio were waiting for him just ahead. The five behind were about to catch up. Slowly, he breathed, the burning in his arm was crawling slowly up to his shoulder. Some kind of poison? That was not good. With a grimace he tore the knife off and used it to pull a chunk of cape off.

They were looking at him.

They’d come to a complete halt, the trio emerged from the sides of the street.

“This does not concern you.”

The one to speak had been the taller of the trio. Something about the way he moved felt heavy. Damon frowned, a pang of irritation, tying the piece of cape around his forearm. Hopefully it would stem the bleeding.

Seven hooded figures.

“You cannot take us all on.”

“Maybe.” He focused on the taller figure, a quick glance to the minimap to confirm the information. He pointed at the figure with his club. “Tsakani.” The club swung to point to the one to his right. “Miyela.” He worked his way down the list of names. “Zalo. Mixo. Fanisa. Nonisa. And… Vurgo. Vurga?” There was a slight smile. “Did I get the pronunciation right?”

One by one, they’d been startled, stiffening and raising their weapons defensively, suddenly losing some of the certainty they’d held. “How do you know our names?” The one to speak was Zulo, shuffling a step further away, voice coming out in a slow growl.

“I will make this simple.” Damon picked up his club, bouncing it against his shoulder, focusing on Tsanaki. “Tell me why you’re going after my friend, and I won’t break all your limbs.”

The man tensed, raising his sword. “You’re not leaving here alive.”

“Last chance, Tsanaki.”

They didn’t wait for him to act, three of them ran at Damon, three others moved to try and encircle him. Tsanaki remained behind, watching him intently. Damon should have moved away, to put his back to a wall and start fending them off as they came. Instead, he picked the guy furthest to his right and lunged at him, taking the poisoned knife with his left hand and throwing it with little care to actually aim.

The guy trying to close in on his flank backpedaled in a rush, seeming to recognize the threat the blade posed. That gave Damon the room he needed to swing in a wide arc at Vurga. She was quick, and did not bother to block, ducking under the swing and closing in with her sword.

It was a move Sybil had used against him countless times during sparring. His immediate reaction was to raise his leg tightly against his body and kick forward. It caught the woman squarely in the chest. Eyes bulged and ribs cragged under the sole of his boot. Back on Earth, the kick would have knocked her flat on her ass. On this planet with lower gravity, she was sent tumbling back a couple meters.

“One down.”

His words came along a cry of pain, something had drawn a cut down his back. Fire spread under his skin, and Damon spun, swinging the club to force his attackers to jump back or meet a swift end. The fire was spreading through his back now, and the one from his arm had reached his shoulder.

No time to scream, he lunged to the side and out of the reach of two other attackers. They reacted in a snap, turning on a dime and slashing in his direction. Now it was Damon’s turn to backpedal.

His map blinked angry red, warning of someone directly behind him.

And he did not bother to even look over his shoulder, he jumped at the attackers in front of him. The one with the ax found his attack being bluntly deflected by Damon’s bad arm. The surprise was short lived, the club smashed against his head.

With a sickening crunch and a spray of emerald blood, the attacker fell.

“Two.”

His left arm was not responding as it should have. It burned and the muscles were lethargic. Was it from the wound or the poison? His back felt like he was laying on top of hot coals. Had he been slashed by the guy he hadn’t looked at?

The death of the second companion gave them pause. Wide eyes, but not running away, not stepping back.

They acted in unison, two groups of two, one to the right, one to the left. They circled to attack, Damon knew the instant he faced one, he’d be giving his back to the other. But neither group mattered to him, the tall one had barely moved and was keeping his distance.

So the human engaged neither group and sprinted at the man.

The expression Tsanaki showed was mild surprise, followed by a grin.

Pain bloomed on Damon’s right flank. Something had hit him right under the ribs. It didn’t stop him, he kept running, and Tsanaki’s smugness turned into panic. He raised the blade and quickly dodged the swing, taking a swipe at Damon’s arm.

The cut was shallow, more fire, more pain, Damon’s mind screamed, and he roared, dropping the club and jumping at the man. Fists clenched, his first punch caught the leader of the troupe squarely on the shoulder, the second hand reached out and grasped the sword-wielding hand by the wrist.

With a squeeze, bones creaked, and Tsanaki screamed.

Damon didn’t stop, the free hand rained punches. Chest, arm, ribs, stomach. One, two, three, five. Each one made the man’s scream lose wind, the sword clattered to the ground and Damon hammered home two more blows to the man’s face until he was screaming no more.

“Three.”

He dropped Tsanaki, stomping on his ankle and snapping it like a twig. No shout came, barely a grunt. The man was barely moving, curling into a ball and trembling uncontrollably.

Damon’s body was on fire, barely able to feel his limbs. With gritted teeth, he glared at the remaining four. He raised his fists, red blood dripping to the stone bellow. He wasn’t sure how much of it was his own, red and green mixed, the dimness of the night obscuring the colors. A lot probably.

“Come.”

They hesitated.

He didn’t.

With a roar he dove to the closest target. He raised a buckler to protect himself. Damon gripped the arm with the shield and yanked. The man screamed as he was thrown in the direction of the other two. Barely a toss they’d be forced to side-step, Damon’s focus was the man he’d just isolated from the rest.

A short sword of some kind, he thrust at Damon’s chest. With little recourse, Damon swung his left fist to slap it away. Steel met flesh and dug deep. But he did not feel a thing, his body was aflame. With a stomp he crushed the man’s foot, and with a swing from his right elbow, the man’s neck cracked viscerally.

“Four.”

He grabbed the blade that was still lodged into his arm and pulled it out in a spray of crimson blood. Nothing, he wasn’t feeling anything at all except the burning sensation that ran rampant across his body.

With a wild swing of his arm, he threw the blade at the closest enemy.

Much to the surprise of everyone involved, the blade bit into the man’s right arm and pierced through their biceps. The scream was immediate, clutching his arm and dropping his weapons, green blood pouring forth.

“... Five?”

Damon, breathing hard, glanced at the remaining two.

This time they didn’t hesitate.

They ran.

He should probably follow after them.

The fact his feet did not move from the spot probably meant he was not going to be able to, however. The fire was losing some of its sting, in its wake it left a growing numbness. Damon’s focus was wavering, his body swaying slightly.

A part of his brain recognized he was in trouble. He should stem the bleeding, seek help.

The rest of him wasn’t responding.

The only noise in his ears was his heavy breathing, the dripping sound of blood, and the constant slowing beat of his heart.

He heard a dim buzzing sound that grew louder and louder.

Damon didn’t realize he blacked out.