I shot to my feet. Stealth was useless now, so I lifted the Shattered Wood in defense. Within seconds, Short had closed the gap enough that I could see his HP Gauge appear above his head. It was burning green and sat beneath what I barely had time to register as his name.

Stratholm

No fucking duh.

Stratholm had a dagger in his hand in a flash. The blade was shiny and looked like it would be at least slightly uncomfortable if I were suddenly introduced to it. He leaped to the side as I brought the Shattered Wood up to strike, whistling through the space that he had just occupied. Then, holding his dagger at a downward angle, he charged.

I tried to jump back and out of his reach, but my foot caught the edge of the rock facing. I flew backward and landed hard on my ass, my tailbone bumping roughly on the stone and my legs flying out in front of me. I felt the wind of his blade on my face as I fell. I’d narrowly avoided a gruesome slice.

“Dammit! Hold still, chump!” Stratholm said, flipping the blade in his hand and swinging at me again while I was down.

I kicked hard against the ground and rolled out of the way. I heard the scraping clang of the dagger stabbing rock and panicked when I realized I was facing away from my attacker with my stomach against the rock. There was a quick shuffle and, acting quickly, I pushed myself up and to the side at a crouch as Stratholm’s attack once again uselessly clattered where I had just been.

I attempted to stand, but he was in my face once more, quicker than I thought, bearing down on me with his brandished blade. I fell and urgently crab-walked backward as he swiped at me a few more times. It was difficult because I was still holding onto my makeshift club—my only lifeline.

“Shit!” Stratholm shouted and turned his head slightly to call back to his friends.

“We’ve got Noob Armor over here!” he said. In that moment, his eyes flashed to look over his shoulder for his companions’ whereabouts.

There.

I’m not sure if it was instinct or panic, but I took his brief distraction as my cue and gripped the Shattered Wood, striking Stratholm as hard as I could muster in the face. My attack connected with a loud crack, and I saw his eyes flutter. His body crashed to the ground. I watched as a small chunk of his HP slid down. Above his health bar, a tiny three-star icon appeared.

You activated [Stunning Strike]!

You attack with a disabling blow that sends your target reeling.

Effect: Stun

Duration: 8 Seconds

Cooldown: 1 Minute

Stratholm slumped against the rock and appeared to be awake, but dizzy. Cartoonish stars twinkled in space above his head as well as a status effect.

Your opponent is STUNNED!

Well, that was super convenient! So, there was some form of magic in this world, then? Was it weapon-based or ability based?

I didn’t have time to ponder too much. Stunning Strike’s description indicated I’d only have eight seconds before the effect would disappear, and at least one of those seconds had already passed, so I needed to act quickly. The other two horned creatures were just reaching a range where their HP bars were visible. Their names appeared above their heads, bouncing along with their stride. Deep Voice’s name was Grieve and Axman was…

I watched as his name materialized as he entered range.

Axel

You’ve got to be kidding me! His name is Axel?

I leaped to my feet and turned to run toward the river. I was positive I was faster than those two in their lumbering armor, and I’d make it if I reached the water inside the time limit.

Two.

“Use Flash!” Grieve thundered.

“I can’t,” Axel’s tenor returned, “he’s out of range!”

I heard Grieve grunt in anger as something small and metal clattered at high speed next to me, but I didn’t look down. The attack had missed.

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Three.

I heard another grunt. This time I felt a hot pinch in my right shoulder. I shot a glance at my pain point and felt my legs give out. The narrow blade of a small knife stuck out of my naked shoulder. I crumpled, hitting the ground at a sprawl with my arms beneath me, and rolled to my side to spring back up. I watched in horror as my HP dropped a bit.

14 / 50 HP

I glanced down. What looked like silvery webbing had wrapped itself around my legs, making it impossible to move them more than a few inches. Words flashed next to my HP gauge, and a little icon depicting what looked like a mummy appeared as well.

You have been SNARED!

Four.

“Got him!” Axel shouted.

I was tangled—and they were almost to me. I was so close! The edge of the raised rock was inches away. I could still see the knife sticking out of my shoulder. In desperation, I grabbed the handle and pulled, ripping the blade from my flesh and slashing at my binds. The webbing parted quickly. Suspiciously so. Perhaps my Nimble Gesture Skill was helping?

Five.

I shot up from the ground and brought my Shattered Wood up in an arc just as Grieve reached me. I must have moved faster than he anticipated because he was unable to bring his blade up to block my attack in time.

With a crack, I blasted him in his exposed neck just above the collar bone with all of my strength. The vibration of the impact caused a painful ache to shoot through my arms. Grieve froze as I connected. I stole a glance at his HP, and my heart dropped.

Six.

Despite the effort in my assault, Grieve’s health had barely budged. The beast relaxed, and his eyes met mine, his features smoothing into a look of pure confidence and relief. His thin red lips pulled into a smirk.

“Big mistake, Pumpkin,” he growled. The armored monstrosity easily slapped my weapon away with his sword, opening my guard as he flung a mailed fist into my solar plex. I dropped to the ground, struggling to breathe as Axel finally reached us and stood next to Grieve.

Seven.

“Pathetic,” Axel said and lifted his ax. Grieve did the same with his sword. They looked at each other as if this was part of their usual choreography.

As their blades fell toward me, my panicked brain seemed to slow everything down. I could see Stratholm’s stunned effect fading, his lolling form dozens of feet away, framed in the two-foot space between my attackers. It felt like something slid into place in my mind. I acted.

Eight.

Lungs screaming, I let go of the Shattered Wood and sprang forward into the air, aiming right for the opening between Grieve and Axel. The space was small, but so was I. I dove through the hole and shot my hands out in front of me.

As I hit the ground, I tensed my arms and pushed. I launched myself backward with a heave, felt my bare feet connect with the smooth armor of my attackers’ backs, and kicked. I turned as I fell again and saw the edge of the rock face right in front of them, inches from where I’d been. The very same crumbling boundary I had cautiously clambered up earlier.

With a cry of anguish, both foes stumbled forward, the momentum of their swing sending them careening wildly. Axel was automatically screwed since he had to use so much inertia to attack in the first place. He dropped forward instantly and plummeted from view. Grieve floundered a bit and caught himself, but the cracked rock crumbled beneath him and he too tumbled down to the other side.

I sucked in a quick breath and heard the scrape of a speedy approach. I took a chance and rolled to my right. I watched as Stratholm’s grey shape crashed into the stone where I’d been. He had a dagger in his hands and fury in his eyes as he pulled his blade from the rock. He’d pierced it in his strike, and I wondered if it had been a special attack.

“You,” he said, walking toward me. I scuttled backward, trying to stand. Stratholm scowled and flipped his blade with a flourish, catching it. I saw some sort of magical effect shimmer over the weapon’s edge, and then he hurled it right at me. I brought my arm up to block my face, but felt a brilliant pain as the blade was suddenly sticking out of the hand I was using to prop myself up.

I roared in agony and tried to pull the blade out, but the handle had shifted and was covered now in sinewy weed-like growth. A strange sensation pulsated along my knuckles and palm as the weeds seemed to weave through my fingers and around my wrist, fusing my hand to the rock below it. My HP plummeted and another status effect icon appeared next to the bar.

You have been ROOTED.

Low Health! 8 / 50 HP

“That’s not going to work, idiot,” Stratholm said. He reached behind him and pulled another blade from his belt. This one was longer than the other and had a curiously spiraled handle. It caught the light, and a purple-tinted glare beamed back at me.

That must be an extraordinary weapon of some kind.

As he approached, I frantically looked around for something—anything—that would aid me. But, I found nothing but trees and rocks. There was nothing within my reach I could use to defend myself.

“You should know better than to wander out here on your own, dude,” Stratholm said, holding the blade up, “this is Malicious Intent’s territory. No trespassing.”

I stared up at his devilish face, and his long, bone-white hair dancing in the wind. He was smiling.

“I don’t even know what this place is!” I shouted back at him and balled up my fist.

I’ll Unarm the fuck out of him if I have to.

Stratholm shook his head.

“Too bad. You’ll figure it out eventually. Have fun dying. It really sucks the first time, though.”

First time? Oh no.

Stratholm didn’t raise his blade like the other two. He had it out to the side as he went in for a slash. I brought my fist up and closed my eyes as I heard the whirl of metal slicing through the air. Through my eyelids, I saw a shadow fall over me and I took a breath.

CLANG!

I opened my eyes.

A figure stood in front of me.

Short and furry, this new arrival held a sword aloft, one clawed hand clutching the hilt, the other hand pressing the palm flat against the blade of the weapon. Stratholm’s fancy dagger had been stopped mid-strike and was now straining against the edge of his opponent’s parry.

“Who the hell are you?!,” Stratholm demanded, pushing down hard against the blade as magical rivulets of energy rippled across the metal.

My jaw dropped. My savior’s hairy body was spotted and blotched with dark color, though the bulk of the fur was white. He looked to be perhaps four feet tall and wearing a ratty cloak over a leather vest and cloth pants. Soft boots with shiny buckles covered his feet and shins. A fluffy white tail protruded from beneath the hem of his cloak. Ears down and growling, a menacing specter.

I could hardly believe it.

He was transformed but still wholly recognizable. My breath caught in my throat, and hot tears welled up in my eyes.

Stratholm looked scared. I could see his grip on the weapon faltering as my old friend pushed back. The growling grew more intense, and then with teeth bared, he spoke.

“No one,” he began, his voice gravelly and rough. The tone was deadly. I looked up at his HP bar and his name beamed proudly above it.

Anubis

“...No one touches my Master.”