Nine hours. Nine hours of cutting, shaping, hauling, and stacking. John's arms felt like they were going to fall off, and his back had passed the point of pain somewhere around hour six and entered a numb, distant ache that he suspected would linger for days. His goblin avatar was drenched in sweat, his silver-gray curls plastered to his forehead, his green skin slick and shiny under the afternoon sun. He had turned thousands of logs into fifteen-foot-tall pointed stakes, the kind of defensive wall that would make any medieval engineer weep with pride.
But he had only managed to protect ten percent of the cleared area.
John stood back, hands on his hips, and surveyed his work. The wall segment stretched maybe a hundred feet, a row of sharpened logs jammed into the dirt, their tips pointing toward the forest. It looked impressive. It looked sturdy. It looked like it had taken him nine hours to build something that should have taken a team of workers a week.
He was tired. He was sweaty. He was hungry. And he was about to call it a break when he heard the screaming.
An injured goblin came tearing through the village entrance, his green skin covered in blood, one arm hanging at a wrong angle. His yellow eyes were wild with terror, and his voice was raw from shouting.
"Humans! Humans are killing everyone! They came out of nowhere! Armed men! So many! They're slaughtering us!"
The village erupted. Goblins screamed, dropped whatever they were holding, and started running in every direction. Some grabbed children—no, wait, there were no children, John remembered. Every goblin in the village was an adult. But they were panicking like frightened rabbits, grabbing bags, weapons, each other, anything they could carry. The chaos was absolute.
John turned to yell at them to stop, to calm down, to form a defense. But before he could get a single word out, a spear whizzed past his head.
The sound was like a sharp hiss, close enough to ruffle his hair, close enough that he felt the wind of its passing. It embedded itself in the wooden hut behind him with a heavy thunk, the shaft vibrating from the force of the impact.
"SHIT!" John dropped into a crouch, his heart hammering. His eyes scanned the tree line, but he saw nothing. Just shadows and leaves and the dark spaces between trunks.
Another spear.
This one was faster. Louder. The sound as it passed by was so intense that John's eardrum ruptured instantly, a sharp, piercing pain that made him cry out and clap his hand to the side of his head. Blood trickled between his fingers, warm and sticky. The spear slammed into the wall he had just built, splitting one of the logs clean in two.
"OW! What the hell!" John winced, blinking away the ringing in his ear. His balance was off, the world tilting slightly.
The system appeared beside him, floating in his translucent femboy form, his white hair glowing, his blue eyes scanning the forest. "It seems you are under attack," he said, his voice calm but urgent. "I'm reading five signatures. All of them are moving fast. They'll be here in approximately... thirty seconds."
"Five?" John stared at him. "Five people are doing this?"
"They're not ordinary people. Let me list them for you." The system held up one finger. "Aaris the Fiend. Half-beastfolk, close-quarters specialist. Clawed gauntlets, extremely fast." Another finger. "Dyros the Living Lightning. Self-explanatory. Speed and electricity." Another. "Fraudrian the Shadow. Stealth expert. You won't see him coming." Another. "Luis, Man of Steel. The one throwing the spears. Long-distance fighter, incredibly strong." A final finger. "And Sir Albert Armstrong. I don't have much data on him, but his reputation precedes him. He's the leader."
John sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "Holy fucking boss fight. Five elite warriors against one tired goblin. Great."
"The one called Luis is the one throwing the spears," the system added. "He's about a thousand meters out, using some kind of enhanced vision to track you. Every time you stop moving, he recalibrates."
John groaned. Of course. Of course the long-distance fighter could see him from a thousand meters away. Of course he had to deal with this right now, after nine hours of manual labor, with a ruptured eardrum and arms that felt like wet noodles.
"Fine," John muttered. "Fine. Let's do this."
He started walking toward the tree line, his boots crunching on the dirt. The forest loomed ahead, dark and deep, the shadows between the trunks seeming to pulse with hidden danger. John's eyes darted from side to side, his hands raised, his threads ready to deploy at a moment's notice.
"Luis is still tracking you," the system said, floating beside him. "He's adjusting his aim. Incoming in three... two..."
John dove to the side just as a spear ripped through the space where his head had been. It slammed into a tree behind him, the trunk splintering, the spearhead burying itself in the wood.
"Thanks for the warning," John said, picking himself up.
"Don't mention it."
He kept walking, deeper into the forest, the village sounds fading behind him. The trees grew thicker here, the canopy blocking out the sun, casting everything in a greenish gloom. John's footsteps were careful, deliberate, each one placed to minimize noise. His ruptured ear was still ringing, but his other ear was sharp, picking up every rustle, every snap of a twig, every whisper of wind.
Then he heard something.
It was faint, almost imperceptible. The soft scuff of a boot on dirt. The quiet intake of breath. John stopped, his body going still, his eyes scanning the trees above him.
A woman laughed.
The sound was rich, amused, echoing from somewhere in the canopy. "Oh, impressive," she said, her voice smooth and mocking. "You heard me. Most don't. Most just die."
John's eyes snapped upward. A figure dropped from the branches above, landing in front of him with a soft thud. She was half-beastfolk, he could tell immediately. Her ears were pointed and furred, her eyes slitted like a cat's, and her hands were encased in gleaming clawed gauntlets, each finger tipped with a blade of polished steel. Her body was lean and muscular, covered in light leather armor that did nothing to hide her curves. Her hair was a wild tangle of dark red, and her grin was wide and sharp.
She swiped at his torso with her gauntlet, the claws whistling through the air.
John threw himself backward into a roll, feeling the wind of the blades pass inches from his stomach. He came up in a crouch, threads already extending from his fingertips, ready to slice.
Before he could counter, another spear came screaming out of the distance. John twisted, throwing himself sideways, and the spear grazed his ear, tearing a thin line of blood across the cartilage. He hissed in pain, pressing a hand to the fresh wound.
The half-beastfolk woman straightened, clapping her hands together slowly. "Oh, very good. Very good indeed. Dodging two attacks at once? And you're just a goblin?" She tilted her head, her slitted eyes gleaming. "I think you're worthy enough to learn my name. I am Aaris the Fiend. Remember it, little green thing. It's the last name you'll ever hear."
John stood up, brushing dirt from his armor. His ear was bleeding, his head was throbbing, and he was in absolutely no mood for theatrics.
"Dumb name," John said. "But alright."
Aaris's smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, he can speak too? How delightful." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was an edge of anger underneath. "Let's see how well you speak when I've carved out your tongue."
She charged.
John dodged, weaving to the side as her claws raked through the air where his chest had been. He pivoted, ready to strike back, but before he could move, he saw them.
Figures emerging from the trees. Not just Aaris. Four more shapes, stepping out of the shadows, forming a loose circle around him. John's eyes darted from one to the next, counting, assessing.
He was surrounded.
Shitttttttttttttt.