John's mind raced, adrenaline flooding through his veins even as pain screamed from the gashes on his chest. He couldn't beat five elite fighters in a straight fight. Not like this. Not exhausted from nine hours of manual labor and nursing a ruptured eardrum. He needed to be smart. He needed to be creative.
He needed to buy time.
"Alright," John said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. His voice was calm, almost casual, despite the blood dripping down his torso. "I'll bite. Who's the leader of you lot? Who's the one in charge?"
Aaris laughed, the sound rich and mocking. She tossed her wild red hair, her slitted eyes gleaming with amusement. "Leader? Oh, little goblin, we're all leaders. Every single one of us. No hierarchy. No chain of command. Just five warriors who enjoy killing together."
She took a step closer, her clawed gauntlets gleaming in the dim forest light.
"But," she added, placing a hand on her chest, "I'm the strongest. By far. The others will tell you the same. If you ask nicely."
John raised an eyebrow, forcing a skeptical smirk onto his green features. "Seems like a lie to me. But alright."
Aaris's smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed, and her posture stiffened. The other four figures in the shadows went still, watching.
"What did you say?" Her voice was low, dangerous.
John shrugged, deliberately casual. "I said it seems like a lie. You're supposed to be the strongest, but you can't even hit a single goblin? I dodged your attack. Twice. And you needed Luis to cover for you with his spears."
The words landed like physical blows. Aaris's face flushed with anger, her pride clearly wounded. Her claws flexed, and steam began to rise from her body, curling up from her shoulders, her arms, her legs.
"You want to see me hit something?" she snarled. "Fine. I'll show you exactly how strong I am."
She dropped into a crouch, and John watched in fascination as her calves began to change. The muscles underneath her skin started to bulge, every fiber becoming visible, distinct, like anatomical diagrams come to life. Steam poured off her legs in thick clouds, and the air around her shimmered with heat.
"Feline Attribute," Aaris growled, her voice dropping an octave. "Cheetah."
Before John could react, she moved.
The world became a blur. One moment Aaris was crouched twenty feet away, the next she was right in front of him, her clawed gauntlet swinging in a horizontal arc. John tried to dodge, tried to throw himself backward, but he wasn't fast enough. The blades caught him across the chest, shredding his leather armor like paper, carving deep furrows into his green skin.
John screamed. The pain was immediate, white-hot, spreading across his torso in waves. Blood sprayed from the wounds, splattering the forest floor. He stumbled backward, clutching at his chest, his hands coming away slick and red.
But Aaris wasn't done.
"Feline Attribute," she said again, her voice even lower, more feral. "Smilodon."
Her fist drove into his solar plexus, and the world exploded.
John felt his ribs crack, his diaphragm spasm, the air driven from his lungs in a violent whoosh. He flew backward, feet leaving the ground, and crashed through the first tree. The trunk splintered, slowing him for a fraction of a second, and then he hit the second tree. This one caught him, his body slamming against the bark hard enough to shake leaves from the canopy.
He slumped to the ground, gasping, blood pouring from his chest and his mouth.
Internal bleeding. Definitely internal bleeding. He could feel it, warm and wrong, pooling in his abdomen. His vision was blurry at the edges, and his ruptured ear was ringing so loud he could barely hear.
But then something shifted.
Physical Demon. The skill kicked in, the one he'd almost forgotten about. The closer he was to death, the stronger he became. Pain faded first, replaced by a strange, floating numbness. Then his muscles began to hum with energy, fresh and new, like he'd just woken from a perfect sleep. His vision sharpened. His hearing cleared.
John pushed himself to his feet, cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders. Blood still dripped from his chest, but he didn't feel it anymore. He felt amazing. He felt invincible.
"YOU WANT A CONTEST?" John roared, his voice echoing through the forest. "LEMME SHOW YOU MY TECHNIQUE!"
He dropped into a crouch, spreading his arms wide, his green muscles bulging. Steam began to rise from his own body now, not from speed, but from pure, unbridled power.
"GOBLIN ATTRIBUTE!" John bellowed. "BIG ASS FUCKING GOBLIN!"
Aaris's eyes went wide, and then she laughed. A real laugh, delighted and fierce. "THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!" she shouted. "FELINE ATTRIBUTE! LION!"
She charged, and John charged, and they met in the middle of the clearing with a crash that shook the ground.
It became a sumo match. Hands locked, legs braced, muscles straining. John pushed against Aaris, and she pushed back, their feet digging trenches in the dirt. Steam rose from both of them, mingling in the air, obscuring the watching figures in the shadows.
"You're not bad," Aaris grunted, her face inches from his. Her slitted eyes were bright with excitement, her sharp teeth bared in a grin. "For a goblin."
John strained against her, his feet sliding backward despite his best efforts. She was stronger. She was definitely stronger. "You're not bad either," he managed through gritted teeth. "For a pompous windbag who can't land a killing blow."
"I landed plenty."
"Scratches. Nothing fatal."
Aaris's grin widened. "Keep telling yourself that, little goblin. When I rip your arms off, we'll see how fatal those scratches were."
John's feet slipped again, and he knew he was losing. He couldn't match her strength. He couldn't overpower her. But that was fine. That was never the plan.
"You're weak," Aaris taunted, leaning her weight into him, forcing him backward. "So weak. I can feel you crumbling. I'm going to enjoy ripping you apart, piece by piece. I'll start with your fingers. Then your hands. Then your—"
John grinned back at her, wide and sharp. "It was never about the sumo match."
Aaris's eyes widened. Her head tilted slightly, and she felt it. The pressure around her neck. Thin, almost invisible, but unmistakably there. John's threads, wrapped around her throat, tightening with every second.
She tried to pull back, but the threads held her in place. John pulled harder, and she gagged, her hands flying to her neck, clawing at the nearly invisible wire.
"You little—" she choked.
John pulled harder, trying to decapitate her in one clean motion. But Aaris was strong. Ridiculously strong. Her hands found the threads, her claws hooked under them, and she pulled back, keeping her head attached to her shoulders by sheer force of will.
John gritted his teeth, straining, but he couldn't cut through. Her neck muscles were like iron cables, and her claws were protecting the most vulnerable spots.
"I'm not here to fight," John said, releasing the threads and stepping back. He was breathing hard, his chest still bleeding, his arms shaking. "I'm just trying to go home. So if you'll excuse me—"
He turned to leave.
The spear punched through his abdomen from behind.
John looked down. The tip was sticking out just below his ribs, wet and red, dripping with his own blood. The shaft was thick, wooden, vibrating slightly from the force of the throw. He could feel it inside him, cold and wrong, scraping against organs he couldn't name.
"Oh oh," John said.