The enchanted long-club descended on Trenn’s head. Instinct took over. Muscle memory from forgotten schoolyard games twisted his body in a perfect pivot, and he rolled right over the edge of the bridge, plunging into the black waters below.

  The club missed his head by a whisper, its momentum carrying it downward with immense force.

  CRACK! The weapon smashed into the log bridge with the sound of a falling tree. Splinters the size of daggers exploded into the air. The Warlord grunted, its balance momentarily broken.

  The Warlord’s last four guards turned as one and charged Mara.

  They were a coordinated unit, a wall of wood and hate. Two swung their heavy cudgels low in sweeping strikes aimed at her legs, while the other two lunged high with their spears, the fire-hardened tips driving for her face.

  Mara, caught between them, was forced onto the defensive. She was a blur of deflection and evasion, her claws flashing in the moonlight as she searched for an opening.

  They pressed their assault relentlessly, a brutal, disciplined cage of death.

  She gave ground, her boots skidding on the damp earth as she was forced back, step by agonizing step.

  They were herding her, pushing her away from the bridge, away from Trenn.

  Another coordinated lunge forced her back a final yard, her heels bumping against the thick, gnarled root of a massive copper-barked tree.

  Using the tree they had backed her against, she coiled her powerful legs and launched herself vertically. Her razor-like claws shot from her fingertips, digging deep into the rough bark.

  In seconds, she had vanished into the high, moonlit canopy, a ghost melting into the leaves. Below, the four guards stopped, their charge broken, their flat heads turned upward in a mixture of snarling frustration and primal uncertainty.

  On the bridge, the Warlord roared. It had been denied its kill. Striding to the edge, it discarded the heavy club, letting it clatter to the logs. In a single, fluid motion, it picked up its bow and nocked an arrow.

  Trenn surfaced with a gasp, the frigid water stealing his breath. He was treading water, trying to orient himself, when the Warlord loosed its shot.

  THWACK!

  The arrow struck him square in the chest. The tough Reptile Kin leather stopped most of the impact, but the obsidian tip, sharpened to a needle point, punched through a seam.

  The Reptile Kin leather held, converting the killing force into a brutal, breath-stealing shove. The impact threw him backward, driving him under the surface as fire bloomed in his chest.

  Muffled moonlight filtered down in shifting columns. Acting on pure instinct, Trenn reached to his chest, his fingers closing around the slick shaft of the arrow. With a grimace that released a stream of silver bubbles, he pulled the arrow out of his armor.

  As his eyes adjusted to the murky depths, he saw it—a familiar, smooth grey shape resting on the stones of the stream bed. Skate.

  Hope sparked in his chest. A second arrow sliced through the water above him, missing his head by inches. It slammed into the muddy bottom, its shaft quivering violently in the dark, silent current.

  The four guards advanced cautiously into the woods, a tight, bristling formation of spears. They moved past the treeline, their beady eyes scanning the dark canopy, searching for the flicker of white fur that was watching them.

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  A shower of leaves drifted down from a high branch. One of the Goblins glanced up, its snout wrinkling in confusion.

  Mara dropped from the branch like a silent, white-furred projectile of lethal intent. She landed squarely on a Goblin’s back, her full weight driving it to the ground. Her claws, already extended, plunged deep into the base of its skull. The creature was dead before its face hit the dirt. She didn't pause to admire her work. She used the momentum of the kill, launching herself from the dead Goblin's back.

  The Goblins were quick. As she landed, a heavy club swung in a vicious, horizontal arc. It connected with her snout with a sickening CRUNCH.

  Pain exploded behind her eyes. At the same instant, a spear tip punched into the soft tissue behind her knee. A raw cry of agony was torn from her throat. She tumbled, a tangle of white fur and pain, and crashed heavily onto the forest floor.

  She was down. Wounded. The three guards let out a collective, triumphant snarl and closed in for the kill, their clubs raised. Mara fumbled at a pouch on her belt. Her claws closed around a small glass vial that she smashed on the ground.

  The vial shattered with a sharp pop, and a thick, oily cloud of black mist erupted outward, engulfing the small clearing.

  The Goblins recoiled, their triumphant charge broken by a wave of superstitious terror. They grunted and hissed, blindly waving their spears at the suffocating darkness, taking hesitant steps back.

  From within the black heart of the mist, a clawed hand shot out at ground level. It lashed around the ankle of the nearest Goblin, claws digging deep into flesh and tendon.

  The creature shrieked as it was yanked off its feet. Mara, on the ground, pulled the screaming, flailing Goblin into the smoke with her. Its cries were abruptly cut short, replaced by a horrific tearing sound.

  A profound silence fell. The two remaining guards stood frozen at the edge of the billowing black cloud, their weapons held defensively, their beady eyes wide with terror.

  Ignoring the stinging fire in his chest, Trenn surged forward. His powerful swimmer’s strokes ate up the short distance. His fingers closed around Skate’s smooth surface, and a wave of profound, grounding relief washed through him.

  Skate hummed with excitement.

  He kicked hard off the rocky bottom, propelling himself toward the far bank. He broke the surface with a great, heaving gasp, water streaming from his hair and armor. He found his footing in the shallows and climbed onto the muddy bank, Skate held tight in his hand, his chest burning with every breath.

  As he stood, he saw the Warlord. It was on the bridge, a dark silhouette against the dual moons, its bow held loosely in its hand. Their eyes locked across the gurgling water.

  A guttural roar of frustrated fury tore from its throat. It tossed the bow aside like a child's toy and snatched the heavy, enchanted club from the ground.

  The Warlord didn't hesitate. It leaped from the bridge, landing with a huge splash in the knee-deep water. With its club held high in a two-handed grip, it began a dead sprint directly at Trenn, its heavy boots churning the black water into a spray of mud and fury.

  As the Warlord’s heavy boots churned the water into a muddy froth, Trenn didn't wait for it to close the distance.

  He planted his feet, pivoted his torso, and hurled Skate with all the force he could muster—a powerful side-arm throw aimed squarely at the creature's center mass.

  It stopped dead in its tracks, its boots sinking into the stream bed, and swung its enchanted club in a flat, defensive arc. The carved, rectangular weapon met the Rock Slime in mid-air with a sound like a thunderclap, a concussive boom that echoed off the trees.

  Skate was blasted sideways, sent flying in a wild, unintended trajectory toward the dark forest. But even in its chaotic flight, the creature fought for control.

  The sphere visibly lurched, its internal mass shifting as it tried to correct its path back to Trenn. The arc was imperfect, going wide.

  Trenn's mind processed the curve in a heartbeat. As the Warlord let out a triumphant roar and resumed its charge, Trenn broke into a dead sprint, racing to intercept his friend.

  His longer legs gave him the edge. He reached the landing spot a fraction of a second before the Warlord could close the distance. Skate dropped from the sky, a perfect setup. He leaped, twisting his body in mid-air, his arm cocked back for the devastating volleyball spike that would end this.

  But the amulet hummed again, warning the Hobgoblin of the attack.

  The warlord ducked, letting the grey sphere sail harmlessly over its head. Trenn's own forward momentum carried him into a stumbling landing on the muddy bank. His hand slapped the wet earth for balance, right beside the broken, twitching form of Bomber.

  The Warlord was on him, its club raised for the final, skull-shattering blow. Skate was bouncing out of reach.

  In that last, desperate second, an insane idea sparked. He dropped to one knee beside Bomber's twitching form. In a single, sweeping motion, he dragged his forearm along the vast, dust-covered wing. The dust gathered along his arm in a thick, glittering coat of iridescent powder before he flung it all directly into the Warlord’s snarling face.

  A high-pitched shriek ripped through the clearing. The Warlord’s eyes began to burn, swell, and weep. As the Warlord shrieked and clawed at its ruined eyes, Trenn surged forward. He drove the serrated blade deep into its exposed throat, twisting the hilt with a guttural roar of his own.

  The scream cut off, replaced by a gurgling sigh. The startled Hobgoblin staggered back a step, its clawed hands falling from its ruined face to clutch uselessly at the weapon buried in its neck.

  Its body went slack, collapsing backward into the stream with a heavy, final splash. The current tugged at its lifeless form, the black amulet sinking beneath the surface.

  Well, that was the climax of the Hobgoblin arc! I hope you enjoyed the ride. This was an intense one to write. If you're liking the story, please consider leaving a Rating or adding it to your Favorites—it really helps the story get seen by new readers. See you next chapter!

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