Chapter 8

  Not All Goblins are Created Equal

  As Ken sat hidden, he weighed his options.

  “Green fuckers are going to be looking for whatever killed their buddies.”

  He glanced down at his stomach.

  “I'm just going to call it a ‘core’.”

  He squeezed his core one more time.

  No response.

  He shrugged.

  “Revisit later, now, scout and try to clear them out? Or run for the hills?”

  As all the variables started to factor in, he threw his hands in the air.

  “Screw it, indecision kills. I'm going out and scouting. Maybe there aren't that many goblins left.”

  Turns out there were a lot of goblins left.

  Shit man, this isn't good.

  He hadn't made it a hundred yards back down the stream, staying in the shadows, when he heard them.

  Goblin chatter echoed from both sides of the creek — larger groups searching east.

  He climbed a tree and waited as they passed.

  The northern pack, twenty yards away, kept heads low — no upward scans.

  Lucky.

  After the sounds of the scouting parties receded into the woods, he scrambled down and headed back downstream.

  “Time to find these fuckers’ camp.”

  He made more noise than he liked, picking his way through the woods.

  He crouched low with every twig he broke.

  Every unknown sound he heard.

  He crouched a lot.

  An hour of cautious creeping brought him back to the bodies.

  There was one tall goblin, five foot, pacing around the bodies.

  Wearing full leather armor, short sword on his hip.

  Maybe just a normal sword for him?

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  He moved smoother. Stronger.

  Dude is going to be a problem.

  His back is facing me.. sneak attack.

  He visualized himself a shadow, silently flowing from the tree line, and snapping its little neck.

  Easy.

  Didn't quite happen.

  A shadow ‘flowed’ from the tree line, and stepped on a stick.

  The goblin immediately spun on him.

  “Huh. Unfortunate.”

  Ken bent his knees and started circling to the right.

  The creature peered intently at Ken's stomach, cackled something, and started sauntering straight at him.

  Someone's cocky.

  Ken stayed put allowing his opponent to come to him.

  As the distance closed to about six feet, he saw that same distortion around the goblins legs and arm.

  That shimmer was the only thing that saved him.

  The goblin wasn't just fast, it was cheating.

  That same distortion—the same ripple in reality he'd felt in his own chest—was warping around the creature’s blade.

  If he hadn't started diving to the side at the flare up, he would have been skewered.

  Someone should be cocky.

  Ken turned his dive into a roll and hopped to his feet, palming a handy stone.

  The swordsgoblin was already facing him, smirk turning to a sneer.

  I'm outclassed, and he won't underestimate me much more.

  I have to end this now.

  Ken took a single step forwards, prompting the goblin to charge.

  It closed much faster this time, a deadly glint in its eye.

  Right as he saw that flare again Ken chucked his rock right in the path of the charge.

  Incredibly, during the lightning fast closing speed, the goblin was still able to twist its body, dodging the projectile.

  Doing so sent its sword thrust a little wide, giving Ken just the gap to twist his torso, receiving a slice along the ribs.

  Both of Ken's hands immediately latched onto its slight forearm.

  It gave a quick tug.

  The sword didn't move.

  It glanced up, their eyes met.

  “Gotcha bitch,” Ken slid his left foot back and brought the goblin up over his head and smashing into the ground.

  Leaping upon his dazed enemy, pinning his arms with his knees, he went full Ralphie.

  “Just fucking die already!”

  After about ten punches with the thing still being conscious and struggling, though dazed, Ken started getting concerned.

  If this thing gets free I'm fucked.

  In a last ditch effort he instinctively just pulled on the little core under his sternum.

  The core beneath his sternum snapped like a dry branch, dumping a payload of raw acceleration into his shoulder.

  It screamed down his arm and into his hand.

  His fist didn't travel through the air—it deleted the distance.

  Now covered with that familiar shimmer.

  The goblin's skull caved in.

  He waited for the agony that was going to be his fist.

  It never materialized.

  Looking down at his gore covered hand he realized it wasn't his gore.

  It opened and closed like normal.

  Hurts like hell, but functional.

  “My hand is disgusting.”