“Don’t touch my fucking tribe!” Gabrielle screamed back, twirling the axe back to a ready position. She swung again, approaching its now-unprotected right side to go for its head. The demon didn’t take her lightly this time, extending its remaining arm at awkward angles to block the blade with its claw.
They danced like this for countless moments, Gabrielle possessing righteous rage, and the demon using honed battle instincts. It seemed a stalemate, but it soon became clear that wasn’t the case. With each swing, the axe felt a little heavier in her hands, the ache in her muscles grew more pronounced. She’d gotten its arm, but she wasn’t certain she’d get another chance like that. Still, Gabrielle pressed on, because, while she kept it occupied, the children and non-warrior goblins slipped past, making their way to safety and freedom.
Then, with only ten or so left, she swung too far, overextended, and the demon capitalized with a deep slice across her stomach. Gabrielle stumbled back, bringing the weapon up to a defensive position, but only barely. Intense pain from her wound was filling her mind, trying to choke out the anger that had fueled her so far in the battle. From the amount of blood pouring onto her tunic, she suspected that soon she’d be too weak to even stand, let alone keep attacking. It seemed this was as far as she could go.
The demon thought so, too. It snarled in what one could presume was joy, lurching forward a step and preparing to finish the job. With a swift motion, it tried to raise its claw for the killing blow, only to find the appendage unwilling to move. Neither it nor Gabrielle could quite believe what they were seeing.
All of the remaining goblins had, upon seeing Gabrielle injured, changed direction. They rushed forward, all thoughts of self-preservation cast aside, leaping onto the demon’s remaining arm and weighing it down. The monster tried once more to lift it, only to find that the goblins who couldn’t find a place to grab its arm had latched onto other goblins in an effort to increase the weight. The demon let out a rasp of frustration.
Gabrielle, on the other hand, took a deep breath. She blocked out the pain and focused on the anger. She looked at the goblin corpses that surrounded her, listened to the screams of others dying behind them, and imagined how many of her people had heard that damn clacking as their final memory on this plane. Her rage built upon itself, a fire rekindled, until she could stay still not a moment longer.
This charge was, somehow, clumsier than before, not to mention shorter, given her proximity to the demon. It snarled and tried to raise its arm for defense, only to find the goblins clutching tighter than ever. The awkward bird feet attempted to shuffle backwards; however, their sheer power left little dexterity with which to reorient in battle. Before it had any other chance to react, Gabrielle was upon it.
Her axe moved so quickly that a soft whistle penetrated the carnage-filled night air, a single sound of beauty amid the turmoil. The only thing more pleasing to her ears was the audible thump of the demon’s head as it landed on the ground. She surveyed her work with a deep sense of satisfaction and turned to the goblins who were now untangling themselves from a demon corpse.
“Hurry and go; it should be sa—” Gabrielle’s next words were lost as the tremendous physical exertion and blood loss struck. Without so much as a staggered step to stop herself, Gabrielle collapsed in the dirt, mere inches away from the remains of the demon.
The battle with the demon by the storage building was still going poorly. Despite more goblins stepping in to help, it was simply too strong, and resistant to their weaponry. They’d managed to push it back, moving it toward the building from which it had emerged, but the effort had cost them several goblin lives.
One of the warriors, midway through stepping over another goblin’s corpse to take its place, had the very un-goblin-like thought about the futility of this. He would die soon and another would take his place, as had always been the goblin way. But they were dying so quickly; what would happen if they ran out of goblins? That thought plagued him as he struck the monster with his weapon, barely impacting the beast’s thick hide. He tried aiming for a vital spot such as the throat or the eyes, but the demon was protective of those areas, knocking blows away. The efforts weren’t helped by the noticeable size difference between the demon and the goblins. With one desperate effort, this warrior leapt up and thrust the blade of his polearm toward the eye of the demon. Its claw swept the weapon away effortlessly, sending the goblin sprawling on his back. He looked upward, waiting for the end to come.
Because of this vantage point, he was the only one not to see the dark shape dart out from the building and swing a short sword into the monster’s back. He did, however, hear the earsplitting screech of pain it let out moments later. Taking advantage of the distraction, he rolled away, grabbed another polearm, and retook his position.
The demon turned to search for the attacker, but it found only empty buildings and darkness. Never ones to ignore an opportunity, the goblins struck while its back was turned, managing to gouge a few bits of flesh from its hide.
With a clacking of claws, the demon turned back around, cutting down any goblins it could reach. The figure stepped out of the shadows once more, padding up to it in near silence and delivering another blow. The goblins didn’t know why these strikes were hurting the demon so much more than theirs, nor did they care. This time, when the demon whipped about, it stayed that way for several seconds, allowing the goblins to open up more wounds across its back. Eventually, it turned around and renewed the attack, though it was clear that its focus was split.
The stranger came again, but this time, after the strike, the demon jerked its claw behind its back without turning, missing the man while still snagging his dark cloak. As the material came away, the goblins saw it was the male human prisoner they’d taken earlier that day. Now more visible, he retreated slowly, blade close to his body to block the impending claws.
As the demon turned, the goblin warrior saw an opening. One of his fellow polearm wielders had torn away some flesh on the torso, exposing a pair of misshapen ribs. Without a moment to think, the goblin repeated his earlier attempt, only this time, he aimed his thrust between those ribs. He struck true and the former weakness of their weaponry became an immediate strength. Because the polearm was designed for smaller creatures, both the blade and shaft slid through the ribs. The warrior kept pushing as hard as he could until he felt his weapon strike a solid mass somewhere in the demon’s chest.
What he’d struck was open to debate; however, its effects were quite apparent. With a blood-spewing grunt, the demon wobbled and collapsed, three inches of polearm shaft still poking out from its ribs. For good measure, and because you can’t trust demons, the other goblins immediately took off its head. As for the warrior who’d struck the killing blow, he picked up another discarded polearm and headed off to find more demons.
That was the goblin way.
Thistle had never much focused on how he’d die. A gnome born like he was, with no talent for magic, meant he’d had to accept his mortality very early on. It was only cleverness and the support of good friends that had kept him alive this long, and now, it seemed he would be killed aiding one of those very same friends. Thistle had never thought much about how he would die, but this seemed like a pretty good way to go, all things considered.
The demon advanced slowly, wary of the knife still dancing in Thistle’s hand. For all the broken bits of his body, Thistle’s hands had always been shockingly nimble. Truthfully, he credited luck, or the gods, for that last throw. He was talented, but that had been spectacular. Thistle moved back slowly and carefully. It wouldn’t do much good if he died before Grumph had a chance to pull himself up and escape. Though curious to check on his friend, Thistle didn’t dare turn away from the approaching monster. This was why he didn’t see Grumph making the strange gestures with his hand, nor hear him muttering something in his deep, half-orc voice.