The first round of fire mowed down the first line of goblins, about a dozen or so, as well as the second dozen. Goblin bodies were struck with bullets. They jerked and spasmed before crumbling to the ground. Blood splattered from their wounds, spurting out like tiny fountains and splashing across the ground in small droplets that grew larger as more crimson liquid gathered.
Bodies fell, tumbling to the ground where they lay still. Several goblins in the back would trip over their dead comrades in their haste to advance. Others simply kicked the bloody corpses out of the way. They were rushing now, hurrying to reach them before another salvo was unleashed. Christian was determined to get at least another two rounds in before it became a close quarters battle.
With the click of a button, the now empty cartridges fell to the ground with a clatter. In a single, smooth motion, Christian brought his guns down butt first to the ammo clips attached to his belt, smoothly sliding them into their respective slots. He then brought the guns up, hit their butts together to lock the cartridges in place, and then proceeded to unleash another salvo.
With his enhanced eyesight, Christian had far better aim than usual. Thirty-four bullets were launched from Gabrielle and Phaneul, each metal shell finding and penetrating the head of a goblin, killing them instantly and causing their limp bodies to roll along the ground.
Two more empty cartridges clattered to the ground. Another two were loaded.
Christian fired again. By now, the goblins were close enough that he could make out all their distinctive features.
While all goblins had a very generic appearance: green skin, long, pointy faces, and pointed ears, scraggly matted down hair on their nearly bald heads, and gangly arms and legs, that did not mean there were no variations. Some had thicker brow ridges, others an extra row of sharp, rotting teeth. A few had missing body parts, an ear, a part of their lip, an eye, even patches of skin. Streaks of mud, or maybe some kind of dark brown war paint, covered their bodies in an array of patterns, like tattoos. Christian could see one tattoo that looked almost like a wolf, but it was all smudged and blurred out.
Goblins were notoriously horrible artists.
The last salvo was fired. Christian managed to kill another thirty-two goblins. Then the horde was upon them.
Rising to his feet, Christian raised Gabrielle, blocking an overhand strike from a rusty sword. He holstered Phaneul, the motion smooth as silk, and then he raised his hand behind his back, gripping Rafael and sliding it out of the sheath with a hiss that was lost in the din of battle. The blade came down, its black surface strangely reflective in the darkness. It cut straight through the goblin’s arm and head, taking the arm off entirely and splitting the head down the center. The arm dropped to the floor with a wet thump. It twitched several times before going still. The body fell after it, tilting backwards before crashing into another goblin that was directly behind it.
He slid Gabrielle into its holster and pulled Michael free from its sheath. Christian sidestepped to the left, dodging a thrust knife aimed at his throat. He swung his arm. Michael came down, whistling. The sword sliced straight through the hand bearing the knife. While the goblin screamed as it held the now bleeding stump, Christian spun around, his hair whipping around him fiercely as he brought Rafael up into a diagonal swing that carved a trench into the goblin’s flesh from the left hip to the right shoulder.
The creature was dead before it hit the ground.
With such a large horde battling against him, Christian began to expand his awareness of the battlefield. He could feel the vibrations of feet pounding on stone. Feel the shifts in atmospheric pressure as swords were swung and spears were thrust. The clinking of chains let him know that one of the goblin he had dubbed a commander was coming up to him from his blind spot, the sword in its grip aimed at his kidney.
Christian moved. Using some fancy footwork, he sidestepped the attack meant to take his life. His left hand came up, Rafael whistling as it battered against the steel blade in a clash of sparks and shrieking metal. At the same time, he thrust Michael at the goblin’s face with incredible speed and power. The green-skinned creature was so surprised that it had no time to move out of the way as the tip of Christian’s blade penetrated its head right through its left eye socket.
With a single, swift, and violent jerk, Christian yanked Michael out of the head in a spray of gore, its silvery surface now slick with dark crimson. Christian spun, turning a full circle as he felt another attack, aimed at his head. He swung his left hand, Rafael singing as it clanged against the mace trying to bash his skull in. Rather than allow himself to take the full brunt of the attack, however, Christian used the heavy weapons own momentum to direct the skull-crushing attack into a goblin trying to stab him with a dirk from behind. As that goblin’s skull was crushed, blood and brain matter oozing from its destroyed cranium, Christian lashed out with Michael in a sweeping diagonal slash that cut through flesh, bone, and muscle with ease.
The mace-wielding goblin spun about, its body rotating a full one-hundred and eighty degrees before it hit the ground, consequently tripping up another goblin and allowing the red-haired succubus who’d been fighting alongside Christian to kill it with a knife she had pulled from her waistband. Yet while she was stabbing the creature with wide, almost unseeing eyes, she didn’t even notice the one coming up behind her.
Christian sheathed Rafael and pulled out Phaneul, loading another clip and then shooting two bullets at the goblin. The first shot the hand holding the weapon―a pick ax―taking out three fingers in the process and launching the weapon into the air, where it would find itself buried in the head of another goblin. The second shot fired pierced its right eye, killing it instantly and sending it stumbling backwards into two more goblins that were trying to gang up on one of the other succubi.
A flash of surprise followed by one of gratitude entered the redhead’s eyes. Christian didn’t have time to acknowledge her feelings of gratefulness because another six goblins had decided to bum rush him.
And so, he began to dance.
He moved right, dancing across the bumpy ground with impossible to predict movements. A club, thick, large, and made of metal instead of wood, crashed down on where he had been standing. He pulled up Phaneul in a smooth motion, there was a flash of light and the bang of gunfire, followed by a loud gurgling as the goblin who’d tried to squash him flat was shot through the throat.
Christian then spun on the balls of his left. Michael sang a song of death, whistling loudly as he swung the blade so fast it was nothing but a silver streak. The horizontal swing struck hard steel as an armored goblin blocked it. Christian pointed Phaneul at it and the gun rang out loud and clear, the small shell it launched out penetrating the monster’s flesh right between the eyes.
The feeling of air shifting to his left had the young man ducking, his messy locks flowing down with him. There was a shriek of outrage from the goblin who missed. Christian decided to return fire by kicking the thing’s legs out from underneath it. Before the goblin hit the ground, he slid Phaneul into its holster and pulled Rafael out with a hiss.
Christian spun, bringing Michael up to decapitate the falling goblin while the reflective black sword blocked a swift yet strong blow from another blade, a falchion. He shifted to the left, allowing the blade to move past him as he used Rafael to redirect the enemy weapon’s motion and flow of energy. He also transferred all his own kinetic energy into his left foot, bending it. Christian then lashed out with a powerful heel kick that struck the knee of the goblin with the falchion, a loud crunching sound echoing around him as the knee shattered.
Just before the goblin could squeal in pain, Christian mercifully ended its life with a swing of Michael. The creature’s head slid off in a disgustingly smooth motion, small traces of blood squirting from the stump and trailing down its flesh as the headless body tumbled to the ground.
The battle progressed from there. Christian lost himself in the moment, feeling rather than thinking, allo
wing instincts and reflexes honed from years of intense training to take control of his body. The human mind was incapable of reacting quickly enough to survive a combat situation when a person was surrounded by enemies. It just wasn’t possible to account for that many variables at once and come up with an appropriate course of action for each one. And so Christian did not think, did not plan, and did not allow anything to clutter his mind.
He simply moved.
It was on this battlefield where Christian proved why he was one of the Catholic Church’s most powerful Warriors―former most powerful. He danced around his opponents, skirting the edge of disaster. Weapons came at him, set to strike at all the openings in his stance, openings that Christian himself had made. With knowledge of where all the holes in his stance were, he was able to accurately determine where each attack was coming from. It was almost as easy as breathing.
A swing aimed at taking out his legs was dodged. Gabrielle came in and sliced off the offending hand while Michael parried and redirected a spear aimed at his back when he spun a full three-hundred and sixty degrees. That same goblin whose hand was cut off soon had its throat pierced by the spear that had been previously aimed at Christian’s back. The young man used the moment of shock that the goblin felt from having his own spear thrust into one of its brethren to remove that creature’s head.
Time on the battlefield was interminable. Knowing how much time had passed was impossible when you were fighting for your life.
Christian did not know how long he’d been fighting, but it must have been a long time. The endless of horde of goblins came at him and the succubi that he was fighting alongside, scrabbling over the bodies of their fallen brethren. He must have killed over one-hundred of the monsters by now, but there were still so many.
His breathing was getting heavy by this point. Each breath came out as a loud, ragged gasp for air. Sweat had long since broken out on his forehead, dripping into his eyes, stinging and distracting. He tried to ignore it. Distractions in the midst of battle could prove fatal―had proven fatal. Many of the greener Executioners had gotten themselves killed while on the job due to their attention being diverted.
Yet the more Christian tried to block out the feeling of his eyes burning, the more of a problem they became. He was forced to shut his left eye, the one he had been relying on, when a slick stream of blood from a wound that had been opened on his forehead due to him not being fast enough to dodge poured over his eye.
That proved to be a mistake.
In that single split second where his left eye was closed, Christian didn’t see the goblin coming in on his left until it was already halfway through swinging its club. He tried to dodge, throwing his body to the left, but the large, wooden weapon still smashed into his shoulder.
Pain exploded in his shoulder, a white-hot flash of agony that made his body almost seize up. Nerveless fingers loosened, dropping Michael in the process. He could feel his shoulder give under the attack, feel the acromion bone break as it was struck, while his humerus bone was pulled out of its socket. He wasn’t sure what hurt worse: his bone breaking or getting his arm dislocated?
Doing his best to ignore the pain, Christian moved with the stumble, letting it take him past another attack meant to take off his head. He came back up, lashing out with Rafael, and felt satisfaction when he tore open the goblin’s stomach.
As the now dying creature fell to the ground, ichor and innards spilling out of the gaping wound in its belly, Christian turned around, only to find himself staring at a sword descending toward his head. A jolt raced through him as he tried to move, but he found himself to do so. Hands grasping at his legs let him know that a goblin had decided to play dead and was now grabbing his feet, keeping him from dancing around the incoming attack. He couldn’t dodge if he couldn’t move. He tried to swing Rafael up to intercept the attack, but another goblin had latched onto his right arm.
So, he was helpless then?
Is... is this how I’m going to die?
It was said that when someone knew they were about to die, their entire life flashed before their eyes, moving at speeds not even the greatest super computer could hope to match.
Is this really the end? Dying on the battlefield in the middle of a cave surrounded by goblins and succubi?
Christian did not see his life flash before his eyes. Having accepted the possibility of dying long ago, the idea of death did not cause him fear like it would others. Instead of watching his life play in front of him like some kind of cheesy flashback, Christian’s vision was filled with an image of silken blond hair, blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. He was really going to miss Lilith.
What an ignoble ending.
He did not close his eyes as the sword descended. Christian was not going to let his fear cow him. If this was the end, then he would meet it head on.
A loud howl rang in his ears. In the instant before the sword descended, the goblin was swatted away by a large, clawed, and furry hand. Christian stared at the hand in shock, then followed the large digits up to a thick wrist covered in black fur. He continued moving up and up, following the wrist to the arm, then up the shoulder to the clavicles, before finally reaching the face; a streamlined muzzle with a row of sharp, jagged teeth, and piercing yellow orbs.
A werewolf.
A really big werewolf.
More like a massive werewolf.
Did that thing have giants blood or something?
Towering over everyone there, the massive, furry, and hugely muscled bipedal monster was easily two or three feet taller than he was. It also had a lot more mass. Hulking muscles covered its frame, flexing and twitching as it moved. The two pointed ears on its head swiveled as it zeroed in on certain noises. Strong legs and a single, muscular arm trembled, as if in anticipation of the blood bath to come. And as Christian stared at the beast looking over him, only one thought came to his mind.
How the hell did I miss that?
The werewolf’s eyes landed on him. It let out a loud howl, causing Christian’s eyes to widen as a powerful shockwave smacked into him with incredible force. His eyes watered and his hair was blown out of his face. He even stumbled backwards for several steps, such was the power behind the howl.
However, the howling served another purpose. The goblins that had been latched onto him let go and fled, freeing him from their grip.
“You alright, kid?” the werewolf growled out in a deep, bass rumble.
“Uh...” Christian’s mind blanked. All he could do was stare in shock at the dominating mass of muscle and fur. Had he ever seen a werewolf that was so big?
“Oi! Kid! I’m asking if you’re alright!”
“Um, ah, yes!” Christian eyed the werewolf more closely now that the shock was wearing down. “You’re... Andrew, right?”
“Who else would I be? Now get your head back in the game, Executioner. There are still plenty of goblins left that need to be slain.”
Christian shook his head, snapping himself back into the game. “Right. You’re right.”
His grip on Rafael’s handle tightened. Without waiting for a reply from the werewolf, Christian spun around to block the mace coming toward his head. He moved his sword in a circular motion, forcing the mace to the side, and then thrust the tip of his sword into the goblin’s lower jaw, piercing its mouth and going straight into its brain.
The creature didn’t even get a chance to squeal in pain as it was killed. Blood spurted out of the wound as Christian yanked Rafael free. The goblin crumbled to the ground, but he was already on the move.
Out of the corner of his eye, Christian saw the redhead he’d been standing beside by struggling. Blood seeped out of several wounds. Her clothes were still there, but it had a good deal of tears in them. She was on the ground, her hands pressed against a rather nasty-looking gash on her thigh, crimson leaking from beneath her fingers to trail down milky flesh. Her tear-filled eyes were wide as she stared at the goblin standing over her, his hands raised to bring an ax
down on her head.
Phaneul was whipped out before Christian even realized what he was doing. Three shots were fired, one hitting the ax’s head and knocking it off course, another hitting the goblin’s right shoulder, and the last piercing its temple. The dead body was thrown toward its left, falling to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
Christian sensed another attack coming in from behind. He moved to counter, but he saw that Andrew the werewolf already had things well in hand. One large clawed hand was clamped down over the goblin’s head, various types of liquids oozing from between massive clawed fingers as the skull was slowly crushed. The goblin struggled, kicking its feet as it was lifted off the ground, hands clawing and trying to pry the muscled fingers off its head. The struggling soon ceased. The kicking grew weak. The creature’s arms and legs twitched a few more times before they went limp.
Christian turned away, not bothering to watch anymore. He looked around the battlefield. Scores of bodies lay strewn across the cavern floor, green skin glistening with crimson ichor. What little he could see of the ground amidst the piles of corpses was stained with blood, the craggy surfaces filling up with dark puddles, the scent of copper permeating the air.
All around the area, spread out amongst the bodies of dead goblins were succubi. He was pleased to note that he could not see a single succubus among the dead. All of them were moving, albeit, some were groaning in pain and a few seemed unable to stand without aid. Injured was still better than dead, and he was more than willing to count their blessings.
There didn’t appear to be anymore enemies left to fight, which was pleasing because he was tired. His legs were shaking, his right arm was weighed down and leaden, and his left shoulder throbbed with a dull ache. It was only now, after the battle had ended, that Christian realized just how long the fight had lasted for.
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