The moments stretched thin, taut as a bowstring after Aren spoke. The clearing held its breath, broken only by the guttural snarls from the goblin line and the wet, hungry panting of the restrained hounds. Seven pairs of red eyes fixed on the two humans, burning with a feral light that promised pain. The air thickened, heavy with the sharp odor of the creatures’ aggression.

  Okay, assess the situation. Aren’s mind worked rapidly, the familiar hum of pre-combat calculation kicking in. Seven opponents. Five warriors, two beasts. Hounds look fast, strong jaws, likely trained for takedowns. Need Theron to neutralize them quickly. He glanced sideways. The guard stood firm, bow half-drawn, his Observer senses likely painting a much clearer picture of the immediate threat than Aren’s naked eyes could perceive in the dim forest light. Theron’s good, but he’s focused on protecting me. Divided attention.

  The goblin warriors seemed coiled, wiry muscle twitching under their dark hides. Shorter than him, yes, and clearly lighter. Fighting at least two weight classes up gives me an advantage, unless their strength is completely out of proportion to their size. Assume normal physics for now. Weapons are crude but effective. Reach advantage for them. Bare hands versus armed opponents wasn’t ideal, but it was familiar territory. The real question mark is Ether. Can they use it? Assume physical threat only for now, but stay alert for surprises.

  The hounds strained against their leashes, barking loudly, their aggression inexplicably focused on Aren. The lead goblin let out a sharp, barking command. It wasn’t language as Aren understood it, but the intent was unmistakable.

  With a sudden release of tension, the two goblins holding the leashes let go. The hounds exploded forward. They didn’t bound; they launched, powerful hind legs digging into the soft forest floor, sending clumps of moss and dirt flying. They covered the short distance between the goblin line and the humans with startling speed, low shapes blurring against the gloom, zeroed in entirely on Aren. They clearly saw him as the primary target, ignoring Theron who stood slightly behind and to the side.

  Predictable. Aren met their charge head-on, breaking into a sprint himself. A surge sharpened his focus, quickening his breath. This was different from facing human opponents, simpler. A primal challenge. "Theron! Hounds!" he yelled, his voice sharp and clear over the sudden chaos.

  The guard reacted instantly, but his position was compromised. Aren was directly between him and the charging beasts. Theron couldn't risk a shot without hitting his charge. Cursing under his breath, Theron pivoted, circling rapidly to Aren's left flank, seeking a clear firing angle while staying mobile. He brought his bow up, tracking the lead hound.

  The closest hound was almost upon Aren, jaws gaping wide, ready to clamp down. At the last possible second, Aren didn't dodge left or right. He planted his foot and angled his body sharply forward and diagonally towards the beast, stepping just inside its attack trajectory. It was a move born of countless hours practicing, using an opponent's momentum against them. The hound's lunge carried it past him, its snapping teeth closing on empty air less than an inch from his side. The second hound, running almost abreast, was momentarily screened by its companion.

  Aren didn't pause. He flowed through the maneuver, using the forward momentum to continue his run straight towards the goblin line. Behind him, he heard the hounds skid to a halt, claws scrabbling on the packed earth as they tried to reorient. They had lost their initial advantage, their charge broken.

  That brief pause was all Theron needed. Having gained a clear line of sight, he unleashed a rapid volley of arrows. The bowstring sang a deadly rhythm.

  Four of the warriors, leaving their leader momentarily behind, surged forward to meet Aren's charge. Weapons came up – a rusted sword flashing dully, an axe swinging in a low arc, a heavy mace raised high. Their movements were aggressive, fueled by primitive fury, but lacked true finesse.

  Aren needed to gauge their strength, their resilience. He targeted the shortest goblin, the one wielding the mace, who seemed slightly less coordinated than the others. As they closed the distance, the goblin swung its heavy weapon in a wide, predictable arc aimed at Aren's legs. Aren slipped inside the swing with practiced ease, his footwork precise on the uneven ground. He snapped out a quick, probing jab, aimed at the goblin's jaw. Not a knockout blow, just a test.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  His knuckles connected solidly. The goblin's head snapped back, and it grunted, stumbling slightly off balance. But the effect was fleeting. The creature barely seemed dazed, its red eyes flaring with increased anger rather than pain. It recovered its footing almost instantly.

  Interesting. Aren processed the feedback immediately. Not much effect from a head strike. Thick skulls? Different physiology? Either way, standard knockout tactics are likely inefficient. They’re sturdy. He now had the information he needed. He could afford to be more decisive.

  The momentary pause allowed the other three goblins to adjust their positions, attempting to surround him. The one with the axe, now slightly behind Aren to his left, launched its attack, swinging the weapon horizontally towards his ribs. It was the obvious move, attacking from the flank. Aren anticipated it. He pivoted sharply on the ball of his foot, a swift 180-degree rotation. He pivoted into the attack, his side kick landed forcefully to the goblin's knee before the axe finished its horizontal arc.

  The impact reverberated through Aren's leg, and the goblin roared, dropping heavily onto the injured knee from the sheer force of the blow.

  The other two goblins hesitated for a fraction of a second, momentarily distracted by their comrade's cry. Aren didn't give them time to regroup. He pressed the attack, moving towards the one he'd initially punched, the mace-wielder. Basic principle: when facing multiple opponents, isolate and eliminate. Keep moving, control the angles, attack the edges of the group.

  He feinted left, then stepped hard right and forward diagonally, slipping past the clumsy swing of the mace. This put him momentarily outside the reach of the other two. Battle focus sharpened his senses now, a familiar intensity flowing through him. He felt sharp, alive, his movements fluid and economical.

  He grabbed the mace-wielding goblin’s outstretched arm with one hand, yanking it down and to the side, throwing the creature completely off balance. As Aren had confirmed earlier, the goblin was light, making the throw relatively easy despite its wiry strength. It stumbled, bent low, trying desperately to regain its footing. Its exposed neck and the back of its head were presented perfectly.

  Without hesitation, Aren struck with an open palm strike, aimed precisely at the base of the skull where it met the spine. A technique forbidden in any sport, ruthlessly effective for incapacitation. The impact was solid, jarring. The goblin’s weapon clattered to the ground. Its body went limp, folding like a puppet with cut strings. It dropped face-first onto the mossy earth, twitching slightly but clearly out of the fight, for now.

  Theron, having dispatched the hounds and dropped his bow, was now sprinting towards the melee, his short sword drawn. His arrows spent taking down the surprisingly resilient hounds. He moved with the efficient, deadly grace of a trained soldier, closing the distance quickly. But combat happens in fractions of seconds. Those three seconds it would take Theron to join the fight felt like an eternity to Aren.

  The remaining two goblins attacked simultaneously. Aren retreated smoothly, giving ground, creating space. He deflected a desperate sword thrust with his palm, the impact jarring but manageable. The goblin swung wildly with its remaining free hand, claws extended, which Aren easily evaded.

  Suddenly, a primal sense of danger screamed from behind him. Leader! He didn't need to look. He felt the shift in the air, the intent. He threw himself sideways, rolling across the uneven ground, tucking his shoulder.

  CRUNCH!

  The leader’s heavy axe slammed into the earth exactly where Aren had been standing a heartbeat before, biting deep into the soil and roots. The goblin leader, larger and seemingly more cunning than its kin, had circled around while Aren was engaged.

  Aren came up from his roll already moving, pivoting to face the leader. The big goblin wrenched its axe free with a grunt and raised it for another strike. Aren closed the distance instantly, too fast for the creature to bring the heavy weapon fully to bear. He unleashed a rapid flurry of punches aimed at the goblin's face – jab, cross, hook, uppercut – seeking to overwhelm its defenses. Four solid hits landed before the goblin managed to shove him back, creating space.

  The leader snarled, wiping a trickle of dark fluid – blood? – from its split lip. It shook its head, seemingly more annoyed than seriously injured by the blows.

  Stubborn fuckers, Aren thought, a flicker of grim amusement touching his mind. They absorb punches like punching bags filled with gravel.

  Just then, Theron arrived and the injured goblins got up on their feet. The guard didn't hesitate, immediately engaging. Parry, thrust, sidestep. Outnumbered, he fought defensively at first, focusing on keeping his opponents occupied, skillfully using his blade to deflect their cruder attacks while looking for an opening. He was clearly skilled, his Stormborn guard training evident in his footwork and bladework.

  Now Aren faced the leader one-on-one; the goblin hefted its axe, red eyes narrowed, studying him with disturbing calculation—clearly, this one was the main threat. Aren circled slowly, mirroring its movements, hands ready. Headshots are pointless, he considered, recalling the creature's resilience. Need another approach... Joints? Torso? With Theron handling the others, maybe this is the perfect chance to experiment with Ether. The thought was tempting, a risky opportunity born from the chaos of battle.

  Echoes of the Worlds!

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