Chapter 8: That's a Big Goblin

  Raven staggered back, his chest heaving as exhaustion settled deep into his limbs. The last few minutes had drained him more than he’d realized—the endless running, the desperate fights, the betrayal of his recent allies. Now, standing face to face with the brute in front of him, he felt the weight of it all bearing down on him at once.

  The creature was massive, towering over any goblin he had seen before. Its thick, scarred hide looked more like armour than flesh, and in one of its massive hands, it gripped a crude yet menacing iron mace. The weapon shimmered faintly, a subtle glow running along its jagged edges. Raven felt a strange pull in his gut as he looked at it, the same sensation he’d felt every time he’d put an enemy down. That weapon was different—like it held something beyond simple metal and wood.

  Fuck that's a big goblin, Raven thought to himself.

  The brute let out a deep, guttural chuckle, its heavy footfalls cracking the rooftop as it took a step forward. When it spoke, its voice was thick and heavy with a rough accent, but the words… the words were in English.

  “You killed my kin… you die now.”

  Raven tensed, the weight of his bow less reassuring in his grip standing before such a monster. The fact it had spoken left him shocked. He wasn’t sure if he could fight something like this head-on. He needed time.

  “What do you want?” he asked, buying himself a few more seconds to think.

  The brute sneered, baring yellowed fangs. “Want? You killed kin.” It lifted the mace, resting it against one broad shoulder. “You die.”

  So much for diplomacy.

  Raven’s fingers clenched around the hilt of his knife, the cold metal grounding him as his mind threatened to spiral. This thing wasn’t like the other goblins—hell, calling it a goblin felt wrong. It was something more. Bigger. Smarter. Stronger. He swallowed hard, a bitter thought gnawing at the edges of his mind.

  I should’ve stayed with the group. Should’ve waited. Should’ve—

  No. No time for that. He had to focus. Had to find a way out of this.

  His mind raced. This thing was bigger, stronger, and judging by the way the ground creaked beneath it, probably a hell of a lot heavier. If it got a clean hit in, he was done. He needed a plan—fast.

  The brute moved first, charging forward with terrifying speed. Its speed left him stunned, Raven barely had time to react as the massive mace came down with a force that sent cracks spiderwebbing across the rooftop where he had been standing. He dove to the side, rolling onto his feet as debris rained around him.

  His bow was useless without arrows. He couldn’t afford to have it damaged in the fight, so he tossed it aside, hoping he’d have the chance to retrieve it later. His fingers tightened around the handle of his hunting knife as he began circling, keeping his movements light and unpredictable. The brute turned with him, its sharp eyes gleaming with amusement, its thick lips curling into a sneer.

  “Run, little monkey,” it rumbled. “Makes no difference.”

  It moved again, swinging its weapon in a brutal arc. Raven ducked low, the air from the swing ruffling his hair as the mace passed inches from his head. The brute was fast—faster than anything that big had a right to be.

  Not good.

  Raven feinted left, then lunged in with his knife, dragging the blade across the creature’s side as he passed. His blade slid across thick, leathery skin, drawing blood, but barely. The cut was shallow, insignificant. He might as well have swatted a bear with a flyswatter.

  Shit. That’s not good.

  Raven backed off, breathing hard, his ribs burning with every inhale. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. Each dodge took more effort, every feint cost him more energy than he could afford to lose.

  His breath came faster, his muscles burned. He couldn't afford to let this drag out.

  They clashed again and again—Raven striking with quick, precise cuts while the brute swung with raw, overwhelming power. Each time, Raven managed to dodge, his knife carving shallow lines into the monster’s hide, but nothing deep enough to truly wound it. The beast, despite its size, moved with a disturbing confidence. It was playing with him.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Raven tried another feint, darting to the right before twisting back to strike from the left. He had done it before, landing a few shallow cuts, but this time, the brute was ready. It didn’t fall for the bait. Instead, it pivoted sharply, swinging its massive mace in a short, brutal arc.

  Raven barely saw it coming.

  The heavy iron caught him just below the ribs, not a full-force hit but enough to send him flying. Pain erupted across his torso as he crashed onto the rooftop, rolling until his back slammed against an old ventilation unit. The breath whooshed out of his lungs in a ragged gasp. His ribs screamed in protest, and he was pretty sure at least one of them was cracked.

  Agony flared through his ribs like fire, stealing his breath. His body screamed at him to stay down, to give up. For the first time, he felt real fear—not the distant kind that lurked at the edges of a fight, but the kind that gripped your lungs and refused to let go. The kind that whispered,

  This is it. This is how you die.

  Laughter rumbled from the brute’s chest as it approached, each heavy step shaking the rooftop beneath them. “Now I’ve got you, little monkey,” it growled, the satisfaction in its voice making Raven’s blood run cold.

  The brute lifted its mace high, both hands gripping the handle as it prepared to bring it down with bone-shattering force. Raven barely had the strength to lift his arms in defence. His knife felt laughably small in his grip, as useless as a twig against the sheer power in front of him.

  He was going to die.

  His mind reeled, flashing through everything that had led him here. The chaos, the fighting, the running. Darryl—Darryl was still out there. Alone. If Raven died here, then that was it. He had no one else. Darryl had no one else. The idea of leaving him alone in this world—that hurt worse than his ribs, worse than the looming death above him.

  Move, dammit. MOVE.

  That tingling sensation, the strange current that had been with him since he had killed his first monster, surged through him like a shock of electricity. His skin prickled, and suddenly—

  The sky vanished.

  The brute’s snarling face was gone.

  Instead, he was staring up at the dark, dust-coated ceiling of an unfamiliar room.

  He had fallen through the rooftop. No—not fallen. He had moved through it. One second he had been staring death in the face, the next he was inside the building below, lying sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath.

  His heart pounded in his ears. His vision swam.

  Whatever just happened, it had saved him. This time.

  .

  Interlude: Uri

  Uri stood at the window on the third floor of the hospital, far removed from the chaos below. She had left the humans behind, disgusted by their panic, their fear, their failure. Her golden eyes swept over the city with detached disdain.

  Her own planet Uranus had once been considered as the Divine’s cradle—a potential home for the chosen race. But Asmodeus had selected this one. Terra had been tasked with its care, its guidance, its protection.

  And she had failed.

  Humanity was meant to be something greater. At their peak, they should have been near-angelic—semi-divine beings, mirrors of their creator’s glory. Instead, what Uri had witnessed was a species on its knees.

  They cowered behind metal and glass. They barked orders and herded others like livestock. They clung to crumbling weapons—tools already proving ineffective. Their technology, their cities, their very way of life was dying, and they remained blind to it. Soon, their tools would fail. Their weapons would break. And they would stand naked before the consequences of their own neglect.

  Uri sighed. She would follow orders. She would search for those who still walked the path. But she had little faith in what she would find.

  Below, the horde gathered. Goblins—crude and shrieking—pressed against the police barricades. Metal clashed against concrete, voices rose in panic, and the line faltered.

  Then—something shifted.

  An orc.

  Her eyes narrowed. A Tier Two manifestation. That meant the hospital sat atop a mana sink—ether was pooling faster than expected. Enough to support a higher species already.

  Idiots. They could have claimed this place, used the mana to empower themselves—if they had remembered how.

  The orc barked orders in its harsh, guttural tongue. A commander. Uri turned to leave.

  And paused.

  Across the plaza, a man had climbed onto a rooftop. Uri’s brow furrowed, curiosity threading through her disdain. That was… unexpected. He carried a bow. He moved with skill. As soon as he found his perch, green skins began to fall.

  His movements were deliberate. Controlled.

  Interesting.

  Uri remained.

  The orc noticed too. It sent a squad to deal with the sniper.

  Uri shifted to a better vantage point. At the base of the fire escape, a handful of humans fled, abandoning their ally.

  Cowards.

  A flicker of something sharp twisted in her chest—anger, or something older? Something like pity, edged with rage.

  They deserved what was coming.

  But the man stayed. He fought. He chose to hold the line.

  Uri watched closely.

  When his arrows ran dry, he destroyed the ladder, sacrificing his escape to kill more of the enemy.

  Then came the brute.

  A Tier Two.

  It leapt. Landed.

  Uri folded her arms, her lips pressed into a tight line. This was the end. No Tier One mortal could stand against a Tier Two.

  Yet—he did.

  He resisted. He fought with everything he had.

  When the deciding blow came, Uri felt something strange. A pang. Regret?

  She clenched her fists. She was forbidden to intervene.

  Then—

  He vanished.

  She was not meant to feel hope. Yet here it was—quiet, uninvited.

  She extended her senses.

  He was inside the building.

  No collapse. No fall. No impact.

  One moment he was there. The next—gone.

  Uri’s breath caught.

  That wasn’t evasion. That wasn’t speed.

  That was space magic.

  Impossible.

  There wasn’t enough ether in this realm to awaken such a gift. Unless...

  Unless it was inherent.

  Her decision was immediate. This one wasn’t like the others. She would test him—directly, without veil or delay.

  A warrior’s worth was not measured in victories. Only in pain.

  Would he endure?

  Or would he break like the rest?