Panic made people do stupid shit, the kind of shit that made you question the collective intelligence of society. For example, once upon a time Terra thought there were werewolves out in the forest, so she spent the entire week being an incessant pest to keep anyone from sleeping, because werewolves obviously gave a shit if you were awake, coudn't delect on something that wasn’t dreaming after all.

  But that was a child, surely adults would have more sensible reactions to a perceived crisis? Allow me to pull the curtains on exhibit A.

  Tikin presented himself to a crowd of children and elderly alongside his many wives, all of them distinctly naked with ritual markings spread out across their bodies. They were leading some kind of poorly choreographed dance to try and appease the gods, with the children trying to follow along with one of the dancers in some vein hope to make sense of the motions.

  I didn’t know how he knew that would do anything considering he was a priest and not an Augures. Perhaps if the goddess Estia’s domain was that of war, then this embarrassing ritual would hold some purpose. As it stood I was doing whatever the fuck this was for little to no reward.

  How very fun. At least I had a sword strapped to my hip, so some measure of safety was present to cool my nerves.

  My father demanded I take one when the bells rang, and I was more than happy to oblige, we could explain to the soldiers once we made it out alive. If we made it out alive. That was the crux of all that now wasn’t it? The bells would only ring if a large group of goblins decided to raid the village, that was the agreed protocol when the soldiers came. So the horde was at our doorstep, or at least a significant portion.

  And we have perhaps seven hundred able bodies to fight them off while the rest of us participated in an asinine dance. I wasn’t any better, I was literally dancing after all, and it was mostly because I hoped it’d do something, even if the intellectual part of my brain was well aware of how fucked we were.

  The best we could hope for was a siege, or a fighting retreat.

  So we danced with the grace of headless chickens, I had actually seen a few of those running around before. Not a pretty sight, but it was a bit funny in hindsight. I wondered if when I looked back on this memory, I’d find it funny. One could only hope.

  How very fun indeed.

  Sarcasm wasn’t all that appropriate for the situation, but it was all I had so it was what I was using.

  All the children were suitably terrified as they got into the groove. Goblins were bitches, but gather enough bitches and you could flatten just about anything. That rule works for most things but it was the principal behind a horde.

  Perhaps the only reason I wasn’t cowering like the rest was because of my sword. Small comfort if the whole army falls, but brains were strange in that way. Give it some hope to latch onto, and it’ll enter the realm of delusional confidence.

  So I knew well that if the wall was breached, it would likely be the end. I could use the comfort of my friends, but I didn’t know where they were in the crowd of juveniles. A gathering of fools with not so bright futures.

  Wouldn’t it have been funny if I died here? All that anxiety of the End plaguing me for so long and my end came in the form of something so mundane. It was kind of funny when I thought about it. I even tried to laugh at the thought.

  It came out as a huff of air. Shame.

  My father wasn’t here, neither was my mother. All the adults were on the wall, delivering whatever aid they could alongside the adults whose joints had yet to fail them. The rest were gathered alongside the children, though they weren’t expected to dance. A few did. It hurt a bit to watch them suffer through the motions for a vain hope.

  Perhaps if Tikin dedicated himself to Yorokrom, the god of martial might and valour would be inclined to aid the hapless villagers. As it stood Estia was the most likely to listen, and the least likely to have any blessings of worth.

  Unless she made one of them a warlock.

  That wasn’t fucking happening though.

  So we danced like mad in the hopes that the danger just a few minutes east wouldn’t come here to slaughter.

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  Unfortunately for us, our hopes are dashed with a scream.

  Time was relative to your perception of it.

  The best example of this phenomenon was age. Every day that passed felt a little shorter than the last, if only by a miniscule margin. It was why all the wrinkly fucks of society always comment on how fast you’ve grown, because to them it had passed far quicker than it had for you. This principle worked the other way round too! Which was fun.

  I wondered how time must seem for my mother. Asna made a game of trying to guess her age, and I had narrowed it down to less than a century, but not by much. So still within the realms of a human lifespan, albeit a very lucky human considering the medicine available.

  In moments of adrenal panic, neurons would fire in overdrive to understand what the fuck was going on. A survival instinct with the consequence of making a moment feel like years. That was a bit of an exaggeration, but if you were to ask me how long it took for me to turn my head, I’d say it lasted for my very own micro-eternity.

  I turned, and became a witness to a green midget tearing through the throat of an elderly man with too many sharp teeth. Riding his back as it bit down deep and ripped out a chunk of viscera.

  The man stumbled, then fell.

  The goblin swallowed the large chunk of meat in one go, gulping it down like a precious delicacy. It looked at the crowd of frozen spectators and clacked its teeth while warbling something like a laugh.

  The sound wasn’t a laugh, it couldn't be.

  It was too strange, like its voice was tuned to multiple frequencies at once, brought down to the world to sink terror into our bones. It smiled, bloody knives for teeth marking cruelty in such a jubilant smile.

  It wasn’t the only goblin, now that the dancing and music had stopped, we could hear the pattering of feet and clacking of teeth and strange screams. It wasn't much, and each was only marginally stronger than a child. Madness being their only real advantage against the fully grown.

  That didn’t stop the chaos of screams and retreating bodies, hundreds couldn’t have witnessed what it was that was there, but they followed the example of those who did.

  I was no better, despite my sword, despite my years mentally preparing for the End of the world. I ran, bodying through whoever stood in my way to get the fuck away from the greenskins that would made their way into the village.

  It wasn’t easy, but with a liberal use of mana I was able to escape the crowd and just…run. I didn't know where, I was barely thinking at all, the only thing on my mind being survival. In this case survival involved escape. That was the only thing that mattered.

  So I ran, and I ran, and I ran.

  Somehow, through my mad dash, I found myself at the smithy. Hands on my knees, trying to bully my way through how much mana I forced through my body all at once. I walked into my home and latched the door, going to sit in a corner, hands hugging my knees as I stared at the door.

  Is this where I’d die? It was so early, so anticlimactic, was it arrogant that I'd believed my death would be more dramatic? Perhaps.

  It definitely was.

  Wasn’t I arrogant for even thinking I could manage to survive the End? Perhaps, it didn't really matter anymore. I hugged my knees close to my chest, and let loose a stream of tears as I tried to control my breathing.

  It took however long it took, I didn’t know, incapable of mustering the presence of mind to measure time as I was. I liked to think it wasn’t very long, for my pride’s sake. I took deep gulps of air and wiped at my eyes.

  It was pathetic, I was pathetic, what did I spend all my time training for if not for moments like those? I should’ve cut that goblin down like the vermin it was, instead I did this. But I thought of the teeth, and the laugh, and couldn’t find it in myself to regret my cowardice.

  I heard the sound of clacking teeth beyond the doors and froze, breathing as quietly as I could as I stared wide eyed. There were goblins here? Of course it wasn’t just the one that made it through. The only indication that the army and militia were still fighting would have to be the fact that we weren’t entirely overrun…yet.

  But if goblins were getting through that meant something was going terribly wrong, and waiting here…it was a comfortable death sentence. Being at home. But a death sentence nonetheless.

  There was a bang on my door, and I got up slowly, careful not to make a sound to interrupt the clacking outside. I walked towards the door, each step punctuated by monumental effort and deep breaths.

  I unsheathed my gladius, and the sound of steel scraping against leather was practically a warcry in the midst of so little noise.

  The banging stopped, and so did the clacking of teeth.

  I angled my blade at the door—

  An ear piercing scream, so loud and grating that it felt like my ears were genuinely bleeding. I matched it with a scream of my own as I pumped mana through my arms, shoulders, and back.

  My blade pierced through the door and something beyond it, and screaming was replaced by gurgling.

  I was breathing too fast, too hard.

  I pulled back the blade, and some of the blood wiped off as it exited the doorway. Not all of it though. I stared at it, and tried to muster some inkling of triumph. I failed. Instead there was the breathing, and the ringing in my ears, and—

  The clacking of teeth?