Chapter 24

  The Hunt Begins

  The forest floor was awash in pale morning light.

  Ken was done with training.

  Fueled by optimism and the concentrated power of his Momentum chi, he was determined.

  Time to secure the bag.

  The thought of the three surviving elite goblins, power unknown, kept his focus razor sharp.

  I have no idea how strong they are.

  If they are all as strong as the sword wielder..

  That will suck.

  He settled in to his home away from home:

  The thick bed of ferns on the ridge overlooking the camp.

  Munching on some newly foraged berries, he smiled his first true smile in the tutorial.

  They look pitiful.

  The scene was stark.

  A case study in panicked dysfunction.

  Thirteen surviving puny little goblins.

  They huddled, a terrified gaggle near the central firepit, which held more ash and smoke than fire.

  Fidgeting, chittering, glancing nervously at the hole torn in their wall.

  To think they were scary just a few days ago.

  The two beefy goblins were visible and active.

  Pacing, surveying the camp, rippling with a focused rage.

  The battered leather armor they wore were reinforced by strips of some metal.

  Weapons, a mace and a spiked club, rested comfortably in their hands.

  Tense.

  Ready.

  I wonder if they are brothers or something.

  The tallest of the bunch, lean with corded muscle, sat quietly by himself

  Cleaver by his side.

  Glancing up at the other elites, he made a few small gestures and some soft guttural noises.

  What are they up to?

  There was a scurry of activity as the two brutes yelled at the cowering little guys, getting them into watch positions.

  Then they stormed off into the eastern trees, moving with unexpected speed.

  You know they don't have horror movies.

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  A grim smile touched his lips.

  Never split up.

  He climbed to his feet, and followed.

  He blitzed down a game trail.

  I gotta move if I want to catch up and ambush them.

  It's like I’m the predator.

  If I'm the predator,

  Which one is Arnold?

  I wonder which is more dangerous?

  Those spikes will puncture, so mo-

  A mace head swung from around a tree he was passing, crashing into his elbow, driving it into his left side.

  Blinding pain.

  World rocked, Ken flew back and to the right, colliding against a trunk.

  Bringing his head up, through bleary vision, he saw a spike of a club heading for his left eye.

  Dropping into a squat, left hand reached out, grabbed an ankle, and yanked.

  A sharp pain shot up his arm.

  Spike Club flipped onto his back.

  Note to self: left arm is not okay.

  Looking back up, the mace head was the peak of its arc.

  Gallagher the Goblin was moments away from smashing a melon.

  Momentum chi is a hell of a thing.

  Ken stood and swayed around the incoming blow, the world slowing down.

  As he missed his melon, Gallagher had just enough time to turn his head.

  The reflection of an elbow appearing in its right pupil just before the orbital shattered.

  Spike was already back to his feet, leaping over his falling brother.

  Ken backstepped the horizontal swipe, countering with a shin kick.

  Spiked yelped and gingerly put its foot down, but didn't lose much as it lunged with a stab.

  Stumbling to his right, he punched out a quick jab with his left hand.

  Note to self: LEFT ARM IS NOT OKAY.

  Spike's head rocked back, momentum stopped for one crucial second.

  Right haymaker hit clean.

  Spike performed a beautiful pirouette to the ground.

  He caught motion from the right just in time to fall away from the mace as it cracked a small sapling standing behind him.

  The Pugilist rolled back to his feet.

  Gallagher charging right at him.

  Wide green face turned, good eye facing him, other socket pouring blood.

  He was primed for a backswing.

  At some point, Ken realized just how fast they were all moving.

  He had been squeezing his ball for all its worth the whole fight.

  Only way I'm keeping up.

  All these thoughts moved through his mind as he took in the ferocious snarl.

  He didn't just pull on the flow, he opened the floodgates.

  The Momentum chi didn't move, it scorched a path through his channels.

  Legs flexing, they threatened to tear themselves away from his hips.

  No longer a run, he was launched.

  A deluge of Chi roared through his arm, pushing it to bursting.

  Quicker than he could process, his right hand Gallaghered Gallaghers’ head.

  Note to self: right hand is NOT OKAY.

  A roaring stomping Spike interrupted his agony with an overhand swing.

  Sway.

  Elbow.

  Stomp.

  Goodnight. Meet your brother in Goblinhala.

  Or whatever.

  I don't know.

  What do I know?

  Ken looked down at his arms.

  Standing over the two broken 'brothers’, steam rising from his soaked hoodie as his internal temperature red-lined.

  His arms were heavy, vibrating with the post-adrenal tremor that made the simple act of closing his fists feel like a Herculean task.

  “FUCK THIS HURTS.”