My breath comes fast, chest tight with the sharp tang of fear. Dust swirls in the air, settling in lazy spirals, but the ground beneath me still shudders—a phantom echo of the force that nearly crushed me.
Beside me, the crater hisses, loose dirt and mangled foliage spilling down its gaping maw. A boulder the size of a cart sits at its heart, jagged and splintered from impact. My gaze lingers on it, cold realization curling around my spine. A single step to the left, and I wouldn’t be standing.
Above, the pulley system groans. The ropes—thick as my arm—still tremble from the weight they released. They disappear into the canopy, swaying slightly, as if recovering from the violence of their task. The mechanism is crude but effective. A trap.
My pulse slows, steadies. Not just an attack—bait. A carefully laid snare. Someone wanted me here.
Like livestock to the slaughter.
A slow smile tugs at my lips, sharp at the edges, curling with something close to amusement. Oh, they think I’m prey.
Heat trickles back into my limbs, fingers flexing as I shake off the last remnants of shock. I’ve been caught before. Caged. Cornered. But I have never—not once—been prey.
I scan the treeline, my eyes narrowing.
Now, where’s the poor fool who set the trap?
My breath is shallow, each inhale laced with the damp, loamy scent of the forest floor. My pulse hammers in my ears, but I force myself still. No sudden movements.
Then—
A branch groans above. A shadow shifts.
From behind the massive tree, a troll lumbers into view.
“Blimey. It missed you?” It snorts, rolling a boulder of a shoulder. “Ha! My sums were a bit off, weren’t they? Oh well, never been much good with numbers.” A grin splits its craggy face, rows of yellowed teeth peeking through. “Now, be a love and hold still while I sort this out, yeah?”
It licks a thick, calloused finger.
“That’s one…”
Another lick.
“And carry the two over the three…”
It pauses, frowning.
“Oi, love. What’s after three, then?”
I shrug.
“Yeah, thought so. Right, well. This is turning into a bit of a pickle.” It hefts its crude spear, rolling it between its fingers like a gambler testing dice. “No chance you’d just sit tight and let me, y’know, sort you out?”
I shake my head slowly.
“Right. Fair enough.”
The Fell Troll is grotesque—a twisted marvel of muscle and stone. Hide armor drapes its mountainous frame, frayed at the edges, stiff with old blood. Its mottled gray skin is thick, uneven, patches of moss clinging to it like the forest itself has tried to reclaim the beast. A living boulder, sculpted for war.
It exhales, a wet, gurgling sound thick with decay. The stench coats my tongue, rancid and cloying. Three times my height, hunched but powerful, it moves with a slow, deliberate grace. Muscle shifts beneath its rock-strewn hide.
Its eyes—small, deep-set, glimmering with dull hunger—pin me in place. No rage. No recklessness. Just patience. A predator that knows it holds the advantage.
The spear in its grip is jagged, hewn from ruin, the chipped stone tip stained with old kills. Thick fingers tighten around the shaft, testing. Wood groans under the pressure.
It doesn’t throw.
The crater beside me still smokes, dust curling in the air. That boulder should have ended me. The troll knows it. That was supposed to be enough. It expected a broken, crumpled body in the dirt.
Instead, it got me.
Now, it waits.
A moment stretched thin, balanced on the edge of something inevitable.
The game has begun.
But I wonder…
It shifts its weight, the branch beneath it groaning in protest. Thick fingers reach behind its back.
Then—movement.
A handful of small metal orbs hurtle toward me. Fast. Too fast.
I track their trajectory, gauge the speed, the force. Not meant to kill. Not yet. Just a way to wear me down.
My daggers slip from my sleeves, instinct driving my hands. A quick parry, a sharp pivot—most of the projectiles glance off my blades. The rest, I dodge.
The orbs are heavier than they should be. Containers.
My blade sparks against one, and in that split second, I realize my mistake.
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Aether-infused gunpowder.
The explosion is immediate—small, sharp bursts of arcane fire. The force sends me hurtling backward, slamming into a tree. Bark bites into my back. My breath rushes out in a pathetic, undignified sound.
A rumbling growl splits the silence. "This ain't on, love." The troll looms, its massive form half-silhouetted in the settling smoke. "Thought you lot—Infernal demon types—were meant to be all hard and whatnot. But you?” It clicks its tongue, shaking its head. “You look more like a startled bunny in a proper storm."
Its grin spreads, jagged yellow fangs glinting in the dim light. "Typical, innit? Always stuck huntin' down the weedy ones."
It hefts another orb, rolling it between its thick fingers. Casual. Amused.
"But what's a troll supposed to do, eh?" The grin widens. "Cryin’ shame, love. Payday's payday. And this?" It lets the orb drop into its palm with a heavy thunk.
"This one's a right walk in the park."
I snort, eyes flashing with defiance. "Oh, apologies… mi’lord." A cough rattles my chest. "Was his trolliness expecting a grand ovation after that snooze-fest of a speech? My bad, ‘love.’ I was a little distracted by the… charming decor. Tell me, did you pick up that pulley system at a Trolls 'R' Us boot sale?"
I roll my eyes. "Honestly, that's ancient, mate."
The troll's jaw drops.
"Oi! You takin’ the mickey outta me accent? You havin’ a laugh at me gob? You tryin’ to take the piss outta how I talk?"
I smirk. "Possibly."
A beat of silence. Then—
"Hah! That's a good one, love." He grins, jagged teeth glinting.
The orb disappears into his belt as he pulls out ink and parchment.
"Kill demon girl for the boss… just about done." He licks the quill. "Things to think about… Black market stall name: Trolls 'R' Us."
I act.
Or try to.
My dagger flashes toward his foot, but the world still tilts from the lingering shockwaves of those explosions. My aim—let’s call it questionable.
Instead of his massive foot, my blade slices clean through his pinky toe.
The troll roars, a sound that makes the trees tremble. His massive hand closes around my throat, lifting me like a ragdoll. His spear blurs toward me, air splitting as the tip whistles toward my face.
Instinct kicks in. My daggers ram into his wrist, biting deep.
Another roar—this one more pain than rage.
His grip loosens. I drop, twisting mid-fall. The spear whistles past my ear, close enough that I swear I feel the cold kiss of the metal.
I hit the ground running, adrenaline slamming through me in a dark, exhilarating rush.
The troll has another spear at the ready. He lunges, twirling the damn thing like a showman.
All I can do is parry, maneuver, dodge. This fight is a brutal dance—desperation on my end, relentless pursuit on his.
For something that big, he moves fast. Too fast. His spear strikes with bone-rattling force, whistling past in near misses. I weave, sidestep, duck. But his reach is long. His speed—
It’s not that he’s getting faster.
My foot snags. A tripwire, hidden beneath a layer of leaves.
Then—
Boom.
A deafening explosion hurls me into the air, heat licking at my heels. My ears ring. My stomach lurches.
And as I begin my descent, only one thought cuts through the haze.
I hit the ground. Hard. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, a grotesque, strangled noise escaping my throat.
The troll’s spear flashes mid-flight. I roll, too slow.
Steel grazes my left arm.
A searing burn. White-hot pain. I hiss, a low, guttural sound—not quite a scream, not quite a curse, but something raw and wounded in between.
The troll grins. A predator savoring fresh blood.
“Aha… feelin’ the pinch now, are we, love?” His voice is thick with amusement. “That little stabby bit’s got wisteria on it. Nasty stuff for your kind, ain’t it?”
I force myself upright, breath ragged, muscles screaming.
"“Right, and these boom boom balls, yeah?” He plucks an orb from his belt, rolling it between thick fingers. “Blessed iron shavings, the lot of ’em. Not as lethal as the wisteria, granted, but still a proper poison. Reckon you’re feelin’ a bit rough right now, yeah?”
He sweeps a hand wide, smug as ever, tusks glinting under the dull light. A spent mine crunches under his boot. “And these boom boom traps? Blessed silver, woven through every last one. Won’t kill ya outright, but they’ll do a number on your senses. Before long, you’ll be seeing double, and pain?” He grins. “Pain’ll feel like a tickle.”
A fresh spear twirls in his grasp.
“Shame, innit? I feel almost sorry for ya.” He waggles his foot. “See? Grew right back, it did.” His beady eyes flick to my face. “Can’t say the same for you, though, can I?”
I blink.
His head tilts tapping his forehead—"check your own”—and I do. My fingers trace jagged bone where a horn should be.
“Funny thing, blessed silver,” he muses. “Works straight away, no fuss. I threw two spears at ya, didn’t I? You dodged one—barely—but the other?” His grin stretches, all teeth and malice. “Didn’t even notice, did ya? And now…” He whistles low. “One of your pretty little horns has gone walkies.”
A cold tremor rolls through me. My vision swims.
The poison.
It’s creeping deeper.
I exhale slowly. “Why… why are you telling me all this?”
He shrugs. “Why not? Killing time, innit?” His smirk deepens. “No fun ending the chase too quick. But… gotta admit, love, this ain’t much of a laugh anymore. Thought you’d put up a better show.”
The orb in his palm chimes softly as he shakes it, before slipping it away with a satisfied flick of the wrist.
Like he already knows how this ends.
I plant my feet, locking my stance.
He keeps coming, herding me back—closer, closer—until my shoulders brush rough bark.
Another tripwire.
I brace. No explosion.
Instead, vines drop. Thick, living things, slithering down like snakes. They coil fast—around my arms, my waist, my legs. Tight. Unyielding.
I thrash. Strength surges, demonic power burning through my muscles. The bindings don’t break. Won’t even budge.
Wisteria. Blessed silver. Iron.
The poison twists deeper, fire licking through my veins.
The troll looms, spear high, tusked grin stretching wide.
He has me. Caught. Like prey.
My heart slams against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat drowning in the rising panic.
The spear plunges.