The scarred leader took another step forward, his hand moving to his belt, where I could see the outline of a dagger.
“Now, you can make this easy, or you can make this hard,” he mused, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt more threatening than if he were shouting. “But either way, we’re gonna have ourselves some fun.”
I looked at each of them in turn, cataloging their positions, their weapons, their weaknesses. I might have been weaker in physical strength, but my mind was still the same as it had always been.
Quick and calculating. I had thousands of years of combat experience to work with. And they were drunk. I had to stop my lips from quirking up at the corners. This was going to be easy.
The leader appeared to be the most dangerous. He was larger than the others, and carried an air that said he was experienced in violence. The thin one by the entrance was nervous, likely to run at the first sign of real trouble. The other four looked to be followers. Dangerous in a group, but likely to hesitate and even flee if their leader fell.
Normally, I could have scared them away without lifting a claw. A flick of my head, a puff of smoke from my nostrils. They’d have thought twice about cornering another helpless person. But tonight, staring down those six men, they saw only one thing. Prey.
“You’ve made a mistake,” I told them, my voice carrying none of the power it should have, but all of the certainty of absolute truth.
They laughed again, but this time there was an edge to it. Something in my tone had put them on guard. The desire in their eyes grew, the same way a flame grows when fresh logs are put into a fire.
The leader’s grin became a snarl. “The only mistake here is you not saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ fast enough for my likin’.”
At that, the other men around him lunged forward.
I may have had years of combat experience to look back and reflect upon, but in that moment, I was stuck in a body I didn’t recognize. A body I didn’t know. And that meant I was slower than I should have been.
The first man came at me with the clumsy confidence of someone who had always relied upon his size and strength to win his battles. He was stocky, and muscles bulged beneath the beginning of fat that laced his body. He kept his arms too loose from his body, his feet too close together as he moved. His shoulder pressed forward, painting his intentions from four steps away. He swung a heavy right hand toward my face, all his weight behind the blow.
I had fought demons and monsters. Even gods. And I had laid waste to them all. He was nothing. A flea on a dog.
I sidestepped to the left.
I wasn’t fast enough.
His fist connected with the side of my head, grazing it. Pain dug in where his knuckles connected, and I stumbled backward slightly, catching myself on the bronze statue of my father—its metallic eyes watching the scene play out.
I shook the confusion and pain away, twisting to strike at the man. My fingers found the cluster of nerves just behind his ear. The technique was one I had learned while studying human anatomy, centuries ago. I hadn’t learned it for combat, but out of curiosity about the species I protected. His attempt to regain his balance flailed and he stumbled dizzily.
While he was still dazed, I tucked my hands behind his head, pulling downward, and brought my knee up to meet his descending face. The crack of breaking cartilage was loud and wet. Blood exploded from his nose, and he toppled backward like a felled tree.
One down.
My knee stung, and even threatened to buckle out from under me as I put more weight on it. This body was clearly not used to taking a beating. The others hesitated, watching me with predatory eyes. But that was long enough for me to really assess the situation.
I was slower than I should be. I’d have to chalk that up to the body I was wearing. That lack of speed meant I was in more danger than I’d expected. Fear tainted the edges of my anger, dulling it slightly. Staring at the five men who had spread out in front of me, I finally understood why humans had always feared each other more than they had feared the monsters living in the stars.
Because men could be monsters, too. And they were much closer to home.
The other three followers rushed me simultaneously, apparently deciding to use their numerical advantage against me. Two came from the left and one approached from the right. I couldn’t match their strength or speed, but I could use their aggression against them.
The man on the right was the fastest. He reached me half a second before his companions, and grabbed for my shoulders. He likely intended to pin my arms and leave me helpless for the others.
Instead of resisting, though, I stepped forward, into his grasp. I used his forward momentum to throw him off balance, and my hands quickly found his wrist and elbow. I twisted sharply while pivoting my hips. The joint lock—a move I’d learned from a human warlord that I’d befriended a few hundred years before—was painful enough to make him cry out. When I continued the motion, he had no choice but to follow, or have his arm snapped.
I sent him tumbling into the fountain behind me, where his head smashed into the stone, a crack echoing through the garden. He hit the water with a splash, and didn’t immediately get back up.
Two down.
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The other two reached me at the same time. One swung at my head, while the other aimed a kick at my midsection. I ducked the punch and turned to the side, letting the kick graze my torso instead of landing true. My ribs felt like they had been hit with a club, but it was better than taking the full force.
As the kicker overextended, I grabbed his leg and pushed up with all my strength, while sweeping his standing foot from beneath him. He went down hard, the back of his head bouncing off the cobblestones with a sound like an egg cracking.
Three down.
The last of the henchmen swung again, but this time I was out of position to dodge completely. His fist clipped the side of my face where the first had, and sent white stars dancing across my vision. The pain was biting, and I could taste blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my cheek.
Fear spiked through me, but I quelled it.
In my true form, mortal weapons could barely scratch my scales. But in this human shell, a simple punch could leave me dazed and bleeding. I shook off the disorientation as best I could, and retaliated with an elbow strike to the center of his chest. The blow forced the air from his lungs, along with blood-stained spittle, which smacked against my cheek.
While he gasped and wheezed, I followed up with a palm strike to his nose. Another crack. Another spurt of blood. Another body hit the ground with a loud thud.
Four down, I thought, shaking my hand to try to dull the pain in my palm.
The nervous man had fled during the chaos, as I expected. He was the smartest of the pack by far. That left the scarred leader standing alone, his other men either unconscious, or groaning in the fountain.
The leader’s expression had changed, from predatory confidence to something colder and more insidious. He was no longer looking at me like prey that would roll over and give him what he wanted. Now he saw me as something more. A prize to be conquered.
He pulled a wicked-looking dagger from his belt. The blade was about six inches long, and looked as if it had been sharpened so many times that it was little more than a crooked metal needle.
“Seems you’ve got some fight in you after all.”
He held the weapon low, and moved it in small circles, threateningly. I had no doubt that he knew how to use it.
“You’ll do just as good, dead,” his voice dropped to a low growl, his scarred face twisting into a grin that belonged in someone’s nightmare. My nightmares, I realized with another cold stab of fear. Primal, unfettered terror spiked through my body, unbidden and unwelcome.
When was the last time I had felt fear that overwhelming? Centuries?
Seven years from now.
Coldness like death gripped my heart. Every step of this fight had reminded me of just how weak I was in this form. A form that I wouldn’t be able to leave until I earned enough experience to reach Level 35. I had no idea how long that would take. If I died here, would I come back like I had before? I had no guarantee, and it wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.
Too many people were counting on me.
He leaped for me, the blade aimed directly at my heart. I twisted to the side, but my human reflexes were too slow. The knife scored across my left arm, parting cloth and skin like the prow of a warship through a calm sea.
A red window flashed in the corner of my vision.
User Health is now at 88%.
This human form was even more fragile than I had realized. Somehow, the punches and kicks I’d taken hadn’t hurt me much, despite dazing me. But if he landed a hit that was true… if that blade found my throat or my heart, I would die just like any other human. And all my hopes of stopping the [Hero] in six years would die with me.
I had not survived my own death just to die to a gutter rat like this.
He came again, this time trying to grab me with his free hand, while he stabbed at me with the other. I caught his knife hand at the wrist, and dug my fingers into the tendons and pressure points I knew would weaken his grip.
But, he was still stronger than I was, and the angle that I grabbed him at didn’t allow me any proper leverage.
Desperation flooded my body and I panicked, fumbling at his elbow with my free hand. My fingernails dug lines across his skin as I struggled to hold onto his arm. His hand grabbed my hair, pulling hard. Pain seared through my scalp as some locks ripped free, forcing me away from him, as tears blurred my vision.
I blinked, trying to push the tears away, and watched as he brought the strands of hair he’d claimed to his nose, his eyes gleaming with delight. Dread wrenched at my heart with renewed vigor, and I had to force my lungs to steady my breaths. I couldn’t risk him getting close to me again, not with that dagger in a place he could use it. But I was too weak to loosen his grip without leverage.
I needed to make some leverage for myself.
Mustering my strength and trying to blot out the pain in my arm, I rushed forward, my hand reaching for the arm with the dagger. He brought the arm up, to pull it out of my reach, but I kicked off the ground. It was an awkward movement, and I felt something in my knee give as I left the ground, my fingers closing around his forearm.
I kicked out my legs to the side, pulling my body with the motion, and held onto his arm like my life depended on it, because it did. The maneuver only took seconds, but it felt like minutes ticked by as my body swung around him, pulling his arm back with the movement.
My knees slammed into his back, my body continuing its swing. A sharp crack, like the sound of a tree branch snapping in a wind storm, filled the garden as his arm twisted the wrong way and then snapped, the dagger slipping from his fingers as I let go.
His screams echoed off the walls a breath later, raw and full of agony. My knee buckled as I landed, my foot sliding out from under me, and I crumbled into a heap on the cobblestones. It was a painful landing, but it had been worth it.
I twisted as quickly as I could, which wasn’t very fast, given the pain in my knee.
He’d already turned to face me, a sneer painting his lips now, pain present in his eyes.
Pain and hatred.
Part of me had hoped that he would flee after I’d broken his arm. A part I didn’t wholly recognize. The other piece, though, the part of me that had ruled nations and torn enemies asunder, craved the feel of his blood running through my fingers.
The snap of his bones as they broke.
He had dared to stand before me, his empress. Now he would die for that transgression.
He reached for the dagger with his good hand. He might have been stronger, but I was still faster, even with my injured knee. As he fumbled for the dagger with his off-hand, I lurched forward, stumbling, and snatched it up myself.
The blade felt heavier than it should have in my human hand, and when I met his eyes, I could see some of myself in his gaze. Fear mixed with determination to come out on top.
His body tensed, as if he were readying himself to tackle me, and I struck without hesitation.
The dagger punched through his shirt, somewhere close to the center of his chest. The thin, needle-like blade slipped between his ribs with ease. Tearing through his insides as his eyes went wide with shock, and blood welled up around the wound, soaking his shirt.
The warmth of his blood clashed against the skin of my hand and something broke within me. The anger at their indignation erupted and I withdrew the dagger before plunging it deep into his gut, the bloodlust within me begging for his guts to splatter against the pavement.
The crossguard of the dagger smacked against his body again and again as I stabbed him, letting the white-hot anger wash out of me with every impact and squelch of blood.
He opened his mouth to speak, but only a quiet, wet noise came out as he toppled backward. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud.
I stood over him, the dagger still clutched tightly in my hand, and a golden window appeared in front of me, hiding the carnage from my sight for a brief moment.
Three messages flashed one after another.
Quest Complete: Defeat Thugs. 0/6 Thugs Remain. XP Gained: 500.
Item acquired: Tybor’s Needle.
Congratulations! You have reached Level 2.