Davros was one of the few who didn’t freeze when he heard the familiar baying cry of the Slynt. He turned towards the sound and saw one of the large goat men, its maw opened in a snarl, bring a cleaver arching downwards to slash a horrified reveler almost in two. The distance was too great for a Combustion bolt and even had it been, the splash damage would have harmed innocents. He needed to get closer and get the townsfolk out of the way.

  “Draw blades!” Valka roared. “Clear the streets and get to cover!”

  I rushed forward, jostling in between people trying to run the other way. A Slynt grabbed a woman by her hair while another raised a wicked looking ax and prepared to behead a child. I snarled a foul word I had once heard a lackey call me. The Slynt were spilling out of an alleyway across the street from our Inn. There were dozens, scores. I didn’t care. When I saw the child fall to the ground, his head split open, running was the furthest thing from my mind.

  “I’ll kill all you Goat Heads!” I started hurling Combustion Bolts, trying to center them on groups of Slynt. My first bolt took one of them in the chest, lifting the bastard off his feet and sending burning pieces of raw flesh flying onto its comrades. The flaming splatter made the Slynt duck for cover, their surprise temporarily making them hesitate in confusion. They had not expected the appearance of someone who fought back with such magic. I grinned beneath my scarf. They had not expected me.

  “Valka, we need to draw their attention from the people!” Davros shouted. The Lieutenant howled his Czak Warcry, activating one of his abilities and like moths to a flame over a score of the Slynt charged the lone Czak.

  “C’mon! Come to me you motherless sons of..!” Valka didn’t get to finish his epitaph. The Slynt were upon him. He would have died in those first few moments had Igvild not activated one of his own abilities that I had yet to see him use.

  There was first one Igvild…then two…then four! Multiple copies of my friend were darting around the Slynt slashing and stabbing. Each copy of my friend had a cold look of determination upon his face. Which was the real one? It didn’t matter. Each copy left a trail of blood in its wake and danced around the Slynt like a blood maddened serpent.

  And there was blood. Plenty of it. Anya was helping people to escape while trying to heal the seriously injured. Her eyes were bright and her hands were twin torches of blue light. The Slynt drew back from her in fear, her magic of purity and light an anathema to them. I screamed in rage as I hurled another bolt directly into the face of the biggest Slynt I had ever seen when it emerged from the alleyway. It exploded and the creature rocked back a step. The monster turned to me, eyes burning a deep red, its skin barely scorched by my spell.

  Slynt Wrathchief

  Level 20

  “Merciful Makers...Level 20? Curse you, I’ll still see you burn!” The creature faced me and a toothy grin split its features. Was it…amused? I was facing horror, I knew that. I should have run. I stood no chance against something so many levels higher than me. Even the other Slynt gave their Wrathchief a wide birth.

  “Eye preserve us! A Wrathchief? Here?” Valka’s face was splattered with blood, but I could still see how pale he looked when he beheld our new foe. With the appearance of their Chief the other Slynt had scurried off to look for other prey, certain that the four annoying little rats would soon be piles of rotting guts upon the ground.

  “Can we take him?” I asked Valka as the Chieftain took slow steps towards us, confidence in its every movement. Valka shook his head.

  “We need to run. I can’t tank something like that. We need to find help. There are other Forged in the city to help us make a stand.” I looked at the Wrathchief and I saw its eyes. It wasn’t going to let us escape.

  “I have a plan,” I said. “Take Anya and find help. Igvild and I will keep it busy. I have an ability…”

  “Are you insane!” Valka roared, his voice hoarse and terror filled. “Did you not hear what I said? I said I can’t tank it! One hit from that monster and even that Owlbear we faced would be torn in two! Running is our only option right now!”

  “I don’t disagree with you, but all of us running in the same direction? We need to split up.” I lowered my scarf and grinned at the wide-eyed soldier. “If it hits me, I promise you it will instantly regret it. Remember Garnak?”

  Igvild’s clones were still running around. One came to close too the Wrathchief, trying to get behind it to try for a hamstring attack, but the Wrathchief contemptuously swiped down with a spiked club in a lightning fast strike, obliterating the copy of Igvild, which vanished into a cloud of black smoke. The real Igvild appeared beside me as the rest of his clones disappeared a moment later.

  “I know where to lead him, lad! You get his attention and follow me. He won’t catch us neither. I got my own bag o’ tricks!” The dwarf said, a wild look in his eyes.

  “You’re both nuts!” Valka bolted to the other side of the street where Anya was helping a weeping mother to her feet. I saw her tear stained face and I grit my teeth.

  The mother of that dead child…

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Igvild,” I whispered, my voice cold. “I want to kill it.” The dwarf looked up at me and surprised me with a smile.

  “Aye, lad. It’s as good as dead. Go grab ‘im and follow me!”

  The Wrathchief’s mouth dropped open in surprise when the little human dressed in red ran straight at him howling at the top of its lungs! Little humans always ran away. They screamed, soiled themselves, sometimes fell to the ground begging, but running towards him? For a moment, the Slynt who had killed its way to the top of its pack was dumbfounded. Then, its instincts took over and it swung its club downward to smash the little human into something it could more easily swallow.

  Davros waited until the last possible moment before he activated Wrath Shield. His mana immediately started to drop rapidly even as his Corruption spiked, but when the Slynt’s spiked club connected with the thin layer of smoldering mana that covered his skin it immediately began to dissolve. The weapon didn’t burn, but it curled in upon itself as if eaten away from within. Erased bit by bit from existence.

  The Wrathchief was thrown off balance by the sudden loss of its weapon. It tipped forward, its empty paw briefly catching hold of Davros’ robe. The paw too began to dissolve, claws and all, much to both their surprise. The Slynt howled in pain and Davros grinned and lashed out to punch the enormous monster in its chest.

  Davros half hoped his punch would tear right through the Slynt’s chest. He connected with a rusted breastplate instead and there was a steaming hiss from the metal as his Wrath coated hand deteriorated the piece of armor. The Wrathchief cried out in surprise and leapt away, its vertically slitted eyes wide. His mana down to nearly 30%, Davros deactivated the spell and wheeled about.

  “Run!” Davros yelled, but Igvild was already tearing down the street in the opposite direction of where Valka and Anya had herded some of the Bruhle citizens they had managed to save.

  Davros had never run so fast in his life and he quickly caught up to the dwarf. Despite the difference in size, Igvild could still move fast, his Speed attribute only slightly higher than the Pyromancer’s. Davros kept pace when Igvild suddenly darted down a side street, then up a switchback leading to another part of the city. They didn’t see any other Slynt, but they certainly heard them.

  “How many are there?” Davros gasped aloud when Igvild paused before a fork and seemed to be considering which way to go next.

  “Lots more,” Igvild replied. “It don’t make no sense.” Igvild sounded frustrated and angry. “The Eye makes certain places untouchable by beasts and monsters. Safe Zones. How they can be here goes against all common sense, lad.”

  There was a great roar behind them and both turned to see that the Wrathchief was still following them. The dwarf stared in amazement at the black stump that was all that remained of the Slynt’s right hand and the gaping hole in its breastplate.

  “Did you really do that?” Igvild asked.

  “Ah…yes?” Davros answered. Igvild shook his head.

  “I’m starting to understand why the Acolytes want to limit how powerful some of us can become. Let’s go!” They took off running again, Davros putting his complete trust into his friend’s lead.

  “It’s catching up!” Davros panted. He could practically feel the Slynt’s breath on his neck. It was furious and hurt. It wanted to kill the one who had wounded it, everything else it had been commanded to do now forgotten. It occasionally screamed something at them in its foul language and the Awakened were both grateful they couldn’t understand it.

  “Almost there!”

  “Almost where?” Davros cried breathlessly. The Wrathchief picked up and hurled a merchant’s fruit cart up and over them forcing them both to have to dodge left. Davros just barely avoided being smashed to a pulp when the cart exploded into pieces, a fragment nearly impaling the stumbling mage as it just grazed his cheek. Igvild spun about to hurl a dagger and Davros heard the Wrathchief’s answering roar closer than ever.

  They made a final turn and Davros finally recognized where they were. Both he and Igvild whirled around and saw the Wrathchief looming over them both a few mere yards away and blocking them within the dead end alleyway. Thankfully, unlike the last time Davros was here, the alley was now completely deserted.

  “This was your plan?” Davros gasped and Igvild shrugged.

  The Slynt looked wary. Its eyes darted around, wondering why the little meatlings had led it here to a place from which they could not escape. It looked at the place where its hand had been. Pain was replaced by rage, but more at the loss of the weapon it had made from its own sire’s leg bone it had personally studded with the sharpened ribs it pulled from the stinking corpse of one of its rivals. Even more so, it didn’t want to disappoint the Dark One who had led them through the sewers below the city. That was unthinkable. That was unacceptable. The little red meatling would die.

  Igvild moved first, blinking out of sight then reappearing behind the Wrathchief. Davros was about to call out a warning, as again the Slynt seemed to anticipate the move and was already swing a fist at where the dwarf had appeared. Except Igvild was no longer there. Igvild burned his second Blink Step and vanished again to reappear on the Wrathchief’s other side to sink his sonic dagger into the Slynt’s kidney.

  Davros followed his friend’s progress as best he could, but even he was thrown off balance by how quickly the dwarf seemed to move as he blinked through the shadows. It was when the dwarf’s dagger drew blood that he finally acted and double cast Combustion Bolt.

  “Dodge, Igvild!”

  Davros’ bolt took the giant Slynt directly in its mouth as he tried to recreate the success he’d had when the four of them had first been attacked by the Slynt pack in what now seemed like so long ago rather than only a few weeks. The Wrathchief howled in agony as the inside of its mouth caught fire and started [Burning].

  Burning spit flew from the creature’s mouth and Davros double cast Combustion Bolts again until his Mana was close to bottoming out. Each attack struck true and most managed to set parts of the Slynt aflame. Davros watched the Wrathchief wobble upon its legs and for a moment he thought he might actually be able to bring it down. He had yet to fully understand what such a tremendous level disparity brought to a fight.

  Spell accuracy, burning damage and a high critical damage threshold had served Davros well so far. Yet, even added up, he was against a Slynt that was Level 20 and oozing with Wrath Mana. It meant that both Davros and Igvild were hopelessly outmatched.

  The Wrathchief activated one of its abilities and Davros was suddenly sucking air as if his lungs were being squeezed in a vice.

  Wrathchief has activated Miasma of Domination! All Movement, Attack and Spell Casting speed are reduced by 50%! It is impossible to retreat from this fight!

  The Wrathchief’s smile was bloody. We’ve hurt it. Davros took satisfaction in seeing it holding its stump close to its chest and the smoldering patches of spell wounds he had inflicted upon it still holding onto their [Burning] debuff. But it’s not enough.

  The Miasma forced him down to his knees. He didn’t know what had become of Igvild as he was unable to turn his head to look. The Wrathchief was somehow forcing him to look directly at it. It wanted him to see his death approaching and to know it was going to deliver suffering on an unimpeachable level. Davros thought of the blue potion in his satchel. If only he could get to it! He doubted he could manage even a second of Wrath Shield with his current Mana sitting at 5%.

  Can’t let you win. Won’t let you do this!

  He sensed his Limit Break meter was too low to have any hope of activation. Even without a weapon he doubted that a hit from so powerful a Slynt would leave him able to retaliate from certain death.

  How then? How do I win!?

  The Miasma had a strange smell to it as well. Something sweet and…Vodka? The Wrathchief stopped in its tracks and looked around in confusion. The moment it broke eye contact with him, Davros found he could move again. He began slowly scooting backwards, still on his knees. The Slynt was no longer paying him any mind. Instead, it seemed to be intently looking for something.

  Davros didn’t dare to even draw a breath as the mesmerized Slynt lumbered past him towards the far end of the alleyway. It approached the battered looking red door it found where a green mist was leaking from between its multiple cracks. The mist was swiftly filling the entire alleyway and curling around the legs of the confused Wrathchief like the soft caresses of dozens of little hands each trying to reach higher up than the last further up the Slynt.

  Davros blinked as tiny lights winked in and out of existence within the deepening mist. Then, the Wrathchief ducked and entered Booshka Krait’s hut and the door slammed shut behind it. The alleyway went deathly silent.