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“H-hey!” Wyll wished his voice was not trembling.
He should have this. It was just gnolls, right? Just gnolls. Even if his father hated him for it, he was a warlock now. He had some magic. Only some, but it was more than those gnolls had, right?
It was a band of four gnolls, who had ransacked the village just half a mile away, and were right now going through their loot.
One of them – this one was missing an eye, much like Wyll himself – turned around. It growled, and reached for its own weapon, while Wyll had already his rapier out.
“This is not yours!” he proclaimed. “I am taking it back for the people of Gronenmount!”
The four beasts exchanged looks, their inhuman faces twisted into what seemed almost like smiles. One of the chuckled in a way that sounded uncannily human. It then indeed got out a saber.
Oh, well. They were doing this. Of course they were doing this.
Wyll took a deep breath. He was a hero. Even if his father did not see it. He was a hero. And he had magic. No trouble here. He would be able to get the better of a few gnolls, right?
The first of the beasts came for him, swinging its saber.
Well, he could deal with that. Even before he had made the contract with Mizora, he had actually learned to fence. He sidestepped easily, catching the blade with his rapier. He tried to use the technique he had learned as a small boy, using the leverage of his weapon to disarm his opponent – only to be met with a punch in the belly.
He almost fell forward, but caught himself. He coughed, and stumbled backwards, getting some distance between himself and his opponent.
“That’s dirty,” he muttered, while the gnoll was just chuckling.
Right.
He was fighting monsters, not a noble in a courtyard. There were no rules here, just survival.
He was a warlock.
Right. A warlock!
He tried to reach for that infernal power that had been bestowed upon him. He could feel it – it filled his chest first, like a hot, sizzling mass of energy. And then it flowed into his hand, blasting out towards the gnoll like a dark lightning bolt.
The gnoll had not seen it coming. The magic hit it right in the chest, throwing it back at least three yards, where it hit one of the rock that littered the area and remained lying there.
“Ha!” Wyll exclaimed. “There you go, you filthy beasts! That is what you get for trying to fight…”
He had not seen one of the beasts ready the crossbow.
The next thing he knew was that the bolt grazed his thigh. He was lucky enough that it did not bury itself into his flesh, but it did rip open the side of his trousers, and drew some blood.
He hissed, trying to ready another one of those blasts, but the beasts had seemingly decided that indeed, he was worth their attention.
The small moment of distraction from the wound had been enough for one of the other gnolls to come at him, and tackle him to the ground.
He was lucky to not himself hit one of those rocks, though he still saw some stars sparkling in front of his eyes as the back of his head hit the dry ground.
He felt more than he saw how the blade came for his neck. His rapier was between his body and that of the gnoll – so he had to adjust.
Somehow he managed to get to the small knife in his belt with his left, bringing it between his neck and the blade stabbing at it. He could barely belief that he had been fast enough.
The breath of the gnoll was hot in his face, and that empty eye-socket – that other than his own was not filled with a replacement – looked dull and infested so close to his own face.
The gnoll was heavy, and it was strong.
Once more Wyll pulled upon his magic, and as he released the infernal energy, the gnoll was pushed off him, flying through the air once more.
Quickly Wyll tried to get up. He had to get his weapon up and between himself and his opponent. That was one of the first rules of fencing.
The net hit him out of nowhere. He had not seen it coming.
It was not even that heavy, but enough to stop him from getting up. Then another gnoll was there, a foot hitting him in the stomach.
He stumbled. And he fell onto his ass.
His mind tried to keep up with what was happening.
Holding onto his sword for dear life, he tried to come up with a plan to counter them. He should not be outmaneuvered by a bunch of animals!
And yet, one of them was on him now, while he was still hindered by the net, punching him against the head.
It was the third punch that drew blood. Wyll could feel it trickle down his brow, as he was trying to fight back.
He tried to use his sword, but the net was preventing it.
Half driven by instinct he brought his left arm up, trying to protect his head from further punches. There were once more those white little stars in his vision, flashing and fading again and again.
No. No. No. He would not just die. He was Wyll Ravengard, and he would not just die. He would proof his honor eventually, and return to the city. He would be known as a hero, and he would not die here today to a bunch of fucking gnolls.
He needed to get out of the net.
Why could he not properly move his sword?
Fire! The idea suddenly lit up in his mind. Right.
He had learned a simple cantrip for that. Even before Mizora had given him powers. But the simple cantrip should be enough to burn through the net.
He still was protecting his head, while the gnoll would not stop beating down on him.
“Ignis.” The word came over his lips, and the flame came to life. It needed a moment to kindle the net, but once it did, the fire started to eat away at it, eating the fiber, and freeing him.
He could feel the heat against his own skin too, could feel it singe him, but for the moment it did not matter.
Another blast of infernal energy – and this time he was faster. He managed to get up and jump after the gnoll he had just thrown off. His rapier was free now, and it found the throat of the beast a moment later, burying through fur and skin, and drawing the deep red arterial blood.
This was done. This one was dead. And Wyll turned around.
The one-eyed beast was still there and still coming at him.
This time he was ready though, bringing his rapier, still dripping with blood, between himself and his opponent.
Metal clanked against metal, as the beast was now growling.
Wyll had been a good fencer. He had been proud of this skill. And now that he was properly up on his legs, he managed to parry more than one hit.
He found his rhythm again, and smiled. “You will regret not having fled, when you had the chance,” he panted. Sure, he was breathless. But he would get to finish this fight on top.
Another parry. This time he would disarm his opponent. Just one of them he wanted to finish without calling upon his infernal contract. He was a hero, after all, and not a devil’s lapdog.
His smile returned onto his face, as he parried again.
His gaze drifted across the ground. He might unbalance the beast by using the unevenness in his advantage.
One step left. Parry. Another step back. Parry again. Now push the beast just a bit to the side and…
He screamed, as the bolt did not miss this time, piercing his left thigh.
His leg folded beneath him, and it was by pure strength of will that he managed to keep his blade up, while he was half kneeling.
His heart felt like it was about to burst, while the pain was shooting through his body.
What in all nine hells was even happening?
He struggled to focus. His ears seemed to be filled with the sound of his rushing blood, as he was panting. He stared at the beast as it pulled back its sword once more, clearly wanting to finish it now.
Darn it.
He had no choice.
Once more he tried to pull on the infernal energy, but this time it was responding not quite as immediately.
His vision was blurring, and for a moment the fear actually gripped him.
He could not die.
He could not die without proofing his honor.
There. There it was. Bristling and hot, like a lighting caught with his blade. It burst out of him, throwing the beast back, and driven by nothing but pure desperation Wyll pushing himself up one last time.
He shot another blast in the direction of the one-eyed beast, and then turned around to aim at the one holding the crossbow.
Another bolt came his way, but this time Wyll at least saw it coming. He could not parry, but he could step to the side, even though his injured leg screamed in protest.
He reached for the infernal energy one last time, and this time he did actually rather well. His blast did not only push the beast backwards, it also shattered the bow somehow.
He could not yet give in.
While blood was running down his leg, he went over to the one-eyed gnoll, who was not yet dead, and trying to get up. Wyll buried the point of his blade in the skull of the creature, feeling the bone break beneath his attack.
Dead.
This one would be dead as well.
The last one. The one with the bow. It might still live. He had to get there. He had to kill it as well. Only then… Only then he could rest.
His left leg was threatening to give out under him now, but he forced himself to move still. He would not lie down before he knew the creatures to be banished. He pushed himself. Just a bit more. Just a bit more!
Then he was there, his blade piercing the chest of that beast.
Good.
Dead.
It should be dead now.
He swayed. And then he fell, right on his butt.
He winced as he looked at his injured leg, the bolt still being stuck inside of it. “Fuck,” he muttered.
And then he heard steps.
He raised his gaze only to see that the first one – the one who had hit the rock – was clearly not yet dead, coming for him its weapon drawn.
It happened so fast, he was not even able to react.
And then…
A hand gripped the gnoll by its neck, pulling it back and throwing it against a tree. The creature howled, before going onto all fours and running away.
For a moment Wyll could not make any sense of it. He looked up at his savior, only to find a familiar bluish face.
“Ah, there I thought you could at least deal with a few gnolls on your own,” Mizora purred. “I guess I have overestimated you, doggy.”
“Mizora…” He stared at her, his mind trying to understand what had just happened. “I…”
She rolled her eyes – or at least he was almost sure that she did, given his vision was not the best right now. “Do not be dramatic. I have to protect my assets. At times.”
“A fine job you did,” he growled. “I just… I nearly died.”
“As I told you, do not be dramatic.” She crouched in front of him, her wings looking even more omnious in the light of the setting sun.
He understood too late what she was doing, groaning in pain as she pulled out the bolt.
“There you go,” she purred, and he could feel her magic working, closing his wound.
He had been healed before. By clerics. Infernal healing magic was different. It would meant your body weather you wanted it or not.
He gritted his teeth, even though some part of him was thankful.
“See. Not quite as bad, was it now?” she said, a smile on her face. She patted his cheek. “Don’t look at me like this, doggy. You did not do quite that bad. Maybe you are gonna be a big her after all.”
He looked at his trousers, that were still ripped. “You still could have done something before.”
“Come on now. You need the training, if you ever want to be a big hero who saves the world,” she said, her tone mocking. She stood up properly, offering him her hand.
He begrudgingly took it, allowing her to pull him up. “I could have died.”
“And it would have been tragic,” she replied.
“I thought you would protect your assets.”
She smirked. “Only those worse protecting.” Again her hand caressed his cheek, making him wince, even though her touch was tender – or rather because of it.
“Well, doggy. You could have done worse today. I gotta say that.” She looked at him with her eyes sparkling dangerously.
“Thank you,” he muttered.
She chuckled at the reply. “Well then. Go and show the good people what good of a hero you’ve been. Tudelu.” With that she vanished into smoke that smelled dangerously of brimstone, leaving Wyll alone between the loot and the three gnoll bodies.
He had not really had a choice about becoming a warlock. It had been this or watching his city burn.
But maybe… Well, at least he had some magic now. It was not all bad, he guessed. He could still be a hero. And he wanted to be a hero, after all.
