When you think something is dead. Stab it one more time… for good measure.

  - UWO Sergeant First Class Tegan -

  The snowy wind is unforgiving as I push out of the cave and trudge through the snow. My eyes adjust slowly to the blue hued light. The storm seems to have increased its ferocity since I was outside last. So much so that I can’t see more than ten paces in front of me. It’s disorienting, especially with the blue tint of everything. After a hundred paces or so, I stop. Where are they?

  “Triage.”

  Everything slows and my mind clears. Crisp like after a long run. There they are. Three hundred paces away, I see two large auras colliding. I’m about to release the skill, but I hear the crackling of the icy snow to my right. Spinning, time still slowed. My eyes are met with horror. Twelve auras, rippling, roughly half the size of a man. Four larger, much denser auras. Instinct tells me to move low, so I do. Falling to the ground quickly, hiding behind the thick snow. The skill releases. Time rushes forward. My body shivering once more.

  “It got bees in heres…” one says loudly, only a few paces from me.

  “Oi, grattin she bitch mut bees livins stills, pipe down fucknutter,” another growls, I think this one’s the leader, a mean-looking hobgoblin with a thick scar across his partially covered ear.

  All of them are wearing thick coats and goggles that make them look bug-eyed. Their accents are thick, as though the system can barely translate what they’re saying. But I think I understand the gist of it. Their weapons and armor look fairly simple. If I had my rifle… I don’t have my rifle though. What am I supposed to do against this many?

  “Wada dem tracka bee?” one asks, pointing to… fuck, my shoe prints in the snow. I slowly sink a little deeper down, letting the heavy snow bury everything but my eyes.

  “I says be frakling quiet mouses, we gots she bitch tagot,” the biggest one says, giving them a menacing look, “Wyvern slack backing the daddy. We front slacking the mommy.”

  Wyvern, what the fuck is slack backing? So, they’re with the Wyvern, I’m guessing. The system’s translation function is definitely having issues right now. If they’re with the Wyvern, then they’re definitely hunting the foxes.

  “Yarg, I be wit yer bossers,” the small one with the big mouth says, he gives a snarl as soon as the big one turns around.

  “Wretching,” the boss says. Not sure what he means but the others grunt in approval.

  All of them start moving toward the cave.

  Well, this just got… slack backed? Shaking my head. I stalk through the snow toward them. Body shivering, hands trembling. This is really dumb. I’m going to die. Thoughts can cripple action, I remember hearing that once. Now I feel it. If I die here. Maybe I’ll get revived. Maybe I won’t. My feet stagger forward, heartbeat heavy in my chest. What would my dad do? A system notice pops up in front of me. Golden letters, it’s Ulana.

  [ Notice : 3 x Respec on Death Tokens remaining. Completion of Quest grants additional token. ]

  Three… She wants me to try. Suddenly, knowing that I won’t die for good, the cold breeze hits differently. Less abrasive, more freeing. Like I could fall into it and glide with a blade and cut those goblins to pieces. I have three chances. Three different times that I can fail. Three different opportunities to grow stronger. My heart rate slows. Fear beginning to dissipate. The cold turns to calm in my veins.

  There are a few things that off-worlders and Earthlings all agree on. One of those being that goblins are fucking bastards. On every world, in every Gate. Always. Pure psychopaths, no hesitation, they use their own as meat shields. The things they do to captives is beyond depraved. My eyes narrow as my stance remains low. With the wind, they’ll never hear me coming. Pick off the outer ones first. The stragglers.

  Three paces.

  Two.

  My switchblade plunges into the throat of the first. The gust of wind pulls its gurgling shriek as I dig deep for purchase. The memory of a friend being impaled by a goblin serenading the edge of my dripping blade. I leave the first of the twelve smaller ones in the deep snow. Moving to the next. I am the shadow. Walking behind their steps.

  [ 1 x Wither Charge Gained ]

  Another falls, two stabs, one in the neck, one in the kidney for good measure with a twist. Something is bubbling in me. Anger… Rage. I couldn’t do anything in my last life to save my friends. I’ll be different in this one… I will be more. I’ll get strong enough to skull drag that fucking Lich. I’ll cut down anyone who tries to hurt those I care for.

  [ 1 x Wither Charge Gained ]

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  The next screams, my pulse threads as another spins to look back at the noise. Grabbing up the small axe from the goblin I just killed, I throw it as hard as I can…. shit, it hit handle first. The goblin is disoriented though. Rolling forward to dodge the rusty short blade, I strike behind the knees, sending it falling. I plunge my blade between its armor six times. It still squirms so I stab again. Cutting my fingers a few times as they slide down the blade. The slick blood coats the handle. I don’t stop though. My instructor’s lessons were not lost on me. When you think something is dead. Stab it one more time… for good measure. I feel the pulsing surges of the Wither Charges filling me. Each one gives some kind of boost, some kind of bloodlust.

  My dexterity has actually increased, hasn’t it… I’m faster, not by much, but enough that I can do this. I can actually…

  “Triage…”

  The wind slows, the activation of the skill reflexive, a battle axe falling to my side as I barely manage to roll. Stumbling back onto my ass after catching my leg on a hard section of compacted snow, I crawl, trying to stand. White hot pain sears against the bitterly cold wind. A slash down my side. It’s not deep, but it fucking hurts. I can’t make them out in the pelting snow. The storm’s ferocious now.

  “Triage.”

  Looking around quickly, most of the group is almost to the cave, only a few are behind squaring off to fight me. Too far to yell and be heard over the wind… they’re mine.

  The first comes with a spear, my triage skill deactivates as it plunges forward. Calm sweeping motions flow from me. My hand grabs the spear while my leg strikes the side of the goblin’s head. Sending them straight to the ground. In less than a breath after that, I’ve turned the spear, shoving it under their chin. Blood spurts as their eyes bulge in the bug-eyed goggles. Memories of that baby fox nuzzling its dead mother causes rage to flare in me again. I twist the spear with prejudice in the goblin’s throat.

  Fuck goblins.

  The next draws back a short bow. I throw the spear with everything I have, slightly off target. It lands square in his… well, ouch. He drops the bow, falling to his knees, deep green blood spraying against the snow from his groin, or what used to be his groin.

  [ 1 x Wither Charge Gained ]

  [ Wither Charges Full ]

  [ 1 x Charge Converting ]

  [ First Stage of Hidden Passive Unlocked ]

  [ Messenger of Death ]

  No time to think as a surge of feeling hits me, my jaw tightening. Everything feels slower, not as slow as triage, but noticeably different. The third that’s separated from the rest swings a mace-like bat with rusty nails at me, it cuts my forearm, but I manage to lean back out of the way. Losing my balance as my foot slides. My fingers are numb, my clothes are covered in blood. I can barely see three paces in front of me with the storm.

  The goblin snarls at me, then turns and runs toward the rest.

  Fuck.

  Scrambling to my feet, I lunge, leaping through the air and tackling the small goblin, taking the bat from its flailing arms. I step on its back as I stand. Pounding the bat against its fucking skull until it's just chunks of steaming brain matter littered with nails. Shaking my arms free of it, there’s no time to think about what I just did.

  Looking up, I know the direction of the cave, but I’ve lost sight of them. Deep breath. Three lives. Move.

  My mana is running low, too much skill usage. I need to save the rest for dire moments. Using it for combat is new, but highly effective it feels like. I’d never thought to use it like this before. But now, I’ll use whatever I have.

  Grabbing a short sword and the spear, I wipe the crystalizing blood from my brow and narrow my gaze. Each step toward the cave is filled with purpose. If my count is right, I’ve killed more than half the goblins. That leaves the other half and some hobgoblins. I can do this.

  For once, I can win. I don’t even need three lives. I’ll do it in one.

  My pace increases with my determination. Rushing forward. I catch the last one entering the cave, slamming the spear into the back of its neck. The tip slides through the heavy furs and gives that sickening feeling of cleaving flesh.

  One of the hobgoblins turns, eyes tracing into mine, looking down at the dead goblin in front of it… it smiles. It’s the leader, the one with the scarred ear. Drawing a large blade from its back and hefting it in two hands. It doesn’t even bother to tell the others.

  I move forward, hand’s grip tight on the short blade. Speed is my ally, not strength. Still, hobgoblins are much stronger and faster than goblins. I need to… my eyes widen as it closes the gap between us in a single bound. Barely managing to get out of the way, I leap to the side.

  Triage activates as it swings again, grazing my chin. Eyes blinking as fast as they can in the extra slowed time. I can’t beat a hobgoblin… not yet at least. What do I do? Shit.

  Wind quakes in reverence as a large white blur moves past me. It’s the father fox… he’s back. The hobgoblin's eyes widen in the goggles, but it’s too slow. Claws sheer straight through its armor, peeling back ribs as it goes. A feral growl as it rips out the throat. It doesn’t pause, it leaps to the next, then the next. It’s horrifying… yet beautiful.

  Blood sprays in every direction. The pulses of Wither Charges slam against the full vessel of my body, seeking to be drawn in. I need to expend them. It feels like I’m overloading. Three of the goblins abandon the group, running toward me. I dodge the blade from the first, slamming my hand against its face and gripping it.

  Blue fire whisps from my hand, crackling and disappearing beneath his flesh. A brand appears upon his skin. Pulsing with raw power. I can feel it. Like it’s part of my flesh. Such a strange sensation. Unnatural. Yet intimate, like I’ve always known it. The melody of this magic is not the same as healing… yet somehow it is almost identical. The tune is only inversed, like a forgotten song played from the same chord. Threads weave and sink deep, the goblin's eyes bulge as he sees the marks forming. I push deeper, the bank of charges expelling into them, covering their skin in marks.

  [ Charges Depleted ]

  [ Passive Deactivated ]

  “Witherbrander!” a goblin screams, trying to run backward, stumbling over himself as he goes.

  The others pause with wide eyes. Eyes which go wider as they are torn to shreds by the massive fox they turned their back on.

  I feel the surge as the new charges flow into me. Full again, brimming with power.

  [ Messenger of Death Activated ]

  “Triage.”

  My eyes spin, looking for more enemies, I need to use the brands. In the distance I see the Wyvern still lives, more wounded than before, but alive. Turning back. The father fox… he’s dying. Wounds in his body like the mother’s. Internal bleeding. I think he knows it too. The skill fizzles out. I’m out of mana.

  Why didn’t they just take the baby fox and run? They're faster, they could have gotten away. Why stay and fight? Leaving the child alone. My jaw flexes, painful memories bubbling up.

  It turns from the whimpering child, eyes focusing in the distance as it moves back toward the Wyvern. It has already made up its mind to fight it.

  “If you can get me close to the Wyvern, I can help,” I say.

  Its eyes narrow, giving a look to its child before moving to stand in front of me. Measuring my resolve as it looks down upon me. The look it gives me now is a look that doesn’t need to be translated. Giving me a low growl, it lowers its shoulder for me to mount it.