Zombie? Nah.. I'm an Arsonist!

The skeletal branches of the forest scraped against the night sky, casting long, gnarled fingers across the shadowed earth. Montu, his undead gait silent and swift, weaved through the dense undergrowth, his empty sockets burning with an eerie blue light. Beside him, Happy, a fellow husk of reanimated flesh, kept pace, his sword glinting faintly in the dying moonlight.

They were nearing the fetid swamp that marked the edge of goblin territory, the air thick with the cloying scent of stagnant water and rotting vegetation. Tension crackled in the air, a tangible presence pressing down on their undead shoulders.

Reaching a clearing, Montu paused, his hand reaching for the system shop.

Kerosene = 200 coins

Lighter=24 gold coins

Gold=768-200-24=>544

A glint of cold fire reflected in his hollow eyes.

"Another advantage of being undead," he rasped, his voice a dry whisper in the stillness, "They can't smell our fear. No telltale heartbeat, no ragged breaths to betray us."

And since goblins can't see as clearly as Montu or Happy at night, they had another huge advantage over them.

Happy grunted in agreement, his sword thumping against his shoulder.

Montu opened the canister, the pungent odor of kerosene burning his non-existent nostrils.

With ease, he began pouring the fuel in a wide circle around the perimeter of the clearing, keeping a safe distance from the thickets where the goblin horde slumbered. The kerosene soaked into the dry earth, glistening like black tears in the fading light.

He moved like a wraith, a silent, spectral predator, slowly completing the circle of flammable death. An hour later, he stood back at his starting point, the canister empty. His gold however, had dwindled, but a grim smile, if such a thing were possible for the undead.

He flicked open his lighter, the tiny flame a defiant spark against the encroaching darkness. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the lighter sailing through the air, its arc a fiery comet streaking towards the kerosene-soaked earth.

The forest roared to life. Flames erupted in a wall of hot fury, devouring the clearing in a hungry maw. The night blazed with an unnatural brilliance, casting grotesque shadows that danced on the trunks of the trees. The air shrieked with the cacophony of goblin screams, echoing in the darkness as they scrambled and choked amidst the inferno.

Montu and Happy stood apart, unfazed by the heat and chaos. The smoke, acrid and thick, swirled around them, but it held no sting for their lungs that no longer drew breath. They watched with chilling detachment as the goblins writhed and perished, their forms consumed by the unforgiving flames.

"Burn, little runts," Montu hissed, "Suffocate, choke on your own fear. No fire resistance to save you now."

But even in their undead state, a prickle of unease flickered in their hollow chests. The Hobgoblin, the leader of this vile pack, emerged from the smoke, his hulking form silhouetted against the inferno. He coughed, hacking black smoke, but his eyes still burned with defiance.

He stumbled, his thick hide offering some protection from the flames, but the smoke choked him, his eyes watering and lungs struggling. Yet, he still moved, a testament to the resilience of his monstrous kind.

The fire, fed by the dry brush and leaves, began to spread, its hungry tendrils reaching towards Montu and Happy. But they were unfazed, their forms immune to the heat. With a silent nod, they retreated, taking a strategic step back from the encroaching blaze.

The sweet chime of the system notification finally reached Montu's ears, confirming the slaughter. He silenced it with a mere thought, savoring the anticipation of the final kill.

Even the Hobgoblin eventually succumbed, falling unconscious from the smoke's suffocating grip. The fire died down, leaving behind a smoldering landscape of ash and charred flesh.

Montu approached the surviving goblins with a sword, their moans a pathetic counterpoint to the crackling embers. One by one, he dispatched them with swift, bone-chilling efficiency. Their vacant eyes stared up at him, reflecting the dying flames, before dimming forever.

Only the Hobgoblin remained, a pitiable figure lying on his back, his thick skin offering some protection from the burns.

"He didn't receive much damage from fire. I have to injure him deeply in one move, or else if he wakes up from some half assed try to stab him, I am good as dead." Said Montu to himself.

He stepped closer, the moonlight glinting off the blade he'd purchased moments ago. A plan formed in his cold, calculating mind.

He called Happy to his side.'On my order we will stab him in both eyes at the same time' thought Montu.

1.....2...3

They both stabbed the Hobgoblin in the eyes with all their strength.

'Now even if he isn't dead, he can't see us,and we don't have a presence so he can't sense us. We can finisg him off easily.'

The Hobgoblin shrieked, a guttural roar that tore through the smoldering remains of the goblin camp. His eyes, once burning with savage fire, were now twin pits of darkness, brutally gouged by the coordinated attack of Montu and Happy. Blinded and disoriented, the hulking monster flailed, his blows striking empty air in the smoke-choked darkness.

Montu, danced around the Hobgoblin's flailing limbs. The creature's roars echoed hollowly in the night, a stark contrast to the eerie silence that emanated from the undead duo. Happy, sword in hand, moved with a grim efficiency, each strike landing with a sickening crunch on the Hobgoblin's flesh.

The fight was brutal, a macabre ballet of bone and shadow. The Hobgoblin, despite its injuries, fought with the desperate ferocity of a cornered beast. Its thick hide resisted their blades, forcing them to exploit every chink in its defenses. Slowly, methodically, they chipped away at its strength, each wound drawing a fresh roar of pain from its ravaged throat.

Finally, after a grueling twenty minutes, the Hobgoblin slumped to the ground, its monstrous body riddled with cuts and gashes. Montu, with a flick of his wrist, delivered the final blow, a stab to the heart that silenced the beast's tormented cries.