I deserved this one

I dart out of the clearing and into the forest, weaving through the trees as the small horde of green humanoids gives chase. Their shrill cries echo around me, driving me forward. Five level 1s, three level 2s, and two level 3s—I counted them all as they came.

Most of them are slower than me, their short legs no match for my stride. But not all of them. One keeps pace, its scrabbling feet growing louder by the second. A glance over my shoulder confirms what I already suspect: it's the other level 3, not the Shaman.

Great.

I can feel the strain in my legs, the hollow ache in my stomach, but oddly enough, there's a strange kind of clarity in the adrenaline. Jim's shotgun is warm in my grip, a reminder of his final mess.

Way to ruin my mood, Jim. Couldn't you have blown your brains out in a bush or something? Truly, old people have no sense of decency.

A root catches my foot, and before I can recover, the ground rises up to meet me. I land hard, grass and dirt pressing into my face as the air escapes my lungs in a wheezing grunt. I don't even need to look to know the goblin is on me; his high-pitched laughter says it all.

I roll over just in time to see him leap, twin daggers gleaming in his hands. To him, I must look like cornered prey, helpless and easy. His grin splits his face as he descends, confident in his kill.

Somewhere behind him, there's a shout—maybe the Shaman ordering him back, maybe a cry of warning. It doesn't matter.

Our eyes lock.

I pull the trigger.

The shotgun roars, and the buckshot tears through his head like paper, reducing it to a crimson salsa. His body collapses mid-air, crumpling like a sack of potatoes before landing in a heap beside me.

The forest is silent for a beat, save for the ringing in my ears.

[You have killed a Goblin - Lvl 3]

[Lvl 2 > 3]

Poor guy never heard of baiting.

I put all my newly earned points into Constitution without hesitation, bringing it up to 13.

The sharp ache in my legs fades slightly, and my breathing evens out. I force a grin as I push myself up. The goblins are still screeching, their cries tearing through the forest, but I've kept my lead.

With the fastest goblin dead, it should be manageable to lose them. A little chaotic, sure, but manageable.

Then I hear it.

A terrible, piercing sound splits the air, unnatural and ear-splitting. Every instinct in my body screams at me to move, and I obey without hesitation, veering hard to the side.

Boom

The ground behind me erupts. Dirt, leaves, and splinters of wood spray into the air as a shockwave slams into my back, hurling me against a tree. My body hits the trunk with a crunch, and pain bursts through my ribs and shoulders. I tumble to the ground, dazed and gasping.

Move. Move!

I roll awkwardly, every movement sending fresh jolts of agony through my body, and drag myself behind the nearest tree.

Boom

The next explosion is so close the pressure rips me off the ground entirely. For a moment, I'm weightless, tumbling end over end through the air like a discarded toy. My ears ring so loudly I can't hear anything else, and blood fills my mouth as the metallic tang spreads across my tongue.

But spinning in the air, I can see everything—the treetops swaying in the shockwave, the horizon painted in oranges and greens, and above it all, the twin suns hanging in the sky.

They look almost peaceful, serene. For the briefest second, I forget the goblins, the explosions, even the burning pain in my chest. The suns look so... bright. I can't remember the last time I just stopped to admire them.

The world tilts violently as gravity reasserts itself, and my head slams into something hard.

Then everything is wrong.

I'm on the ground. No, I'm still falling. Wait—am I upright? The world spins and lurches as though it can't decide which way is up. Sounds are muted, distant, as though I've been shoved underwater.

I taste blood in my mouth.

Why am I on the ground?

My thoughts stumble over themselves, fractured and confused. I blink at the dirt and grass in front of me, trying to make sense of...what?

My body screams as sensation floods back in. Every nerve feels flayed, raw. Something wet and sticky trickles down the side of my face, mixing with the blood and drool already dripping from my mouth.

A voice snickers in the recesses of my mind.

At least you still have the shotgun, it says.

The shotgun? Yeah, and the ammo too...

I lift my head to look at my left hand.

But it's not there.

Where my hand should be is a jagged stump, blood gushing out in quick, panicked spurts.

I laugh, though it's more of a choked wheeze. My head is pounding, my body barely moving, and all I can do is lie there in the dirt.

"Fine, Murphy," I croak, grinning through the pain. "I deserved this one."