What a Monster!

The scarecrow's hand and forearm broke as it shoved them into the goblins head. It made for a slight inconvenience.

The single arm it had, was a long stick. It was about a meter in length with the thickness of a thin thumb. It had come into the world wearing a white leather shirt stained with disgusting bird poop, and now in a more favourable state, stained with blood. Despite the blood, the shirt still managed to be in perfect condition, but sadly not the arm, that had broken off halfway, and rendered the arm hardly useful in battle.

The arm was very inflexible. It was clear that having no tendons was a sure way to inflexibility. But, it was not completely useless, as it came with the ability to extend and minimize, so what's the scarecrow did most time, point the arm in a direciton, and thrust it out.

The goblin's eyes went wide. The other goblin eyes of course, the goblin that was still alive. The unfortunate ones with the scarecrow's broken arm in between them, were shaking spirattically. The goblin could have run away and shrieked for its life, or attacked in a wild frenzy, to avenge its fallen comrade, but instead of doing so, it got down on its knees, hands in front of head, and repeated a new word.

"You horrible creature!" Orwell said. "That could have been our crew, why would you kill the leader?"

The scarecrow couldn't care less about Orwells words. It saw that the goblin had dropped its spear and was completely indefensible, for some strange reason that the Scarecrow found ridiculously stupid. But having no remorse, it shook off the dangling part of its arm, and walked over to the goblin on its knees, but before it could do anything else Orwell's voice rang out again.

"The goblin is calling you boss," Orwell pleaded. "Please don't kill it. It wants to follow you"

The scarecrow understood and duly took not off what Orwell said. Then, it raised one of its legs above the goblins head. And torpedo it down. Blood splattered on its face, a bit getting into its mouth. Delicious. A part of the white skull fell down on the ground. The mushed brain squeezed out.

Ding! Ding! Ding! 20 experience points gained!

Ding! Ding! Ding! 20 experience poitns gained!

You have levelled up 3x!

"You horrible monster," Orwell screamed. "Those poor goblins didn't deserve that. If I could I'd send you to hell for all eternity you disgusting wretched monster."

There was silence. A breeze of air washed over them, picking up the scent of recently killed goblin, shoving it into the scarecrow two holes for a nose, and also spreading the smell further down the forest, where other creatures laid.

The scarecrow began eating the goblin's fingers, and quickly found out that Orwell was incapable of throwing up. Each time it slurped or snapped or swallowed or crunched, it could hear Orwell heaving. Poor angel.

As the slimy but at the same time dry flesh travelled down the scarecrow's throat , its arm slowly began growing back. The realization made the scarecrow fall down in surprise. The scarecrow thought it would have to complete the rest of its journey withouy an arm but it seemed that that thought was wrong.

You might think that the scarecrow is a cruel being, but that's not really the truth. It didn't enjoy making Orwell suffer. It couldn't care less about that. All it cared about was power, and sadly, cruelty seemed to be the road there.

After the arm had fully regrown the scarecrow felt full, as if it couldn't eat anymore, and it was happy for that. The goblin meat was disgusting. Utterly and vehemently vomit inducing. It would certainly avoid eating goblins in the future if it was at all possible, that was for sure.

Assignable points:3

Strength: 2

Agility:1

Dexterity: 0.3

Vitality: 1

Stamina: 3

Magic: 1

Charisma: 1

It brought up its stat sheet and invested the new points it had gained. It needed to be tougher, because breaking its limbs in a fight would lead to bad things. It wouldn't be able to fight at full force.

To achieve this, the scarecrow put all of its points into strength. That would lead to its body hardening and also growing stronger. With that finished it closed down the statsheet.

Health 2/2

Stamina 7/15

Mana 2/2

With that done, it looked between the tall and short and thick trees, and the many different colours. It could hear some sort of clash coming from one direction. A fight! If the scarecrow appeared just when they were both close to death, it would profit big time! A jolt of excitement hit the Scarecrow, and it creeped towards the noise, but with enough speed that it wouldn't miss it.

Orwell continued sobbing, but now more silently.

The scarecrow walked and walked. It had been wrong, the sound was further away then it had appeared. It grew louder as the scarecrow got closer. After about ten minutes of walking in a straight line, the scarecrow finally saw the source of the sound.

There was a boy standing in front of a large boulder swinging his sword down on it. The boy wore black pants, but no shirt. His torso and chest were filled with texture and muscles and scars. He didn't have an inch of fat on him. The sword he wielded was about two meters tall, the same length of the scarecrow.

Perhaps this isn't the best idea, the scarecrow thought.

But it was too late. An old man stood in front of the scarecrow, looking right at it. The old man had just appeared, one second he was not there, and the next he was there. It seemed like magic, but it wasn't magic.

That made it even more peculiar. Usually, when something travels at a high speed the air makes some sort of noise or movement, but that did not happen here. The air was still, as if he'd avoided every air particle.

It was beyond a doubt a master of unimaginable strength.

"Setsuru! Come whilst the apple is ripe. I have another lesson to teach you."

"Yes master!"

The scarecrow turned around and jumped with all of its new power, but it found the master standing in front of it. Right, it turned, but there he stood. Left, and he stood there again. Was this the end?