Lancet hurled himself sideways with everything he had, every muscle screaming as the bone-axe came whistling down.
CRACK!
The edge of the Orc's axe buried itself deep into the calcified skull. A stroke of luck that allowed Lancet the time to get away.
He scrambled up, legs shaky but moving—thank fuck for that increased Agility—and bolted across the crater floor like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
"GRRRAAAAARRR!"
The Middle Orc yanked the axe free with a wet screech of bone on bone. Its bloodshot eyes locked onto him, unblinking, hungry.
Then it charged, its massive feet pounding the dirt, closing the gap faster than anything that size had any right to.
Lancet sprinted flat-out. Red dust boiled up around his boots in choking clouds. He zigzagged wildly between the torches, the heat from the fire adding to sweat from his fear.
The orc's footsteps thundered right on his heels, so close he could feel the hot, rotten breath washing over the back of his neck.
