Suddenly, a rustling sound, loud in the stillness came from behind a nearby tent. Grog froze, his tiny eyes widening in sudden fear. He swallowed hard, the sound audible even over his own labored breathing.
With surprising speed for his bulk, he yanked both of his massive war maces free from where they rested against his tent. The heavy iron heads glinted dully as he raised them high, muscles straining beneath his fat.
"It ain't funny!" he yelled, his voice thick with rage and a new, unwelcome undercurrent of panic. "When I find you, I'll make you wish you'd never been born!" he advanced towards the source of the sound, moving with a heavy, wary tread. His breathing was ragged, loud in the eerie silence.
He reached the corner of the tent. Taking a deep breath, he bellowed, "GOT YOU!"
He screamed - a roar that shook the very air and charged around the corner, maces raised for a crushing blow.
His weapons smashed down with all his strength onto... empty air. He stumbled forward, momentum carrying his massive form, and nearly tripped over something on the ground.
He looked down.
A, horrified groan escaped his lips, the only sound he could muster. His lackeys lay sprawled before him, unmoving. The ground was soaked dark, the earth black and glistening with blood. It pooled in a large, spreading lake, reflecting the flickering light of the nearby torches.
The corpses were arranged with an unnerving stillness. Some had their throats slit, neat crimson lines stark against pale flesh. Others bore gaping wounds in their chests or backs, their clothing dark and heavy with blood. One stared blankly upwards, a clean hole punched through his forehead.
There were dozens.
Over fifty bodies lay in a gruesome tableau, a silent testament to a swift and brutal massacre. It looked less like a battlefield and more like the aftermath of a ritual sacrifice, the sheer volume of blood unnervingly profuse.
Grog stood frozen, his maces forgotten, dangling limply from his hands. His mouth hung open, slack with disbelief. The stench of blood and death was thick in his nostrils. A cold sweat broke out across his vast body as the terrifying truth began to sink in.
Before Grog could fully process the horrific scene before him, twin shadows flickered behind him.
Two dark portals, oval and pulsing with unnatural energy opened near his massive shoulders. From each, a slender, green-skinned hand shot out. Each hand gripped a wickedly dagger. They struck in perfect unison, plunging the blades deep into the thick meat of Grog's shoulders.
Grog roared in pain and shock, a bellow that echoed through the empty camp. "ARRGG!!! YOU CUNT!"
He spun around, maces whipping through the air in a wild, powerful arc. They met nothing but empty space, passing harmlessly through where the attackers had stood a split second before.
The shadowy forms had already melted back into the darkness.
But they weren't gone.
Another portal winked open directly behind Grog as he spun. He felt the cold kiss of the air it displaced a moment before the strike. Despite his enormous bulk, he moved with startling speed and dropped into a clumsy crouch. He curled himself into a ball, his arms and legs tucking in close, and rolled heavily to the side. His maces clattered to the ground as he tumbled away, narrowly avoiding the dagger thrust aimed at his spine.
He skidded to a halt several meters away, the impact shaking the ground then scrambled back to his feet. He stood panting heavily, his massive chest heaving, the hilts of two daggers still protruding from his shoulders like gruesome ornaments.
Blood soaked through his leather vest around the wounds, but he ignored it, eyes darting wildly, searching the shadows. He gripped his maces once more, knuckles white with tension. "Come on out, you cowardly shits!" he bellowed. "I'll crush your bones!"
"Impressive," a voice, melodic and cold, cut through the night. "With that fat ass of yours, rolling like that. Quite the sight."
Grog whipped his head around, searching for the source.
From the deep shadow cast by the supply tent beside him, a figure emerged. It was tall and slender, clad entirely in black. A smooth, featureless mask obscured the face, dark like obsidian.
The figure moved with an unnatural grace, seeming to flow from the darkness rather than step.
Grog stumbled back a step, a jolt of primal fear lancing through his rage and pain.
"W-who the fuck are you?" he demanded, his voice hoarse. "State your name!"
He brandished his maces, trying to put some distance between himself and the unsettling apparition.
"What do you want?"
Grog's eyes scanned the masked figure, taking in its slender build, the curves hinted at even beneath the tight black clothing. A realization dawned, cold and unsettling:
A woman. But no ordinary one.
One who had somehow slaughtered his entire band without a sound and materialized from thin air behind him.
The thought was terrifying. If she truly wanted him dead, he would have died a hundred times over by now. She moved like a ghost, silent and deadly. Yet here she was, toying with him.
"It was nothing," the voice behind the mask was cool and amused. "Just a random passerby, acting all righteous and chivalrous." The woman chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth.
Grog swallowed hard, his massive body trembling despite his attempts to project strength. He knew he was outmatched, hopelessly so. But survival instinct kicked in. He had to try.
"Listen," he wheezed, forcing a placating tone. "We can… talk about this. No need to be reckless, alright? Just tell me what you want. Money? Power? Men? I got connections."
He lowered his maces slightly, a feeble attempt at surrender.
"I'm a reasonable man."
The masked figure tilted her head slightly, considering him. For a moment, Grog dared to hope. Then, a single, dismissive word shattered it.
"Nope," she said simply.
"Just die."
Before Grog could even register the finality in her tone, shadows detached themselves from the deeper darkness behind the figure. Three Shadow Goblins, small but impossibly fast, emerged.
They moved without sound, their forms blurred, as if the very air rejected their presence.
They attacked as one.
The first lunged low, a short, curved blade glinting as it aimed for Grog's hamstring.
He managed to throw himself to the side clumsily, the blade hissing past, slicing through his breeches but missing flesh.
The second goblin appeared above him, dropping from the air to strike down with twin daggers aimed at his neck. Grog roared, bringing one heavy mace up in a desperate block. The impact jarred his entire arm, sending shocks of pain through his wounded shoulder.
The daggers skidded off the iron mace head, but the goblin was already somersaulting away, landing softly behind Grog.
The third goblin was already moving. It darted under Grog's guard as he was distracted by the second attacker. Its blade slashed horizontally across his massive stomach. A thin line of blood welled up, but Grog barely noticed the sting.
He swung his other mace in a wide, clumsy arc, trying to keep them back. The goblins danced around him like malevolent shadows, always just out of reach.
One feinted left, drawing Grog's attention, then spun and kicked out, landing a solid blow on the bandit's knee. Grog howled, his leg buckling. As he stumbled, another goblin darted in, blade flashing. It scored a deep gash along Grog's forearm, causing him to drop one mace with a clang.
Lyssandra watched impassively, a silent observer to the one-sided massacre. She made no move to intervene, her presence a palpable pressure on the night air.
Grog roared, swinging his remaining mace in a desperate, two-handed sweep. The heavy iron head whistled through the air, aiming to crush the skull of the nearest goblin. The creature vanished into a puff of dark smoke, reappearing instantly behind Grog. A hot line of pain blossomed across his lower back as a blade sliced through leather and flesh.
"You little SHIT!!!" Grog bellowed, whirling around.
He brought the mace down with all his might, but again, it met only empty air as the goblin dissolved into shadow. "Face me like a man! Not like a cowardly bug!"
Sweat poured down Grog's face, stinging his eyes. His breath came in ragged gasps, his immense body aching from the effort and the multiple wounds. The goblins were relentless, darting in and out like ghosts, striking from every angle.
"Bastards!" he screamed, spittle flying.
"I'll kill you all! I'll tear you apart limb from limb!" but the threats were empty, his voice cracked with pain and exhaustion.
"Why me?" he wheezed between attacks, dodging a slash that would have taken his ear. "Why not take the loot and go?"
A chuckle escaped from behind the mask.
"Loot?" the voice was laced with contempt. "You think this is about gold?"
A goblin landed on Grog's broad back, digging its claws in and driving a dagger towards the base of his skull.
His time had come.