A young man stretched out of his cocoon, wandering about into the sunlight.
There, a fluid-like freshness washed over him.
And he took a deep breath, smiling absentmindedly.
An arrow shot past him to his left. He glanced at it, before looking upward, staring at a large zeppelin.
Something in his heart beat hard, and he ran down the road, looking past the trees and canopies at the large monstrous form.
He heard a horn sound from above, and on his left, rustling grasses alerted him.
He turned, ready to dodge.
But he kept going anyway.
In the distance, a dock that led to a boat lay in front of him. "What happened! Where are they!" he called, his throat feeling a little itchy.
The boat began to move without him.
Huh. "Wait! Wait for me!" He stopped, stared around him, and, before making his way back up the mountain, noticed something off. The zeppelin was nowhere in the sky. Did it go down?
He heard the horn again.
An arrow flew, hitting the ground next to him.
A figure among one of the trees in front of him slipped out of sight.
The zeppelin re-appeared in the skies, floating above the trees.
A horn, louder than the previous ones, sounded.
The young man watched, as the boat, the trees, and the zeppelin all sounded, roaring at his ears.
He ran off into the thickets.
Later, the horns continued to sound; the zeppelin remained above; and the trees continued to rustle with the breeze. It was a cacophony.
Meanwhile, the young man was tucked himself in a small corner; the silence slipping down his chest in the form of sweat.
"What is going on?"
The roar of the cacophony repeated.
Sounds, like footsteps, hurried under the moonlight.
It was night time, and the sounds continued to threaten to pull the young man out of his spot.
The young man had no clue what was going on.
An arrow fell five feet in front of him.
A figure emerged, a knife produced from him.
He darted and dodged, his belly surviving the cut and his hands forcefully grabbing at anything for support.
The hill and its uneven rockiness was a force to contend with.
He slammed his foot on the ground, kicking his way forward, his feet like swords that stabbed the air with gusto.
He readied a counterattack, grabbing a rock and slamming a head.
The figure fell, revealed.
He slammed it harder, ensuring its effective neutralization.
He fell back, his torso slamming against a tree, his heart remaining strained, his teeth gritted. His body was burning hot inside.
He breathed finally.
In the distance, in another area of the forest, the figures were hurried.
The leisured zeppelin's shadow loomed over them.
The boat had already disappeared in the distance, rounding a corner down a river that was flanked by a mountain range.
Hours had passed since the first arrow attempted to strike the young man dead.
Returning to him, pressing his back against the same tree, he was calm with a fierce gaze. Glancing from side to side, he was eying the paths around him. After finishing, he raised a brow with a slightly confused expression. Ultimately, he stretched his neck and set himself down and back.
Goblins?
The night sky fell, ripping through the earth, but the earth remained strong, for it did not matter how long the barrages lasted. Its natural defences, magical in nature, were powerfully defined in code, enough to withstand all alterations, for it was not only in the ink of the text, but in the ink of its embedded intent, one defined not merely by number of human creators or urgent emotion, but by a quality that bypassed all seeming logic.
The powerful lasted until the dawn, and there, Jared, who was a mere man, leapt from the bushes, running straight, past the trees, and into the brook, where he avoided the surface of the water by double-jumping via the magic tome that gifted all the power suited for his current plight—to escape the immediate area and the potential enemies who might fall upon him.
Time began to tick, and it was apparent that if he were to finish off his mission, there would be no more known-of harm to come his way. But he did wonder whether he was falling into another series of events that would ultimately annihilate him.
He watched the silent bushes, unaware of anything really. If anything attempted to destroy him, he would be unable to say anything in response, besides the physicality he had already distributed through his musculature and motor functions.
He watched a goblin striding toward him.
He knew well that the moment called for a clear path forth.
Grabbing a rock, he wrestled with his emotions and flung it. The rock flew, like a dog leaping through the air in joy, eventually slamming, resisting the blocking motion of its target. The target advanced, reducing the offensive velocity. He even re-defined himself by forcing himself into another stance, breaking through the walls keeping his previous form stagnant. He burst forth, exploding the rock into further debris and parts.
The goblin was now renewed in strength, ready, prepared to face another shot.
The young man, Marsh, leveled a rock at him.
The goblin whipped his head out in a sprint, preparing to assail him.
Marsh reduced his motion first in order to streamline the potential velocity of his rock, shooting up his arms.
The rock flew.
The goblin slammed it to the side with a shield.
Re-launching a rock, Marsh took off, already tracking his potential path, alert of any potential ambushes or lunges from the side.
A goblin lurched toward him, crawling from the short bushes. He had been hiding there for a while.
Marsh kicked at him, but he missed a direct and potent hit because the goblin deflected it with his gauntlets, which absorbed the damage.
Marsh found means, directing his attention at a stick that he wielded like a long sword. Instead of slashing, he made 8-shaped rotations to keep them at range and at bay.
The goblins were resisted, their motions reduced in spectrum.
The Marsh was a battle fortress, and they were levying war against it in siege.
A rock shot at him. Goblin faces emerged more from the bushes, gray objects for head penetration in hand.
Marsh re-directed his 8-rotations toward his protection, sacrificing some offense for defence for a second, before hopping off and running for it.
His movement was constrained by the visibility they produced when viewed at from distances.
The goblins were made more aware as they communicated throughout the swathes.
Marsh hungrily pursued his exit, entering again into a mighty stretch of thickets. He burst in speed, his hands in combat stance in case he needed to make the fine adjustments required of an insultingly quick turn. He would die at any moment. An arrow shot past him.
A horn sounded, and a zeppelin wafted toward him.
Marsh was a beast, prowling through the thicket bushes, marching in those four feet like a man-made-beast. He feasted the green grasses with his eyes, targeting every symmetric point of the jungle until the topography and structure were well familiarized.
He found purchase on another exit, dashing through the meadow. He assaulted the sunlight, making his aims clear by his ravenous dark form. The clothes that he had were wet with sweat, having darkened.
He flew like an angel, zooming through the grassland and entering into another length of trees, his fiery, blazing symmetry colliding smoothly with the forest gaze.
He became one, united with the forest, exploding and being reborn in feather-like flight.
He disappeared.
The goblins were unable to find him.
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