Nicholas took a deep breath, then focusing all on his concentration on this single shot. Lining up wind, direction and power in perfect unity. And then, in perfect unity, he missed. He would never know why he had missed that shot. He was certain that he got it right. Yet it had missed. Sometimes it happens like that. Then he realised what it was.
He dropped the bow in disgust, picking up a sword and charging wildly at the imp on Ara.
“Get off of me!” The imp, clutching onto Ara, squashes her; taking the breath out of her. As the creature tried to slash and bite her face, she would hastily improvise a parry with her blade. But she was tiring. And she was lying face-up, trying to parry when gravity was against her.
Sadfire flew through the air, after leapfrogging Nicholas (not to mention ruining his aim). He shot into the air, then dived down, and gladius in front stabbed forward to the imp. But the imp was not to be cowed, deflecting the stroke and he fell back slightly.
Arken awoke with a start from his lapse after the inferno. He instantly took in what was happening, grabbed another arrow and drew the bow to shoot the monster’s neck. Yet no matter how determined he was, he just didn’t have the strength in left with him. Nowhere near full draw, the arrow hits several metres away from his target.
The imp looked slightly to his right instinctively, then suddenly Nicholas was swinging his sword from the same direction as Sadfire with no thought or training – pure rage in wild, savage strokes. The imp snatched the blade off and threw it into the air. Nicholas, surprised at the unorthodox action, placed his sword up and blocked it. The sword fell down next to Ara again, but the imp was gone, and nowhere near Sadfire, himself or Ara.
It was scampering towards Arken.
“Wow!”, Jim said, witnessing the massive shockwaves of the firestorm. He glanced around quickly and saw that the man that had saved him was in a spot of trouble. Still entangled with the imp, they were both against the wall but the imp seemed to be recovering faster than his fellow team member. Looking around with no time to find a proper weapon, his eyes fixated on the claw of the deceased imp. Grabbing it with a slight frown, he raced up to Conrad at a speed that would have shamed an Olympian.
Conrad was stalling, procastinating, cheating time. Surely the imp would strike soon. Hit the vein. Bite the flesh. And it’d all be over. But for now, slightly disorientated, he spat into the imp’s eyes and attempted to hammerlock it against the wall. But the imp was quick, and it had felt the explosions multiple times. Although the spit blinded him briefly, he scented the human and moved over to the side, grabbed Conrad’s head and smashed it into the stadium ground. Lucky it was soft sand, but ouch.
Then Jim came along, and filled the imp’s vision with a knee for a splitsecond. Then he found his own head being smashed by Jim’s knee. The imp falls back, and Jim continues with fast, improvised strokes with the claw, still trickling blood.
But for all his hard work, the claw’s clumsiness to be a proficient weapon was quickly exposed at the imp, overcoming the initial shock, began to strike where Jim was not. A hasty block using his hands, gashes appeared and as he struck forward with the claw, he would have to hold on tight to ensure it wasn’t ripped from his hands.
He began to back away, feeling the wrath of the monster before him. Slowly at first, then faster as the creature gained momentum.
Jim was an experienced warrior, and he knew this strategy would lose this encounter. Yet what other plan was there? Conrad was on the floor, face-down, concussed and disorientated. There was nobody else-
Just as he had the thought, a timely arrow from Nutt sped through the air and into the bottom of the head, almost the neck. The imp wavered a little, then fell back. He paused to look at his handiwork. Surely he was dead.
Then the imp got up, scratched his head a bit, and took out the arrow. It was staring at Jim but his eyes were unfocused. Then it jumped forward and started to strike like a drunken warrior.
Whoosh. The air sweeped past as turtle spun quickly, dodging a strike of the imp and making him fall face-down onto the floor as he lost his balance. Scars and gashes were covering his body, blood flowing down but he was not discouraged. If anything, it gave the opponent a false sense of attrition. The blows barely hurt “The Turtle”. Then, using all his might, swung a quick, precise strike in an executioner’s blow. The axe hit the ground, where the imp should have been. Should have been. Wicked fast, it had crab-crawl’d backwards, then reverted to all fours on the front and circled Turtle. Then, he leapt up and pushed his head down. The axe was stuck in the ground from the force of the blow and the imp was on top of him mischievously pushing his head down and messing with him.
Meanwhile, walford spots that finally, someone was helping him fight these wretched creatures. Yet as he paused to watch, the imp leapt on him, pushed his weapon away and smacked him into the ground. It stepped away again, held out his hand in an unmistakable gesture, beckoning him to get up and fight him. Walford got up slightly and in that moment, the imp ran, jumped over in a front flip, grabbed Walford’s head and flipped him over. He winced as he hit the ground on his backside hard and the imp was approaching him yet again. Not good.