A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The creature stood atop Beam's shin, pinning him in place, its massive fangs curling into a clownish smile as it readied the sword by his neck for the killing blow. Beam stared at it with his single eye, tinged with redness from the blood. He gritted his teeth, the fear still plumbing through his veins, the pain along with it.

But accompanying them now was a rage of his own. The same fire that he had felt with each defeat. He recalled that emotion and it fuelled him. He curled his fingers around the grip of his sword as it lay by his side and he watched the Hobgoblin with an intense glare, taking in its every movement.

The blurriness was even worse now after he had sustained that last blow. But with it, the feeling he'd found in the river became easier to tap into. It became easier to see beyond the world in front of him and grasp for that which lay beyond.

The Hobgoblin swung its sword. Its movements blurred. With that blurriness came the illusion of a lack of speed – it was slightly slower than Beam had grown used to. Yet, in reality, this was its fastest strike yet, as it intended to behead him with a single swing.

"Stop him!" Nila cried, her fingers digging into Dominus' arm as she desperately pleaded with him. But Dominus' eyes were locked on the battle. His gaze following Beam's twitching fingers as he gripped his sword.

Dominus felt it again – the overwhelming aura of an inhuman power. Though this one did not bear the same dark malice as before. Instead, it seemed more nourishing and warm, like a fire in the heart. 'Is this Claudia this time?' he thought to himself with widened eyes. 'He's making use of both of them now… Could it be?

Is he actually managing it?' A tingle ran down his spine as he continued to watch in anticipation.

The blow came crashing down, and Beam moved with it. He slid the tip of his blade up the length of the creature's forearm, landing the deepest gash he had managed yet, provoking a howl of pain, as it struggled to keep its attack on course. But Beam was already moving now.

He used the weight of the Hobgoblin's swing and kicked with his free leg at it, sending it in the same direction, staggering just enough for Beam to free himself and crawl back to his feet.

A low growl escaped from the creature's lips as it bared its fangs and grasped at the wound on its forearm. Beam continued to glare at it with his single widened eye, stood on his trembling legs.

The creature ran in again in its fury. The first blow came from above, to the right. It wielded its sword with both hands this time, filling it with a tremendous amount of power. Beam was able to follow the blow with his blurry vision, nudging it just enough to the side that he could avoid it without taking a step back. But the Hobgoblin was used to that trick by now.

It swung again, this time in a horizontal slash from the other side, aiming it lower, so that Beam would struggle to get his sword under it to parry.

There, Beam made a bold move – he had to, his body was too exhausted to continue diving around. Since the Hobgoblin went lower, this time he battered the blade downwards, risking losing both his feet should anything go wrong. But there, the length of the greatsword became its weakness, as the tip buried itself into the ground, halting its movements for just a moment.

And then Beam stepped in, slashing it across its torso, putting in enough strength that he hoped to kill it.

But the creature's hide was as thick as ever and his arms were tired. The wound was deep, but it was far from fatal. It roared in pain and punched at him, catching him in the side and sending him sprawling a distance away.

From there, it was allowed a moment to breathe as it dragged its sword free from the soil and regarded the wound on its chest with angry intent.

By now, the onlookers could think of no words to say, for they dared not. They might hope from the wounds that he was inflicting that Beam's chances of victory were growing higher and higher, but they could not cheer his successes too strongly, when they saw the state he was in, half dead already, hardly able to stand on his feet.

Even with the wounds piling up, the Hobgoblin could end it all in a single strike, yet Beam could hardly penetrate its thick hide. As things were now, they were at best evenly matched and at worst embroiled in a long battle that ultimately pointed to the Hobgoblin's victory.

Not only that, the test of the endurance seemed to be strongly weighted in the Hobgoblin's favour. Its only sign of fatigue yet was its heavy breathing. It didn't seem to be suffering from the kind of deep systematic fatigue that Beam had been inflicted with.

Forty-five minutes had now passed in a fight that showed no signs of yet concluding. Beam somehow continued to doggedly escape death each time the Hobgoblin came rushing at him, and the Hobgoblin, for its part, showed no signs of giving up. It was still well fuelled by its rage, and as its saliva dripped from its fangs, it was clear that it wanted nothing more than to tear Beam apart.

A glance at the moon as it went lower in the sky told them that dawn was only growing nearer.

Inside Beam's mind, not a single thought flew. True tiredness wracked his being. His existence now knew only pain and so it no longer fled it. Even the fear that had stuck with him for so long was replaced by an overwhelming tiredness, as his soul drifted into the dark depths. Yet, each time that it sought to pass the barrier that divided life from death, it hit a wall.

A tall wall, that to Beam was more fundamental than life itself.