"Kikiki!" the imp shrieked.
The arrow throbbed in rhythm with Seven's heartbeat, a jagged branch of hemlock that felt like a red-hot poker wedged between his ribs.
Cough!
He coughed a frothy red blood mixed with saliva.
"You've got to be kidding me."
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wooden practice sword.
In the novel, Seven Hart was supposed to die by the hands of a professional killer— be it the knight commander or an assassin, it wasn't revealed.
To be taken down by a stray, bottom-feeding scavenger while the rest of the world was off fighting a real war on a real battlefield was a pathetic twist of fate he did not account for.
However, the imp didn't give him time to contemplate the irony.
"Kikiki!"
With an ugly screech, the imp notched another crude arrow. Its movements were twitchy and erratic but there was a terrifying speed to its spindly limbs.
"This is bad!"
Seven didn't wait, knowing his body was already entering shock; if he stayed still, his muscles would seize, and he would become a target for practice.
He dived to the side, throwing himself into the nearest tent.
Thwack!
The second arrow hissed through the air, narrowly missing his shoulder and hit the snow behind him.
He tumbled over a stack of empty crates.
The interior of the tent was a maze of wooden shelves and heavy supply boxes, a storage area in simple terms.
"It hurts like fudge, damn it."
The arrow in his chest shifted with the fall, grinding against bone and sending a fresh wave of hot agony through his nervous system.
He wanted to die in this exact moment, as again, he had always hated pain— but the imp seemed like it wouldn't grant him a painless death.
"Ugh…"
He pressed his back against a cold wooden shelf and looked at the wooden sword in his hand.
It was blunt, meant for teaching kids like him how to parry, not for slaying monsters. But right now, it was his only lifeline.
Rustle, rustle!
The tent flap rustled as a small, mottled purple hand gripped the canvas. It was the imp, and it finally stepped inside! Its yellow eyes scanned the proximity, clicking its teeth in a rhythmic tak-tak-tak sound.
Tak-tak-tak!
Seven stayed low, his heart thumped against his ribs so loudly he feared the creature would hear it. He reached out, his fingers brushing against a loose stone on the ground.
The imp had the range, but its physical stature was weak, so he needed to get close.
He threw the stone toward the far corner of the tent. It clattered against a stack of wooden crates.
Wham!
The imp turned around, its bow raised its bow towards the sound, exposing its rough back; Seven took the chance without a shred of hesitation.
He ignored the pain in his torso, his boots skidding on the snowy ground as he charged from behind the shelf. The distance was barely five paces, but it felt like a marathon.
The imp, panicked by the sudden aggression, dropped its bow and reached for a jagged shard of stone tucked into its belt.
"Kiki?!"
But it was too late for a clean shot.
Seven swung the wooden sword in a desperate horizontal arc.
Clank!
The oak struck the imp's shoulder, sending it sprawling into a shelf of leather armor.
The impact caused the shelf to groan and tilt, spilling straps and buckles over the flailing monster.
But Seven was weak, the blow lacked the lethality it needed!
"Damn it!"
The imp rolled, popping back onto its feet, the jagged shard of stone glinted in the dim light filtering through the canvas.
"Kiki!"
It dashed forward, its small body becoming a blur.
Seven raised his arm instinctively. The jagged shard of stone acted like a dull dagger, and it sliced through his sleeve, carving a shallow red line across his forearm.
"Is that... all you've got?"
He caught the imp's wrist and hurled it away, using all his force. He couldn't win a prolonged fight. He was losing too much blood from his torso alone, the dirt floor beneath him was turning into a dark red.
"Ki…"
Barely taking damage, the imp circled him, chattering and clicking, it knew it had an advantage. Truth is, it was waiting for his knees to buckle.
Cough, cough!
Seven coughed, leaning heavily against a large crate and purposely letting his head droop.
He allowed his breathing to become even more labored, projecting the image of a man on the verge of collapse and let the wooden sword tip touch the ground, looking like he no longer had the strength to lift it.
The imp took the bait.
"Kikiki!"
It let out a triumphant shriek and leaped, aiming for Seven's throat with its jagged stone dagger.
In that split second, the slumping Seven vanished. Instead, he was now grinning as he ducked low, using the crate as a pivot.
"Caught you, shithead."
As the imp soared through the air, he swung the wooden sword upward with a two-handed grip, putting every ounce of his weight and his burning spite (motivation) into the strike.
Thud!
The strike caught the imp squarely in the throat, pinning it against the very shelves it had tried to hide behind.
"Krkrkrh…"
The imp's screech was cut short, replaced by a pathetic gurgle as his cartilage was heavily damaged.
But he still didn't stop.
"Die."
He pressed his weight into the wood, shoving the imp back until its head cracked against a support beam.
Finally, the yellow light in its eyes flickered and died.
Cough!
He collapsed against the crates, the wooden sword falling from his nerveless fingers. He lay there, his head resting against the rough cedar wood of a supply box.
The cold air outside whistled through the tent's opening, but the silence inside was absolute.
"I survived..."
His fingers trembled as it hovered over the branch sticking out of his chest. Then, a delirious and exhausted laugh bubbled up in his throat.
"Stupid imp. I'm not dying in a tent full of stupid boxes."
But, in that same moment…
"Kikiki!"
"Kikiki!"
A chorus of high-pitched shrieks erupted outside.