To put it simply, the victory was short-lived.
Three imps, their skin a sickly, bruised green compared to the first one's purple hue, scrambled inside.
"You've got to be kidding me…"
Seven's face contorted. Every time his lungs expanded, the jagged hemlock branch shifted, scraping against his ribs, then suddenly more imps appeared?
"Kikiki."
The three imps stopped as their yellow eyes fixed on their fallen kin whose head was cracked against a support beam, then snapped toward Seven.
Truth be told, Seven didn't have the strength to stand. His legs felt like lead, and the world was beginning to tilt, which clearly was a side effect of the blood pooling beneath him.
But situations such as this one really are the most perfect example for the word 'adrenaline rush,' isn't it?
In this moment, his thoughts were filled with nothing but a human's instinct (primal instinct) to survive, and it overrode the clouding fog in his mind.
"Kiki!"
The first imp leaped forward.
He reached for the rough cedar wood supply box behind his head and pulled with all his remaining might, a cascade of gears and scraps, hammers and nails.
The leaping imp was buried under a pile of metal and pinned under the cedar wood supply box, its bones snapping with a sound like dry kindling.
The other two hissed, momentarily startled by the noise.
"Kiiii…!"
Seven used that second to scramble backward, dragging his body over the dirt toward the back of the tent where more of the heavy supply crates were stacked high.
To put it simply, he needed a bottleneck.
In the open, they would tear him apart. In the narrow gaps between the crates, they could only come at him one at a time.
"Come on then, shitheads. I'm not... done yet."
He grit his teeth.
"Ki!"
The second imp dashed forward, and it was faster! It bypassed the fallen crates and vaulted over another, its jagged stone dagger aiming for Seven's neck.
Seven raised the lid of the crate to block the attack, and the jagged stone dagger bit deep into the cedar, stuck for a fraction of a second.
It was the only opening he needed. Seven slammed his forehead into the imp's face.
Whack!
The impact sent white spots dancing across his vision, but the imp's nose exploded in a spray of blackish blood.
As the imp recoiled, he took possession of the jagged stone dagger and drove the blunt end into the imp's chest.
"Damn it, it's shallow."
He didn't have the remaining strength to kill it outright.
"Kikiuh…"
The imp fell back, gasping, which also fell down right after as its own weapon was used to pierce its heart, but the third one was already upon him.
This one didn't have a weapon. It was more like a feral thing and was driven by hunger, latching onto Seven's shoulder and its teeth sank deep into his flesh.
"Ahhhh!"
Seven screamed in agony, a sound that didn't feel like his own but resembled the shriek of the imps.
Thus, he grabbed the imp's head with his fingers digging into its eye sockets and slammed its skull repeatedly against the corner of a heavy cedar crate.
Thud, thud, thud!
The imp went limp, its jaw unhinging as it slid down his arm, leaving behind a gruesome bleeding bite mark.
Cough!
Seven slumped against the crates, his vision darkening at the edges.
His polo long sleeve was no longer white; it was a deep, morbid red.
Pain.
He was experiencing pain everywhere in his body, especially within the branch in his chest that felt like it was glowing, like a pillar of fire that consumed his every thought.
"Kikiki!"
"Kikiki!"
Outside, the shrieks grew louder. More were coming.
He could hear the imps tearing at the canvas of the tent, their claws shredding the heavy fabric as they realized their prey was trapped inside, but dumb enough not to realize there was an entrance.
"Is this it?"
The adrenaline rush was over, and he couldn't deny the fact that, if one more imp appeared, it would no doubt be his end.
"The 'Seven Hart' of the novel died to an assassin. Am I really going to die from a pack of vermin?"
He looked at the fallen imps, in total there were four.
That alone was an impressive feat for someone whose only similar experience was killing goblins in a computer game, and these imps behaved like those dumb creatures.
Cough!
"No."
He wouldn't be a genius if he allowed himself to be just to be eaten by mere mindless monsters.
"If I am going to die, then I would make this tent a tomb for every single one of them."
He fumbled with a small pouch in his pocket, something he had grabbed from ravaging supplies earlier while fighting.
It was a flask of oil used for maintaining armor.
With trembling hands, he uncorked it and poured the slick fluid over the crates and the bodies of stupid imps scattered on the ground— at least, in this world, monster's blood is flammable.
"Kikiki!"
An imp's head finally poked through a tear in the tent's side, followed by another, then another. Five... six... seven yellow eyes peered through the canvas.
He hastily pulled a flint and steel from the shelf beside him, his hands were slick with blood, making the metal a little slippery.
"Die, you dipshits.
The imps sensed the danger. They shrieked and rushed forward in a wave of purple and green flesh.
Clack!
Luck seemed to be in his favor as it ignited with just one attempt. A spark flew, landing on the oil-soaked blood.
SWOOSH!
Fire.
The tent erupted in a wall of orange flame, despite the slow falling of snowflakes above. The dry canvas and oiled wood caught instantly, creating a barrier of heat that sent the lead imps recoiling with high-pitched screams of pain.
He crawled deeper into the corner, behind a heavy iron shell that offered a small shield from the heat. The smoke was thick and black, filling his lungs and making his head spin.
He saw the imps scrambling to escape the inferno they had so eagerly entered. Some were caught in the blaze, becoming living torches that flailed blindly before collapsing.
The heat was unbearable.
He felt his skin blistering, the pain of the fire competing with the agony of the arrow. He closed his eyes, his hand still clutching the hilt of the broken wooden sword.
But, little did he expect…
"Ku… kuku…!"
Amidst the fire, a silhouette began to emerge, a hulking one nearly seven feet tall.
"Human. Pitiful. Dare… do this. Broth- ers? You... die... slow."
It didn't scurry like the others; it didn't shriek in terror as its skin blistered. It moved with a slow, rhythmic thud that shook the very ground Seven lay upon.
A Greater Imp.
In the sea of rotting yellow teeth, a single gold incisor glinted in the firelight. The monster was casually chewing on a splintered tree branch, rolling it around its mouth like a toothpick.
Seven looked up, clearly giving up.
"Fudge me sideways with a rusted pole, I'm done."