The dragon emerged from the cave.

Kaladar was almost twice the size of Melios. The height of his shoulders exceeded Apexus’ head by a meter. Although long, the neck of the dragon was proportionally less than that of his blue kin. Same went for his other limbs, all of them shorter and girthier, except for his tail and wings. The definition of his muscles was apparent underneath the dull red scales that covered him, caked in blood, mud and grime. Fleshy pink lines ran criss-cross all over him, marks from claws, teeth, swords, axes, and all manner of weapons. Even the wine-red membrane of his wings was marked by knots of lighter flesh.

A particularly large scar marked the area around his eyes. Arcane energy had scoured off all the scales in the area and only small ones had regrown in their place, giving the area around his black eyes an appearance like intricately designed warpaint. Both of his horns were in the process of regrowing. A recent wound crossed the dark grey belly of the beast.

None of the injuries, old or current, inhibited Kaladar as he stepped forwards. Casually, he crushed a tent placed on the meandering road under his black-clawed foot. The circle around the quartet did not open, instead growing even tighter. With his height, Kaladar easily looked down upon the newcomers.

As if uninterested, the scarred red dragon blew flames out of his mud-crusted nostrils. “You are supposed to join my warband?” the dragon asked, his voice like an angry torrent of rocks rolling down a hill. “You’re children of civilization, clean and spoiled. Best you could be used for is to breed me a next generation of fighters. Especially you,” Kaladar looked at Korith. “The only useful part of you is that you’re too short to run away from whichever of my men claims you as slave.”

“I wouldn’t like it if you tried…” Korith squealed and everyone in the ring laughed. The will to advance became a little stronger and many in the pack reached for their weapons.

Reysha softly kicked Korith’s ankle and whispered, “Don’t let them fuck with you. Challenge someone.”

“I-I mean…” Korith gulped when her stammer caused several individuals to take half a step forwards. “I’d… uhm…” Another half step. With the training of a Monk, Apexus dragged his savage instincts to the forefront and growled. That kept everyone at bay and gave the kobold the moment she needed to gather herself. “You can’t have me as slave because I… already belong to Apexus!” she declared and immediately added something to play over her red face. “If you try, I’ll break… something of you!”

“HAH!” Kaladar shouted, amused, and grabbed one of the largest men around. “You, make her succumb. Her body will be all yours if you win.” With those words, the dragon tossed the man towards the inside of the ring.

The marauder had light red skin and was half-naked, despite the weather. Taller even than Apexus, the giant caught himself effortlessly and immediately charged at the quartet. His eyes betrayed the bloodshot rage of a Berserker. He howled with whipped up fury. Everyone was spoiling for a fight and the promise of a slave was always worth it. Only that which was guarded by Kaladar’s authority was safe in this camp. An attractive female slave with that guarantee, that was entertainment for a (short) lifetime.

Apexus exchanged a glance with Korith. Nodding with confidence, the kobold stepped forwards. Words she often stumbled over, but combat she understood, and for rapists/enslavers, she had no pity.

Frothing like a rabid dog, the Berserker closed the distance. At the final few steps, he ripped a crudely crafted stone knife out of his belt. Savagely, he stabbed down at the kobold with all his rage, his lust, and his weight.

Against an opponent this large, Korith’s size was a boon. Their height difference was so enormous that the Berserker had to bow down to take a proper stab at her, ruining his balance and encumbering his attack. A different weapon, like a spear, could have eliminated that advantage. It would have also changed Korith’s response to the charge.

Trusting in her plate armour, the kobold dug her heels in and put her left shoulder in the path of the attack. Sparks flung when the knife scratched over the protective steel. The curvature of the plate made the edge slide along. Between the sturdiness and the failure of the weapon to find purchase, penetration was warded off. The Berserker practically stumbled over Korith, wide open.

Immediately, the short Warrior tightened the grip on her warhammer and swung. Right to left, the weapon described a wide arch until the head crashed into the widely exposed upper thigh of the marauder. The attack landed right below the hip, where the muscles were the thinnest. A terrible scream of rage and pain accompanied the shattering of the bone.

The Berserker collapsed forwards, partly by design, attempting to bury the smaller woman underneath him. A reinforced jump upwards, and the top of Korith’s head collided with the Berserker’s chin. Like his thigh, the Berserker’s jaw was shattered on impact, the bones of the kobold thicker and naturally strengthened by their high iron content. Further, although the assailant was twice the size of the shortstack, their weight difference was less than twenty kilos. Due to this, the force behind the impact was enough to reverse the large man’s momentum. He toppled over backwards and lay there, on the border of passing out.

Externally, the damage sustained did not look that bad. Most cuts would have been preferable to what had happened though. Without the help of magic or very attentive medical care, the Berserker would hobble for the rest of his life, lose several teeth, and probably develop some kind of speech impediment. Blunt trauma was not as outwardly bloody and yet every bit as destructive.

The Berserker roared, letting rage drag him back to consciousness. All of the pain added further wrath. Once on his feet, it was apparent that his left leg did not properly carry his weight. Raw anger let him sustain the decision, poor as it was, to storm at Korith again. It was a sloppy and improperly aimed attack. The kobold could have dodged it in any direction – including forwards.

As they said, the best defence is a good offence. Scaled fist clenched, the kobold brought her fist forwards. The powerful, tiny knuckles were aimed at what was in front of her. They collided with the only squishy part in the area.

A sound that would befit a dying toad pressed out of the bandit’s throat. Pain strong enough to snap him out of his rage made his injured leg give in. The Berserker collapsed fully. Like a salted snail, he curled up. Bloody spit drooled into the moist dirt.

“Knew ya had it in ya,” Reysha declared proudly.

“I told you I can fight,” Korith sulked and took two steps back. She left behind a man whose hope of procreation had gone from ‘breed the sex slave tonight’ to ‘currently dying of internal bleeding’ in the matter of a minute.

“And I thought you lot could be motivated by a breeding slave,” Kaladar growled at his men. “Get that disgrace out of our battlefield.” Two of the bandits rushed forwards to drag the Berserker away.

“Why would we be motivated by the tiny thing when there’s two grown women there?!” someone in the crowd shouted.

Kaladar chuckled and let his forked tongue dart out for a moment, tasting the lust for blood and women in the air. “You keep who you earn,” the red dragon told them. “Go ahead then, Elryn.”

Elryn stepped out from the crowd, an elf with black hair. Half of his face was covered in burn scars, the ear of that side practically gone. He was among the shorter and slender members of the bandits. Carrying himself with experience, he drew two rapiers and locked eyes with Apexus. “I get to have all your women if I just kill you.”

For several seconds, Apexus considered that statement. Should he dismantle it on the factual basis that Reysha would stab him in his sleep even if he succeeded or intimidate his opponent? Calmly, he stared back at the scarred elf.

“You a retard?” Elryn asked mockingly.

‘Don’t do what would make you similar to what you detest,’ Apexus recalled one of Maltos’ many lessons. Without saying a word, he placed a quick kiss on Aclysia’s head, before taking his arm off her and stepping forwards. Two steps, he got to take, before Elryn rushed at him.

Air rushed down Apexus’ throat, to be pressed out again swiftly. It was as deep a breath as he could take. Focusing on his centre, he assumed a simple stance. His left hand was raised, the palm revealed, his left foot forwards and his knees bent.

Like the projectile of a Thornspitter, the tip of the first rapier closed in on his chest at a rapid speed. Deep trust in his senses harmonized with the tranquillity of his mind. With total clarity and purpose, the humanoid slime swayed softly to the right and then steered back. Fast as the rapier was, it was also light, and the back of his hand was enough to swat it aside.

The second rapier was fast approaching, aimed at a lower angle at Apexus’ exposed ribcage. An injury would have been no issue physically. Like usual, it was best avoided with witnesses around. The voice of one of the instructors of the morning routine echoed in the humanoid chimera’s head. ‘Always be aware that choosing the fist as your weapon puts you at an inherent disadvantage in terms of reach. Always be aware that this adversity puts you at the advantage that you must understand the paths of attack viable to your opponents. Your will and wisdom must be as sharp as their iron weapons.’

The rapier was turned to slide between Apexus’ ribs. A sure way to kill someone and an opportunity for the slime. Using the momentum of his previous parry, he brought his right leg up and right elbow down. The scavenged blade was caught between the points of his bones almost simultaneously. Hard and sudden, the impact snapped the weapon in half. Apexus felt the pricking of the tip, before gravity claimed it. ‘Imperfect execution,’ he chastised himself.

There was no time to dwell on it. Using his fluidity to the maximum, Apexus brought his lower leg up. Elryn hadn’t yet completely comprehended how thoroughly he had been countered, but years of life-threatening encounters had honed his instincts. Hastily, he stepped back. The ascending foot missed him by a considerable amount, yet there was no opening.

Apexus brought the foot back down in a powerful stomp. No one would have dared to get in the range of that and it built up the momentum to throw a punch right after it. The wide attack again missed by a considerable margin and again Elryn had no opportunity to retaliate, as the punch whirled into a sweeping kick.

Elryn jumped back to escape, robbing him of the final counter-attack opportunity. The flurry of motions was over, Apexus assumed his stance, and Elryn gathered his composure. They were in the starting position again, only that the marauder was half a blade shorter and driven close to the edge of their impromptu arena. He took half a step further back to get better footing.

A fatal mistake.

“You’re not running, ey, favourite?” one of the other bandits mocked and shoved his ‘comrade’ forwards.

Elryn had just enough time to glare hatefully at the woman. Then he dove to the side to escape the attack he knew was coming. The draft of Apexus’ fist brushed over the numb scar tissue. Elryn rolled through the mud, trying to get out of prone as swiftly as possible, but the novice monk delivered a low backwards kick straight to his leg. It hurt and kept the elf in the sludge of the camp’s ground.

All the marauder could do was to raise his intact rapier and aim the tip at the giant man now looming above him. Like a scorpion presenting its stinger, that simple threat made it near impossible to commit. Apexus kept his distance and walked around the target. The blade kept pointing at him, until the nature of the shoulder joint and field of view made it awkward to continue to do so. Elryn knew his situation and tried to jump to his feet, and out of harm’s way, immediately.

From his prone position, he was simply too slow. Apexus caught him by the shoulder and swiftly tossed him face-first into the dirt. The moment of vulnerability was all that he needed to place his foot on the man’s back and press him into the mud.

Impotently, Elryn tried to stab at Apexus. When the awkward angle made that an impossibility, he tried to kick at the slime’s backfoot. That only achieved more weight on his lower spine. He tried to push his way out with brute force. He even let go of his rapiers to try and build up more force. The mud slipped away under his palms. Even hard stone ground would not let him press against the weight on his back.

Apexus watched the struggle coolly. Like the tuna, the elf tired out eventually. At that point, the novice monk just grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him away from the weapons. “My women,” the humanoid slime said, once he had pulled Elryn all the way to Kaladar. He dropped the man’s leg and waited for a response.

The red dragon amusedly blew fire out of his crusted nostrils. “I’m not testing you lot. Besides, Elryn can still fight.”

Tiredly, the elf attempted to push himself up. Seething anger burned in his bloodshot eyes. Surrender was not an option to him, the hierarchy of the camp wouldn’t allow it.

Apexus put a foot on the shoulder of the man and considered what to do. Then he bowed down, grabbed the lower right arm of the man, his main hand, and placed his foot between his grips. All around, the bandits went wide-eyed. It wasn’t the tortured screams of Elryn that shocked them, nor the snapping sound when both bones inevitably broke, but the sheer dispassion the mud-covered man displayed as he did so.

The bandits understood revenge and sadism, the glee in proving physical superiority on someone. Malevolent as they were, they had their reasons for violence. The apparent lack of intent beyond the necessity to assure victory unnerved them. Especially because what Apexus had just done, to snap Elryn’s arm like that, was more cruel than death. The unnaturally bent limb would not heal properly, not without the kind of medical assistance they did not have out there.

“He can’t fight anymore,” the humanoid chimera said.

Through the fog of pain, the marauder was aware of the full truth of that. “Kill me, you bastard,” he growled. “KILL ME!”

Apexus did not care to even look down, continuing to look at the dragon. Kaladar lowered his head, pulling his lips back. Rows of jagged teeth showed. The larger they were, the yellower their colour. The smallest ones, in the beginning stages of regrowing, were almost white. “Why do you not kill him?”

“I do not feel like it,” the slime responded truthfully and raised an eyebrow when the confession of his internal turmoil caused the red dragon to roar with laughter. Stinking hot breath filled the air, while Kaladar pulled his head back.

“He does not feel like it! Elryn isn’t even worth killing!” Kaladar roared with glee and brought his claw down on the crippled elf. The previous snap was nothing compared to the sound of the marauder’s ribcage being crushed. Blood filled the man’s lungs, who managed to show the slightest hint of a mad smile while the red dragon raised him to his mouth. In two bites, the dragon devoured Elryn. “Good enough to eat,” the scarred serpent said, intestines between his teeth.

Blood and gore sputtered down on Apexus. Retaining his cool exterior, the slime stared at the sanguine that mixed with the mud in his palm. ‘Why?’ he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t naïve enough anymore to expect an answer that would satisfy. Instead, a different thought surfaced.

Kaladar truly deserved death.