It felt like Paul’s left shoulder had been hit by a sledgehammer. He flew back, corkscrewing twice in the air as the impact lifted him from his feet, his back slamming against a giant mushroom stem that mercifully broke under the blow.

He gasped, desperately trying to return air to his lungs and attempting to leverage himself to his feet, only to find his left arm unresponsive. He looked up to see the archer loose another arrow, and he frantically rolled along the ground out of its path. It narrowly missed, throwing up chunks of the cavern floor where it landed.

Paul rolled again as more purple motes curved toward him, but most hit, burning divots into his flesh. Cursing, he dropped his spear and grabbed one of his rat claw blades, cutting the straps to his pack. Then, free of its weight, he let the claw go and grabbed his spear again, using a kip up to regain his feet, then immediately hurling himself out of the way of yet another arrow, his [Footwork] allowing him to remain upright.

Paul glanced down at the wound and immediately wished he hadn’t. His shoulder was a ragged mess of flesh and bone. The arrow had punched clean through, and blood ran freely down his chest and back. Adrenaline and [Pain Management] kept the pain manageable. Paul clenched his teeth and focused on [Weak Healing Light] to staunch the bleeding while [Dodge] and [Footwork] allowed him to step around the next arrow.

Vaguely he was aware that the alien with the hatchets on his right had closed much of the distance, so Paul threw himself forward again, left arm dangling uselessly at his side. Paul formed six marbles of shining light in just a handful of strides. He reached for a seventh with his mind, but the chaos and pain frayed at his concentration, and its weave fell apart. He caught sight of the robed spellcaster in front of him, one three-fingered hand weaving purple energies between their fingertips.

Paul didn’t give him time to cast again, whipping all six orbs at the short figure. Then, as the first five streaked in front of them, he pulled at their strands of intent, breaking the perfect sphere of his weave and releasing the energy inside to propel the orbs on a careening, corkscrew path toward their target.

“He’s a mage!” The alien shouted, eyes widening in alarm as they stopped casting and held their staff in front of them, radiating a nimbus of pink energy. Five of Paul’s light orbs smacked against the energy shield, each causing an audible whap and sending fluorescent shockwaves through the ward.

The sixth orb was slower but still intact and gleaming with light. The spellcaster raised their energy shield to block it, but the ball of light never reached the shield’s shimmering surface. Paul overloaded it with intent and closed his eyes.

The orb detonated less than a meter from its target’s face.

There was a sharp report and a flash of light, bright even behind Paul’s closed eyelids. The robed figure screamed, dropping their staff to clutch at their face. At that moment, Paul burst from the mushroom grove and charged the archer. The archer’s bow was already nocked, an arrow pointed at Paul from scant meters away.

Paul was close enough now to see the archer’s eyes, though. The way they shifted their feet, the slight tensing of their upper arms, the slight furrow of their brow. Alien physiology or not, [Combat Flow] did its work, and Paul dropped to his knees as the arrow released. It flew true - directly where his chest had been a moment ago, and instead streaked by a centimeter above Paul’s head.

He stood again, charging the archer, who cursed and dropped their bow, pulling two curved blades with their lower arms, and two long daggers with their upper appendages. Paul leapt at them, spear extended with his one good hand, leading with two small spheres of light.

The archer knocked the spheres away with two of their blades, leaning back from Paul’s thrust, but his spear was a distraction. Midair, Paul materialized a [Weak Shield of Light] under his left foot and pushed off. The drain of intent was immense, leaving him feeling light-headed, but the shield only needed to last one moment. With a grunt, he propelled himself over the archer and toward the robed spellcaster, who still rubbed at their eyes.

Paul stumbled as he landed, his lame arm spoiling his balance, but he managed to regain his footing, wincing as the impact sent a jolt of pain from his shoulder. The spellcaster had one bloodshot eye open now and turned their staff toward Paul. He was still a half-dozen meters away, so Paul adjusted his grip on his spear and threw it like a javelin at point-blank range.

The spellcaster cried out and fell onto their back, spear embedded into their gut. Paul closed the distance to retrieve the spear and finish the robed alien off, but before he could grasp the haft of his spear, he was forced to the side as the archer caught up to him. Backpedaling furiously from the whirlwind of blades, Paul drew one of his clubs, his left arm still useless at his side.

He continued to give ground, retreating from the four-armed warrior. Their long arms and multiple weapons made trying to block a losing proposition for Paul. Twice he tried to parry one of their blades with his club to try and create an opening, but each time he was forced back by the others, receiving long cuts along his arm and side, despite the thick buckskins he wore.

He panted, slinging orbs of light sporadically at his assailant, but at this close range, they had no time to gain momentum, and casting a [Concussive Orb of Light] was likely to be nearly as disorienting for him as it was for his opponent. Paul felt light-headed from his injuries, and fending off the attack had undone some of the work of his [Weak Healing Light]. Paul felt blood trickle from his shoulder again.

As he fell back from the onslaught, he heard the spellcaster cry out for aid while grasping Paul’s spear embedded in his stomach. “Mertar! I need healing!”

Further back, he saw the short one with hatchets rush from the mushroom glade toward his battle, their stubby legs carrying them impossibly fast, their voice still raised in a strange, alien song that his system didn’t - or couldn’t - translate.

Time is not on my side. This is going to hurt.

Paul grimaced, using [Footwork] to bring him closer to his attacker instead of away from their blades. He flickered a [Weak Shield of Light] at his side, deflecting the sword and dagger on his lamed left side, and knocked the dagger on the right aside with his jawbone war club. He had no answer for the last blade, and it sliced deeply along his ribs, forcing a wordless cry of pain from Paul’s throat.

He was inside the blade’s reach now, though, and before his opponent could adjust, Paul reversed the swing of his club to bring it crashing across his body onto the elbow of the archer’s upper right arm. He felt and heard the crunch of cartilage and bone as he bent under their lower arm, and the blade the upper arm carried fell to the ground.

He summoned his [Weak Shield of Light] directly behind his head, and not a moment too soon, his opponent’s right dagger and blade slamming into it. Pain spiked in Paul’s head with the effort to maintain the shield under the blows, and it sputtered beneath the assault.

He was close to his enemy now, though, and while they were not nearly as tall as a Mantis Troll, their lanky proportions were similar enough. Now at the archer’s side, Paul pivoted around their back, swinging his club at the side of their knee. He missed, his enemy drawing their leg back at the last moment and turning their body to face him.

Paul pivoted back to back with the alien for a brief moment before completing his rotation to their other side, then swung his club along his flank to shatter its shinbone.

Their wail of pain hurt Paul’s ears, and they collapsed to one leg. Paul shot two orbs of light toward their eyes. Swatting the marbles of light out of the air left their center exposed, and Paul brought his warclub up in an ascending arc that terminated with his opponent’s jaw.

The alien collapsed bonelessly, and Paul turned to run again.

Ranged attackers down, I should be able to make it to the caves.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. The short, singing alien with hatchets had flanked him as he fought the tall one, and now sped toward him, less than 20 meters away. Paul pumped his legs, willing them to move faster, but the singer's timbre changed, and then, impossibly, the singer had traversed the distance between them more quickly than Paul’s eyes could track. They collided with him, knocking Paul from his feet for a second time. It felt like being charged by a Cave Muskox. No cave mushroom cushioned his fall this time, and his skull cracked painfully against the rocky floor, his teeth snapping shut on his tongue.

Paul blinked, dark spots marring his vision, his mouth filling with blood. He staggered to his feet, swaying and half-heartedly spitting blood, most of it winding up on his chin instead of the cave floor.

The singer stalked toward him, twirling their axes as they approached, never ceasing their strange, disturbing melody. Paul grasped for his club, but the impact knocked it from his hand. He reached across his body for its twin, but his fingers were slick with blood, and he fumbled with its straps.

The singer was close now, and Paul gave up on his clubs, instead pulling a bone shiv from his vest and crouching low in a fighting stance. He tried to form his spheres of light, but his thoughts were muddied and slow, the focus he needed to form their complex weaves tantalizingly out of reach.

An axe swung at his head. Paul ducked, realizing too late that it was a feint, the second hatchet biting into his thigh. He stumbled back, leg protesting.

The singer stepped in with their hatchets again, but this time Paul could step out of their reach, then lunge toward his new attacker, forcing them to give ground.

You can do this, Paul.

The thought died as soon as it entered his mind. Behind the singer, the insectoid creature had reached the spellcaster and removed the spear. One of its pincered appendages rested on the spellcaster’s chest, pulsating green energy permeating their body. To his horror, the spellcaster rose to their feet, glaring at Paul and summoning purple energies to their hands again.

The distraction cost Paul, and he frantically backpedaled away from the singer’s hatchets. One caught his lame arm, biting deep. He screamed as the metal blade rasped across his humerus.

A beam of purple leaped from the spellcaster’s staff. Violet energies surrounded his limbs, miring his movement, and Paul knew he had lost.