CHAPTER EIGHT #2
She skidded to a stop, scanning the arena to find the trumpet’s origin.
A haunting, deep chorus harmonized and echoed over the chaos as the audience members fled the stands. Many of the Wood Elves drew their weapons out.
“The goblins of Kriqir,” Roden growled a few paces behind her.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Their theme song is playing.”
Great. A surprise attack.
Look, a little action sequence never hurt anyone. You were wallowing in too much self-pity. We need to keep the readers interested.
“Everyone, get ready for anything.” Gair pulled a bow and arrow from his quiver with a swish of his cape and strung it.
The Wood Elves rushed to form rings around Faylorn, Gair, Polo, and Roden. They shouted over one another in Elvish, their armor clanking as they raised various golden shields and swords. The formation created multi-layered a multi-layered defense wall throughout the arena floor.
Em was the only exposed character.
“Em!” Gair called. “Get to safety! Quickly!”
“Why can’t we just escape like the rest of the crowds?” she protested. Her stomach churned at the idea of fighting something as gruesome as goblins, no matter how cliché the little shitheads were. “There are plenty of exits! If we go now, nobody dies or knows how to track us.”
“We don’t have the time!” Gair shouted.
Uh, yeah, we do. They aren’t even here yet. Em wasn’t even sure what she was doing, hesitating to get into the safety of the Elves’ defense. Somehow, she just knew if she got close to her companions, one of the unnamed elves would be killed. After all, it was the stereotypical thing to happen.
Drums pounded in time with distant stomping feet, announcing the impending doom of the thousands of goblins marching toward Yarros Arena.
She couldn’t stand there forever, though.
Shit shit shit. This wasn’t something Em had ever really considered: this shitty plotline would result in people dying.
Her home in Adventuras Island was safe, and she had never experienced death first-hand.
Now, in this trope-filled quest, the people around her were in danger.
No doubt, these were Kriqir the Living’s armies coming to hunt her now that she was recognized as the Chosen One officially.
Em screamed in frustration towards the skies, hoping her Great Author knew how she felt about this scene, before she dove into the circle of Elves.
“I thought you were going to die.” Gair scooped her into a hug, breathing heavy.
“I’m a Main Character, I can’t die.” She shoved him off herself.
“Don’t be so sure,” Roden growled close by.
A scream cut the silence, sending her pulse into a storm.
Em looked up in time to see dark, ragged, and wrinkly goblins racing into Yarros with shrieks. They raised curved, rusted blades and charged the elves from across the arena.
Weapons rammed into each other. Metal screeching between slashing flesh and cries of agony. Goblin bodies were thrown, limbs twisted, and eyes spiritless. Black blood pooled into the sand at Em’s feet.
The stench of innards dug into her nostrils, clawing into her throat and filling her stomach with nauseating bile. She gulped and braced herself, fighting to ignore her boiling stomach.
A battle. A real war.
And she was about to be engulfed within it.
Have fun!
Past the screams, shredding flesh, and moist splatters, Em shut her eyes, trying to imagine herself somewhere else. She wanted to smell home, but the goblin reek curdled her empty stomach. Even her own humming wouldn’t block out the lashes and gory sounds of war.
Normally, the Main Character proved their worth during stereotypical surprise attacks, discovering their own strength or abilities as they fought the enemies. But she didn’t even want to try; this was too much chaos and gore for her to handle.
“Gair,” she whimpered, swaying. Her joints weakened with every ill passing second. Nothing, not even basic gravity, felt sturdy. “Get me out of here.”
“Em?” His hand on her shoulder filled her woozy head with a spark of comfort.
“I can’t do this.”
“You’re the Chosen One. You were born for this,” he said.
“I’m literally going to barf on you.” She gagged, her throat thickening.
“Just breathe through your mouth, then you won’t smell it.”
“I can’t even look at it!” Agonizing cramps chewed into her sides as Em’s gut filled with air like a balloon, ready to heave.
“But Chosen Ones are always able to fight,” Gair protested.
“Shut the hell up and get me out of here!” Em screamed. The constant grossness of everything around her overwhelmed her senses. A splatter of black goblin guts shot across the arena, flicking against her face. Em shrieked, wringing her hands, and proceeded to dry heave.
“GAIR!”
“Okay, okay…” but he continued to fend the snarling, wrinkled goblins off, ignoring her.
Em risked opening her eyes to survey the upper arches of Yarros, high and away from the wars. If I climb into the stands, I’ll be able to breathe real air.
She yanked on the straps of her armor and pulled the buckles off, stripping down to nothing but the white chemise beneath her velvet tunic. The sun, spewing goblin blood, and sand were warm against her skin. The rotten air was beginning to leave a foul taste in her mouth.
“What are you doing?” Gair exclaimed.
“She’s gonna save us all!” Polo cheered. “She’s got some secretive, grand Chosen One plan up her bell-sleeves! And if the way she threw herself on top of Roden during that duel is anything to go by, she’s very committed to hands-on heroics.”
Em shot Gair a final glare. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”
Ignoring everyone’s protests, Em ran, dodging clumsy, gargling goblins. She fixated on the stands, holding the hemline of her chemise out of tripping range.
Pools of bloody gunk seeped into the arena sand, soaking into her boots and squelching with each stride. She gagged, stars flashing across her vision.
Limbs flew by. Corpses collapsed around her, and the stench of goblin guts choked her, but she kept pushing forward. Her lungs screamed for air past her panic.
Despite cutting across the wide open, none of the goblins chased her.
Figures.
Naturally, a Main Character never died in their first ambush, unless this cliché quest somehow took on a major plot twist. She’d almost forgotten about the wonderful, yet stereotypical concept of Plot Armor.
Em was more afraid of the dead goblins than the living ones. Their gnarled, limp bodies lay strewn about the arena, guts and blood pouring out of stab wounds.
Roden caught up, running beside her and swinging his sword at any goblins pouncing at him. “What are you doing?” he asked as they jogged into the upper stands. “Are you crazy, princess?”
“I need to get the hell away.” Em gasped, struggling to speak past the cramp in her side and the thick, reeking air. “Or I will get sick.”
“Right, damsel in distress.” Roden kicked a goblin as it jumped at them. It fell down the stairs with a hiccupped squeal. Blood flicked out of its mouth and nose as its bones crunched with each limp bounce against the stairs, staining everything.
“More like a stomach in distress.” Em heaved again.
“I’ve got your back, princess.” Roden raised his sword, facing a wave of goblins crawling, their yellow fangs dripping in saliva.
Em shuddered and forced her weak legs to keep running.
When she finally reached the upper balconies and marble archways, she shut her eyes.
Fresh, earthen air filled her lungs, tinged with the scent of hay.
She ached for home. Wind whistled by, drowning out the nasty sounds below, and stole tears from her eyes.
She could almost hear the huff of Dad’s camels and Mom’s laugh in the kitchen.
Something brushed her shoulder. Em jolted.
A bruised, bloodied Gair frowned at her.
“How did you get up here so fast?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry.” Her ex-best rubbed at the silvery scales on his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t realize you couldn’t stomach the sight of blood.”
“It’s not the blood.” Em lied, avoiding his eyes, her cheeks warming. “I didn’t expect it to… sound so… horrible.”
“Sanderson’s School for Main Characters needs a better battle-prep course,” Gair nodded with a smirk. He held out his hands, dripping in thick webs of mysterious brownish goo that she was too afraid to glance at. “None of our classes there really prepared us for any of this.”
“Agreed.”
“I guess everyone just assumed a Chosen One with a magical sword would be ready for anything.” Gair blushed. “To be honest, so did I.”
“Think again.”
Em risked a peek at the Yarros Arena meters below her, speckled in crumpled goblin bodies that were mostly strewn into multiple pieces. Nothing moved in the arena below except the Wood Elves and her companions.
She frowned. “It’s over already?”
“Yeah,” Gair said. “These kinds of attacks usually take about fifteen minutes or so. Convenient if you ever wanted to reenact it for a book or stage play.”
“That’s a fucking joke, right?” Em surveyed his face for a grin.
“No?” Gair cocked his head.
Figures.
Hey, any longer and it would get boring for our readers.
“Faylorn and I had at least ten goblins attacking us each. The more we fought, the more kept coming,” Gair bragged. “Midnight’s a handy fighter, too.”
“Who’s Midnight?”
“Roden Trislee’s wolf,” he explained. “And Polo Took-Took was pretty handy with his walking stick. I think he’s getting the hang of this adventure thing.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t use a damn frying pan,” Em muttered.
A relieving silence swept across Yarros, the lack of soundtrack or screaming monsters soothing her churning stomach.
She followed Gair as they wove their way back down into the arena pit to join the others. Em took care to side-step any piles of oozing innards or slashed goblin corpses, hiking her hemline over her knees. Her boots still squelched with bloody mess when she’d fled.
I’m never wearing these things again.
They crossed paths with Roden. The half-elf leaned on the stone seats, sweating and panting for air. He didn’t even have a scratch.
“You okay, princess?” Roden asked.
Em shrugged. “Well, I somehow managed to not throw up.”
Gair laughed like she made the most hilarious joke in the world.
Roden rolled his violet eyes, wiping gunk off his face. “You need some training. Especially if you’re hoping to defeat Brolzross the Nocturnal.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“If you’re not happy with her choices, Prince Trislee, then you shouldn’t have surrendered your title as the Chosen One after the Heir Trials.” Gair’s tone darkened,
Roden growled, his eyes narrowing. He sized his broad chest up against Gair’s lean body. “Believing in the prophecy doesn’t mean I agree with everything Em prefers to take place.”
Does he know? Em surveyed his iridescent eyes for any clue, her heart fluttering under their sharp intensity. But if Roden knew she intended to ruin both the shitty plot and its damn prophecy, she couldn’t tell.