A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The monster general clacked its beak together in frustration, trying to reinstil his troops with the same kind of orderliness that they'd had before, but the Gorebeasts would no longer listen.

They'd scarpered a short distance away – their eyes were still on the battlefield, as they opportunistically searched for a moment to attack, but they certainly weren't willing to stand directly in front of Beam.

The goblins were of a different sort, for this style of battle suited them thoroughly. Especially for the Horned Goblins, who had such battle tactics bred into their very DNA, they knew the efficacy of a solid spearwall and a single unbreachable line.

After they were quite sure that the storm of arrows had ended, the two groups of spear goblins rejoined, creating a threatening wall between Beam and the enemy general.

It hadn't gone exactly according to its instructions, but seeing the goblins positioned as they were, so poised and ready for combat, it seemed to calm that Half-Titan down somewhat, for it ceased the clacking of its beak, and instead emitted a slow and steady growl as it focused its gaze on the Gorebeasts.

With the Horned-Goblins in front of him, the Gorebeasts slunk behind Beam, manoeuvring more like the cavalry that Beam knew they'd be good at emulating.

The Horned Goblins archers sent in another volley of arrows, forcing Beam to dodge backwards. With that, it looked like the momentum that he'd been building up had been thoroughly blunted.

The Gorebeasts slowly made their way behind him, as Beam kept his eyes to the front. He would have whirled on them in a simple surprise attack, but a mere glance behind him, at the way they were putting their weight so much more heavily on their backside, it seemed they were prepared to run at any moment.

Now their formation was beginning to look impenetrable. The Horned Goblin spears were too long for Beam to leap over, and if he rushed in carelessly, he was quite sure that he'd be skewered several times over.

"This isn't looking good, sergeant. Are we not going to fire yet?" One of the soldiers asked, his bow was half-taut, ready to be drawn and fired at any moment. "There's no way he's breaking through that without us taking out some of those goblins first, is there?"

Their soldiers had all grown to respect Beam's skills, but against this new manner of enemy, and the sheer volume and organisation of their number, even they couldn't help but think that it was a tall order. It made them nervous to watch – for if Beam fell, then half their defence would fall with it.

The sergeant glanced nervously towards the officer as he received the soldier's question. The man still had not given a command yet. He was staring intently towards the battlefield. That gave the sergeant all the answer he needed.

"…Not yet, I suppose. We're sticking to the original agreement. We fire to back the boy up – he leads the show."

Leading the show was indeed what they had agreed on, but with such a deadlock of position, it hardly looked like Beam could make a single move at all.

The monsters seemed to pick up on that, for as Beam's movements came to a halt, their confidence grew. The goblins twittered happily, and even the Gorebeasts seemed to regain some of their former glee, as salvia dripped from their iron jaws.

"Not good enough," Beam murmured to himself, feeling the tension of the deadlock. There were ten Horned Goblins and there had been three Gorebeasts. He ignored the Half-Titan for now – for the beast seemed intent on playing the role of the general, and didn't seem to want to get involved itself until it was absolutely necessary.

Beam had fought a Titan before, the likes of which eclipsed that which was in front of him. He recalled that hard-fought battle, that dice roll between death and victory. What stood in front of him made a mockery of that creature's strength. These monsters were frayed in the same way that enemy had been frayed. There was something about their spirits that seemed unstable.

He could see it in the movements of the twitching of the goblins, in the movements of the Gorebeasts, and in the unsteady way, their general tittered back and forth. If this was a battlefield out of sight, in the quiet, he knew he could break them merely with fear – he could make them kneel.

But that wasn't good enough. That was the strength that Beam sought. Danger was coming – true danger. Beam had been fighting this manner of foe for days now. Perhaps they weren't Half-Titans and perhaps they weren't quite so organized, but the act remained that this was an enemy he had sent to the ground several times over. There was no reason in his mind that he should be stalling now.

"Hell is coming," he told himself, as he clenched his sword tighter. "If I don't become a demon myself, I won't be lasting in it."

He loosened his grip on his sword, and slowly slid his backfoot behind him. He had misdirection and he was beginning to get a sense for the flow of battle. But he wanted something more than that. Something he could truly believe in – something to bind It all together.

His style now favoured the water and it favoured deceit. He admired flow and he admired power. He felt his flow had eclipsed his power for some time. It was a monster's approach that could bind the two together.

He let his sword go slack in his hand, just as he had earlier. He lowered his shoulders and squatted down. He even felt his face distort, as he glared at the Horned-Goblins, and mimicked their expressions. He allowed their madness to wash over him, their desire for violence, and he fed off it, he tried to learn that erraticness, that unpredictability, that feeling of absolute pandaemonium.

And then he charged – straight at the Horned Goblin spear wall, an obstacle that even he had come to respect over the course of many encounters. The spears were long, after all, and he could hardly dodge them all. Even if he leapt, they'd skewer him midair, like a hog on a spit.