Keter rolled across the carpet of duff topping the forest’s floor, dodging a mean-looking spear with a greenskin on the other end. The thing shrieked as it showed the needle-like teeth lining its maw. They were simple creatures, not much smarter than children, smaller than most men, and generally cowards. But there were many. The trees were crawling with these savage things; howling their chittering laughs and screams.

Keter tried standing but his bare foot slipped and slid in the wet sludge. Had him sprawl to the soil, plowed by battle. The greenskin’s spear gleamed in the moon’s dull light before stabbing down in a wide arch. The moon already provides little clarity as is, and the dark clouds swarming above only made it worse. Keter slapped the tip away with the flat of his blade, but not far enough. It slammed into the hides around his shoulder with a vague thud. Had him suppress a pained groan as the leather was pierced.

He lurched aside as another spear lashed at his face, heard the stone tip pounce in the drenched earth beside him. He pulled himself up, aching fingers clawing at a mud-wet tree stump, his crude sword held before him and its edge dripping with the patter of rain.

The spear went for him again in a low jab. He jumped back, feet sliding along the muck, turning around the tree as the tip bit the wood, sending chips and splinters flying. The creature growled in frustration as the blade remained stuck, failing to free his weapon.

Keter’s blade darted out with a speed he hadn’t achieved since his prime and poked the greenskkin in its eye; had it sprawl back. Screams of agony. He spun around the trunk, wary for the other one. Keter wasn’t sure where the damned thing was exactly. He’d have to trust his luck with the spear. Little else to do about it, really. Sometimes that’s all there is to it. Just a bit of luck, and Keter reckoned he was due some of it.

He ducked low, hissing between his gleaming teeth, then darted around the pine. The spear cut a jagged wound along his forehead, but the stinging pain was not enough to stop Keter’s’ blade from thrusting straight through the thing’s guts. Its claws grated along the ragged skins Keter wore as it flailed wildly, a last attempt at surviving. But Keter kicked the thing away, had it sliding off his blade with the slurping of innards pulled from its bowels.

He blinked as blood seeped down, cluttering his vision, and saw that the first greenskin was still distracted by its ruined yellow eye. Keter reached it in one spring, and hacked it down. Once, twice, thrice his blade chopped at it, spraying dark blood and chunks of meat and shards of bone everywhere as the foul creature sagged to the soil with a gurgling.

Shrubs to his right started to rustle, mad eyes leering from beyond the thicket; blinking with their yellow, frenzied stare. Demon eyes, almost glowing in the dark with their infernal gaze. Keter turned and made a dash to a field of boulders that must have tumbled from the adjacent mountain some ages past. The rocks were mostly taller than him and would certainly limit how many of these things could come for him at once.

The stones shimmered with wet, rain seeping from their rough surfaces and pooling on the pitted earth. Footing proved to be even less favorable here than in the forest, where the water could be drained by the foliage. Seemed like this was the extent of Keter’s luck. The rest was up to him.

His blade was already held lower. Swinging it around for that long had his shoulders burning, wrists screaming. If it hadn’t been raining, no doubt he’d be drenched in sweat.

He heard something splash in the mud to his right, the sound was almost inaudible through the rain’s hammering. Pivoting around, Keter put his battered sword up to guard. A green image reflected in a blurry puddle before the greenskin leaped from its cover, screeching something fierce before the blade’s tip punctured its gullet. It grasped the edge, blood come bubbling from its snarling maw before its eyes lost their spark and grew dull.

Keter had lost count of how many weapons he had learned to use, but he knew swords weren’t one of them. And it was evident in how he used this one. Hell, he wasn’t even certain if it really was a sword; more like an overgrown knife, really. But it felt a sword, then, in his small hands. The hands of a child.

Water trailed down his skull, and he blinked some of it away. Keter turned just in time to hack at another of those wild things, using the weapon more like a pointed machete than anything else. One swing and its arm spun off into the darkness. Two and its bloodcurdling scream gurgled off into silence. Three just because its head was still somewhat attached to its neck, and that wouldn’t do.

Keter padded through the mud, silent, or about as quiet as one could in the mired mess. He arrived at an intersection, and before he could decide on anything, there were two pieces of ugly on him and very, very angry. Keter didn’t understand why these things just didn’t give up. Seemed to him there was no point hunting an enemy that crushed so many of your pack. Little gain, no?

But questions were for calmer times. Now it was time for answers, and Keter’s answer was death. The heavy blade soared down and carved a jagged wound down the thing’s neck, smashing the shoulder and it kept on going until it struck the ribcage. The other one came from his left, but when Keter tried pulling the blade from the corpse, it remained stuck. He looked and saw the greenskin clutching the blade with it crooked paw, fire in its eyes.

“fuck.” He growled as the other tackled him. They rolled through the mud, kicking, punching, biting as the muck slithered past. They made another tumble and Keter’s head slammed against a rock, had his ears ringing and vision swimming. He felt the greenskin’s claws around his neck before his next breath and then its grip tightened as it started throttling him, nails digging into flesh.

Keter snarled madly, flicking trails of bloodied spit into the things deformed face. The monster’s black hairs were plastered to its skull, tangled with grime and twigs from the fight. He tried aiming for the greenskin’s leering eyes but found himself coming short on reach. That cursed, small body.

He gripped its long hairs. They were wet, soaked with rain and blood. Not ideal, but little ever is when your life is on the line. Keter started focusing on his hands, on the hairs, on the dirt; grasping everything. Then there was smoke, before the flames raged to life.

The monster screamed, lurching back as its hairs were set ablaze. It looked mighty confused, terribly afraid, horribly surprised. Probably its first time seeing magic. Would be his last time, too.

Keter heaved for air, coughing fiercely as his new body convulsed on the upturned earth. With his legs shaking, he snatched a rock the size of his fist from the ground and held it about as firmly as he could, everything being covered with slime and filth.

The magic had been poured in a burst, and the flames died quickly now they were refused more energy. But before the greenskin could revel in its survival, Keter’s fist slammed down onto its head, had the thing stagger to the soil. Again, blood squirting in Keter’s face, quickly washed away by the downpour. Again, bone cracking and shards of skull flying, hairs still clutching to the skin. Again, and the thing was still. Lifeless.

Keter held the rock above his head, watching the monster for the first sign of vigor and ready to keep on hammering. But if there was one sure method of killing anything, it was beating their head in with a rock. Primitive, true, but effective none the less. Evident, here, with the exposed brain and all.

The boy dropped his improvised weapon, bits of flesh and hair still sticking to its smooth surface. He hawked again, almost vomiting. The thing had really done a number on his throat. Close combat had been one of his joys for long, practicing it almost daily for ages, whenever he had the chance. But this body was not sturdy enough for any real fighting. Soft, squishy, brittle. Still, it was leagues better than the shriveled husk he inhabited at the end of his previous life. Hand to hand should be a last ditch, anyway. No outcome was as uncertain like two men grappling each other with murder in mind.

Water kept pelting down on the sodden forest. A good thing, too, as it washed all the grime from Keter’s wounds. But nothing is given without an equal cost, this boy had learned long ago. The patter kept the subtle noises of the wild from becoming clear.

Warily, Keter slinked back from where he had come, retrieving his blade along the way, moving from shadow to deeper shadow – all the same to him for he had long made the darkness his own. Now, it was little more than another weapon at his disposal.

Finally, he arrived at the place where this whole shit-fest had begun. He shot a last glance at his surroundings before leaning over and grabbing the rabbit-like creature, strung from a noose he had fashioned from some nettles and twine. All this trouble for two days’ worth of food, at most.

If he had known so many of them were around, he’d have abandoned the meal and fled. But first there was but one, and he could take one. Then there came another, very sneaky-like. The cut hadn’t been clean, and the creature got off a shout before crumbling to the pitted earth. Then the rest came running, like mad hounds drenched in the stench of blood.

Keter gathered the trap again, bitterly. His head was pounding like a smith’s anvil. The gash on his forehead stung bad, just like his punctured shoulder. He’d dislocated a finger somewhere along the way, too. When, exactly, he did not know. There where the countless grazes and bruises and scrapes he’d gotten in the frenzy as well. All of these would require his attention. Monsters and beast might be dangerous, but a festering wound kills a man just as well. Only slower. Much, much slower.

Other than the lashing storm, coiling overhead, the forest remained still, spooked by the guttering battle. Now the moon was peeking from between the obsidian clouds, bleak light spilled between the clawing canopy, filling the growths with shadow. The thicket was full of holes and cover – full of surprises, maybe. Luckily, nothing of the sort approached Keter as he made his way to the cave; the place where he had killed his first set of greenskins, and where he had found his blade.

The moon had turned once, since his arrival in this world; since all this madness started. And Keter had never known a more blessed day.