As Malcolm and Sven turned a corner, the gate of Bullhaven came into view. Sven clung to Malcolm’s arm, leaning on the human. The Goblin’s leg was heavily bandaged, the cloth soaked through with green blood.

The wide gateway out of the town was clogged with pedestrians rushing to escape the town. Hundreds of people crammed into the exit, as soldiers desperately tried to organize the crowd.

Malcolm couldn’t help but exhale in awe of the sight before him. Countless rows of soldiers lined the edges of the street, creating two shimmering walls of armor. Baring tall wooden shields, they stood in perfect formation, nervously eyeing the ground with each rumble.

Within the crowd at the gate, medics shouted, waving rolls of bandages. People reached out gratefully, tearing off long strips to bind wounds. Malcolm scanned the crowd looking for an opening. I can’t go through there with Sven like this, he thought, running the scenarios through his mind.

The mob screamed as the ground shook again, clattering the soldiers’ armor. The throng pushed forward with even greater intensity. Soldiers shouted orders as they moved the crowd along, using their long spears to guide the traffic. Some of the people glanced back to the town as they passed through the gate, their cheeks wet with tears.

“Rest…” Sven groaned. He weakly nodded in the direction of a nearby alley. Wincing, he hobbled to it, breath heaving with every step.

Malcolm guided the Goblin into the small space, gently setting him down. Sven leaned against the wall, his face almost white from blood loss. Drops of green liquid dripped from the wound on his leg, accumulating into a puddle on the ground below.

Barely conscious, he pressed his hands on the wound, grimacing with the pressure. “Bandage,” he groaned.

Nodding, Malcolm tore new strips from his shirt. Discarding the old soaked cloth, he rebound the wound, pulling the bandages tight.

Sven relaxed as the blood flow lessened. He gently slid down the wall until he was lying on the ground, chest heaving with the effort.

Malcolm glanced out of the alley, scanning the area. Most of the crowd had made it through the gate and were now streaming into the hills beyond Bullhaven, congregating in small groups. The rows of soldiers loosened, swelling to fill the open street. More troops arrived from camp, taking their places in the formation.

“Sven?” Malcolm muttered, turning to the Goblin beside him. Sven opened his mouth to respond, but another violent rumble interrupted his words.

With a boom, the ground in front of the gate exploded, showering the town with debris. Soldiers screamed as the ground under them disappeared, dropping them into the abyss. Their companions broke rank, stumbling backwards as they tried to escape.

From the alleyway, Malcolm watched in horror as the Toe-Worm shot out of the crater, looming over the buildings. Chunks of mutilated armor fell from its mouth, the steel clattering on the street below. The leviathan’s form swayed in the air, silhouetted in the moonlight. Its long tongue flicked, scenting the air for its prey.

Throwing down their shields, the soldiers drew their swords with a swift motion, armored fists clutching the steel. With a shout, they charged the worm, hacking at its exposed length. Their swords tore into the beast, leaving long blood furrows in the tan skin. Green blood sprayed from the wounds, staining armor.

Roaring with agony, the Toe-Worm thrust its mouth down with blinding speed, engulfing several of the soldiers. The men’s screams were quickly extinguished as the worm’s rotating teeth ripped both bone and steel to shreds. Snapping up, the Toe-Worm whipped its head around, smashing into a group of soldiers. The men cried out as they were hurled backwards, hitting the street with sickening crunches. Clad in bright white robes, medics rushed to their aid, dragging the men away from the fight.

Malcolm ducked back into the alleyway, the last few seconds replaying in his mind. Behind him, there was another short shriek, followed by the sickening whir of the Toe-Worm’s teeth.

With a sigh, Malcolm stood back up, wiping a tear from his right eye. Walking back to Sven, he knelt by the Goblin’s side, gently tapping his arm. Sven’s eyes cracked open, limply fluttering. The ground shook as the Toe-Worm plunged into the street again.

“We need to go.” Malcolm said, gently pulling the Toe Goblin’s arm.

“What?” Sven muttered. He blinked a few times, readjusting his eyes to the darkness.

Toe-Worm’s here!” Malcolm replied tugging the Goblin again. “Can you walk?”

Sven lay in silence for a few seconds. With a slow, steady motion, he sat up, leaning on the wall for support. “Arm.” he groaned, reaching out towards Malcolm. The human helped him up, resting his other hand on the Goblin’s back.

Malcolm winced as Sven’s uncut nails dug into his arm. Beads of blood welled on the skin where the nails had punctured. He resisted the urge to shout at Sven, instead focusing on helping the Toe Goblin up.

Sven teetered in the air for a few seconds, balancing on his uninjured leg. Then with a grunt, he fell back down, moaning as he hit the ground. “Leg…can’t…” he mumbled, his breath coming in short bursts.

Malcolm desperately rocked Sven as the Goblin fell limp, his breath slowing until it was barely perceptible. “Come on… Come on…” Malcolm muttered, gently slapping Sven’s face. The Goblin lay silent, his small chest gently rising and falling. Malcolm sat back, eyes wet with tears.

Stumbling to his feet, Malcolm grabbed Sven’s arms, dragging the Goblin’s limp form out of the alley.

“HELP!” he screamed, raising his voice above the clamor of battle. Legs burning with effort, he pulled Sven into the street, kicking loose stones out of his way. “Help!” he shouted again. “He’s dying! Somebody please…!”

The words stuck in his throat as he collapsed, falling to his knees in the middle of the street. The world spun, blinking in and out of focus as the ground rumbled. Figures swarmed around him, silhouetted in the dim moonlight.

Then there was darkness.

“Sir!” a shrill voice shouted. Malcolm blinked as a heavy gloved hand shook him. “Sir!” the man repeated. “You need to let go of the child!”

Malcolm looked down. His hands were still wrapped tight around Sven’s wrists. Reluctantly he let go, dropping the Goblin’s arms to the street. Almost immediately, Sven’s limp form was placed on a stretcher and carried out of view.

“What? Who?” Malcolm murmured. He glanced around, taking a minute to process what he saw. A plump little man knelt beside him, round face knotted with worry. A thick brown moustache stretched above his mouth, almost touching the long sideburns protruding from the sides of his face. Dressed in stained white robes, he leaned over Malcolm, inspecting him with a critical eye. “Are you hurt?” the man asked, shaking Malcolm again.

Malcolm sat up, inspecting his surroundings. Someone had moved him and Sven from the street and into a nearby house. Rows of cots lined the walls, replacing hastily pushed away bookcases and chairs. Discarded armor and weapons lay in piles under the beds. Bound in white bandages, injured soldiers filled every cot, their faint groans filling the room.

“I’m fine.” Malcolm muttered, still shaken. “Who are you...what happened?”

The man reached out and shook Malcolm’s limp hand. “The name’s Oswald Trevorson, Senior Medic of the His Majesty’s Royal Army. As for what happened…” he chuckled faintly, his mustache bobbing up and down. “You came stumbling out of that there alley, covered in blood and shrieking like a banshee! Gave us all quite a fright!”

“I see…” Malcolm replied, stumbling to his feet. “How’s Sv… the child?”

Oswald’s face grew grave. “We aren’t sure. That leg wound is a nasty piece of damage. There also seems to be an incredible amount of discoloration across his body, the poor kid is almost green!” Malcolm opened his mouth to interject, but decided against it as Oswald continued. “The child is truly unlike anything we’ve ever seen before! Have you seen his ears? The size of them is astonishing. I must ask, where did he come from?”

“I don’t know.” Malcolm lied. “I found him wandering the streets, half delirious and bleeding. I had just finished binding the wound when he passed out.”

Oswald twirled his mustache, contemplating Malcolm’s story. “Truly a stroke of luck that you found him!” he said. “A few more minutes and he wouldn’t have made it…” he trailed off, staring out a window.

Glancing out, Malcolm could see two more medics gesturing wildly. Between them they bore a wounded man on a stretcher. The front of his armor had been ripped off, revealing a deep gash across his chest.

“I really must be going! I hope to meet again!” Oswald shouted, sprinting out the door. He grabbed a bag of bandages as he passed through the door, slinging it over his shoulder.

Malcolm stumbled to his feet, gazing at the wounded around him. Numerous injuries assaulted his vision. Arms and legs stuck out at odd angles, hands were heavily bound, and shards of stone and metal protruded from limbs.

This needs to end. Malcolm thought. Grabbing a sword that had been stashed under a cot, he ran out the door. If the Toe-Worm wants me, it can have me.

Sticking to the shadowy alleys and doorways, Malcolm carefully made his way down the street and towards the Toe-Worm. The ground was decimated by the beast’s attacks. Once-smooth stones were reduced to deep craters, the bottoms of which were lined with dented armor and weapons.

Only a dozen soldiers remained. They desperately hacked at the Toe-Worm’s body, adding to the layers of gashes. Their armor was coated in the Toe-Worm’s green blood. The excess poured off the steel, accumulating in puddles.

The leviathan moved sluggishly, its movements slow and inconsistent. Malcolm watched as it flung its head down, hoping to crush a group of four soldiers. The ground rocked with impact, clattering broken armor. The men easily stepped out of the way of the attack. Rushing forwards, they plunged their long swords in the Toe-Worms head, cheering as the weapons cut deep.

Then with a swift motion, the Toe-Worm flicked its head to the side, tossing the men aside like dolls. Roaring, it pounded its head against the ground, pulverizing the street. As the few remaining soldiers continued their assault, a wave of medics rushed in to rescue the wounded. Malcolm spotted Oswald among the group, his thick mustache bouncing with every step.

While the Toe-Worm was occupied with the new arrivals, Malcolm slunk past the battle towards the tall town-wall, gingerly stepping over debris littering the street. The Bullhaven defenses had been quickly constructed of whole tree trunks, stripped and embedded upright in the ground. Their tips were sharpened, creating a row of thick spikes atop the fortification.

Spotting a ladder leaning against the barricade, Malcolm slowly scaled it, exchanging his sword at the bottom for a fist sized stone. The wall was three times taller than he was, and the ladder rocked against the tree trunks, finally stabilizing as it caught on a knot.

Heart racing, Malcolm carefully balanced atop the wall; feet planted either side of a log. The sharpened tip brushed against his thigh, threatening to impale him if he slipped.

As Malcolm teetered on the wall, the full carnage of the battle appeared below him. Soldiers lay strewn everywhere. Some desperately crawled to safety, but others lay unmoving, their armor shredded. For a moment, he imagined Sven’s limp body was among them.

Wiping a tear from his eye, he wound back his arm, clutching the rock tight. For Sven! he thought, hurling the rock at the Toe-Worm.

The chunk of stone flew through the air, hitting the beast just above the mouth. Bouncing harmlessly off, the rock clattered to the ground, almost hitting a soldier’s helmet. Enraged, the Toe-Worm whipped around, scenting the air for its assailant. Its long black tongue flicked in the air, pulling the Toe-Worm closer to Malcolm.

“YOU LOOKING FOR ME?!” Malcolm shouted, waving his arms. He was not sure if the Toe-Worm could see or hear him, but he figured he would try anyway.

On the ground, the soldiers halted their attack as the Toe-Worm leaned toward the wall. “GET DOWN!” One of them yelled, gesturing to Malcolm. He ignored them.

The Toe-Worm towered above the fortifications, gently swaying in the air. Its open mouth was suspended directly above Malcolm, showering him with debris. “You can have me!” Malcolm shouted again. “Just leave them alone!” Catching a rock as it fell, he lobbed it back at the Toe-Worm, hitting the beast’s lower jaw.

The Toe-Worm roared, lunging at Malcolm. The wall crumpled beneath its immense weight, filling the air with the sound of ripping wood. Malcolm leapt out of the way as the beast fell. Groaning, he looked up just in time to the see several of the sharpened spikes pierce through the Toe-Worm’s head, coming out the other side with a shower of green blood.

Wailing in agony, the Toe-Worm flailed on the ground, its head impaled on the wall. The tree trunks had speared deep into the beast, lodging it in place. A river of green blood poured from the wounds, coating the fortification. Gradually the Toe-Worm’s cries trailed off as the beast fell limp.

It was dead.