The hatchet wielder’s grin widened even further when he saw one of the tributes charging forward by himself. Fighting the newcomers one by one would make their job easy as pie. The feral raised his axe to smite the approaching boy, but before he could do so he was interrupted by some kind of projectile. A ball of hard rubbery material crashed into his chest with a sickening [i]crack[/i], sweeping him off his feet and sending him falling, almost flying, backwards.

Finn’s charge was cut short by his target being swept away, leaving him with the other two ferals standing at his sides, the sword-wielder at his left flank and the dagger-wielder at his right. The former two-handed his shortsword, charged towards Finn and made a savage right-to-left slash at the boy’s chest. The dagger-wielder hung back for now, but if the boy would turn to face his attacker, he too would charge in to stab Finn in the back.

Meanwhile, the hatched wielder was sprawled on the ground, desperately trying to catch his breath as part of his chest was now grotesquely caved in. While the pain was excruciating, spending years inside this dungeon had made him blind to such feelings. Awkwardly, he clambered into a kneeling position and spat a glob of blood onto the ground before him. His axe was still firmly in his grasp, but he was still too short of breath to use it, for now.

Further back, the knight watched his victim jump up into the air inhumanly high. Unexpected, yes, but quite obviously a setup for an attack. He quickly shuffled backwards to where the elf would no longer land on top of him and raised his shield high to protect his chest and the lower half of his face. Once the elf lands, he would dash forward to deliver a shield bash. If successful, he would then go for a quick stab at the elf’s stomach with his longsword.