The clearing felt unnaturally still for a moment, the sounds of battle momentarily muted. Aren circled the goblin leader, the creature’s heavy axe held ready, its red eyes burning with a disturbing focus. He spared a quick glance towards Theron. The guard was a whirlwind of controlled motion, skillfully engaging four goblins simultaneously – the two Aren had injured earlier, now back on their feet though perhaps slowed, and the two who had initially restrained the hounds. He was outnumbered, clearly pressed, but holding his ground with impressive discipline.

  Theron danced back, creating space, then lunged forward with blinding speed. His blade found a gap in the defenses of the goblin Aren had initially struck on the head. It hadn't been the clean incapacitation Aren had hoped for, but Theron’s follow-up thrust was brutally effective, sinking deep into the creature's chest.

  The goblin let out a strangled gurgle, stumbling back before collapsing onto the mossy ground, lifeless. Theron wrenched his sword free with a twist, immediately shifting his stance to face the remaining three opponents closing in on him.

  The death cry seemed to echo strangely, amplified beyond its natural volume. The goblin leader threw its head back and unleashed a terrifying roar, a sound raw with fury and something else… something primal. The sound ripped through the air, not just loud, but resonant, carrying a power that vibrated deep within Aren’s bones.

  As the roar faded, a grotesque change swept over the remaining goblins. The leader itself seemed to swell, muscles bulging unnaturally beneath its dark skin. Its hide shifted, deepening from charcoal and bruised blue to a uniform, furious crimson. Its eyes burned brighter, no longer just feral but radiating pure rage. The three goblins facing Theron underwent the same horrifying metamorphosis, their frames expanding, their color deepening to match their leader’s. Four transformed goblins now stood in the clearing, radiating menace.

  "What is this?" Aren exclaimed, taking an instinctive step back from the suddenly more imposing leader.

  Theron leaped back himself, narrowly avoiding a suddenly faster, stronger swing from the transformed sword-wielder. His Observer senses pulsed visibly around his head for a second. "I don't know, Sir!" he called back, his voice tight with alarm, skillfully parrying a blow from another attacker. "I can sense Ether coursing through them—wild, uncontrolled! Be careful!"

  Great. Ether-juiced rage monsters. Aren’s assessment was instant. The leader, now easily a head taller and significantly broader, hefted its axe as if it weighed nothing. Its crimson skin seemed to pulse faintly in the gloom.

  It didn't immediately renew its attack on Aren. Its burning gaze flickered past him, locking onto the cart where Milo and Finn remained hidden. With another guttural snarl, the three transformed warrior goblins abandoned their immediate targets. They charged, low and fast like battering rams, straight for the vulnerable cart. Their speed was startling, their movements driven by berserk fury.

  "No!" The word burst from Aren instinctively. Protecting the innocent driver and his kid felt personal. He couldn't let them be torn apart. He pivoted, intending to sprint towards the cart, to intercept the enraged creatures.

  He managed only two steps before a crimson blur blocked his path. The goblin leader had moved with astonishing speed, planting itself directly between Aren and the cart. Its red eyes narrowed, the earlier calculation replaced by malevolent intent. It wouldn't let him interfere. It wanted him.

  Behind him, Theron, momentarily freed from his opponents, shouted, "Sir, the cart!" He began sprinting towards it himself, sword ready, trying to intercept the charging monsters.

  Aren was trapped between the leader and the immediate threat to the cart. The sounds were horrifying – muffled shouts from Milo and Finn, the heavy thudding impacts as the goblins began battering the wooden sides. Theron intercepted one, his blade sliding against crimson hide, but the other two reached the cart, hammering and clawing at the wood and canvas. Milo and Finn wouldn’t last long.

  Frustration warred with a rising tide of protectiveness. He had to do something. The memory of his first Ether activation surfaced – the blinding rage, the power, the subsequent pain. He needed a catalyst, but not that one. Not anger, he thought, focusing on the feeling stirring within him now. Focus. Control. Protect. He glanced down at the blue ring on his finger. Come on, little guy, help me out here.

  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Aren launched a desperate attack against the huge leader. The goblin swung its axe with terrifying speed, easily double what it possessed before the transformation. Aren twisted, barely avoiding the lethal attack. The heavy blade sliced through the fabric of his expensive tunic, biting into his shoulder. A sharp sting, followed by warmth spreading down his arm. Ignoring the sudden pain, he drove forward into the opening created by the goblin’s swing. His punches hammered against the creature's torso, not whip-like strikes, but solid, driving blows meant to break through and create distance. He felt like a battering ram against a thick wall. Even this larger opponent staggered back under the focused assault. Aren shifted his aim, striking different points, searching for a vulnerability, but the hide felt unnaturally tough, resistant. A normal punch wasn't getting through.

  The leader roared, enraged, and swiped with its free hand – an open-handed blow that caught Aren squarely on the ribs. Pain exploded through his side. He heard a distinct crack. Definitely broke something. Adrenaline surged, momentarily numbing the agony, keeping him upright. He risked a glance towards the cart. Theron had dispatched another goblin and was now drawing the attention of a third, skillfully maneuvering to keep it away from the cart. But the last berserker had torn through the canvas cover. Milo was jabbing frantically downwards with a spear he must have grabbed from the cart's supplies, perched precariously on the driver's bench. The spearhead seemed barely to scratch the goblin's thick hide. He was only buying seconds.

  The leader gave Aren no time to strategize. It attacked again, the axe moving horizontally in a terrifyingly fast blur aimed at splitting him in two. Aren dropped, tucking low, feeling the wind of the passing weapon. He surged forward again, inside the goblin's reach, targeting its legs. A powerful kick connected with a hamstring tendon near the knee. The goblin bellowed in pain and dropped onto the injured leg. Before it could fully recover, it lashed out, grabbing Aren's striking fist. It twisted his arm viciously, pulling him off balance and closer, raising its axe high for the killing blow.

  In that instant, Aren’s battle instincts peaked. The world seemed to slow, not through magic, but through the biological mix of exhaustion, adrenaline, and sheer desperation. He didn't fight the twist. He flowed with it, using the goblin’s own momentum, applying a principle learned over decades. He shifted his weight, rotated his body, redirecting the force. The goblin, expecting resistance, found none and stumbled, losing its precarious balance. It lurched forward, catching itself on its good leg and the hand still gripping the axe handle, momentarily kneeling and exposed.

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  Now was the chance. Aren consciously channeled everything he had left into a furious barrage of punches aimed at the goblin’s upper body. Numbness crept into his own arms from the repeated impacts against the resilient flesh and bone, but he didn’t stop. This wasn't uncontrolled rage; it was a deliberate, focused onslaught, pushing past pain and fatigue. His senses sharpened dramatically. He felt the subtle currents of energy within him shift, breaking from their usual pathways, spreading like liquid fire through his entire body. His eyes seemed to burn with a faint yellow light. Ether flared within him, consciously drawn upon, controlled – at least, more controlled than before. Power surged through his limbs, speed quickened his movements, and his focus expanded, encompassing the entire clearing with startling clarity. He felt… more aware. The sounds of the forest leaped into sharp relief – Theron’s grunts and the clash of steel, the splintering wood of the cart, the remaining goblins' furious snarls, the rustle of every leaf underfoot. The dim light seemed subtly brighter, revealing textures and details he hadn't noticed. The ring on his finger pulsed with a soft, steady internal light, undeniably present.

  The leader, battered by the relentless, empowered punches, finally managed to shove Aren back and roll away, scrambling to its feet. It stood panting, its chest heaving, the rage in its eyes now mingled with something akin to surprise, perhaps even fear.

  Whoa. Okay, this is… different. Aren felt quicker, lighter on his feet despite his injuries. His perception was razor sharp. He didn't need to look towards the cart; he could almost feel the situation unfolding. He sensed the two remaining goblins near the cart suddenly abandon their attack, their limited intelligence overridden by a primal urge. They were coming for him.

  They dropped their weapons and leaped, claws outstretched, jaws snapping, their crimson forms converging on him from two angles. Theron, caught off guard by their sudden shift, yelled a warning from near the cart. Milo stood frozen for a second on the driver's bench, wiping sweat from his forehead, stunned by the sudden change.

  Oh, crap. He was exposed again, caught between the recovering leader behind him and two berserkers charging head-on.

  "Aren! Left! Low!" Theron’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding from near the cart.

  Aren reacted instantly, his Ether-enhanced senses already processing the threat, his body responding to the guard’s confirmation. He dropped, tucking into a roll just as a clawed hand swiped through the air where his head had been. He came up facing the onslaught, the leader momentarily forgotten as the two beasts barreled towards him.

  "Right! High swings!" Theron shouted, sprinting towards the melee.

  Aren pivoted, raising his forearms in quick succession, deflecting clumsy, overhand smashes from both goblins almost simultaneously. The impacts were heavy, but his enhanced state absorbed much of the shock. He shoved them back forcefully, creating a sliver of space.

  "Leader recovering! Behind you!"

  Aren spun, already anticipating the attack. He saw the glint of the axe rising for another strike. He sidestepped fluidly, faint golden trails flickering in his peripheral vision. He lashed out with a powerful side kick, connecting solidly with the leader’s already injured knee joint. The creature roared in agony, stumbling badly but somehow staying upright.

  "Two closing! Center! Watch the claws!"

  He snapped back around. The remaining two goblins lunged simultaneously, low and fast, ignoring defense entirely. He leaped backwards, narrowly avoiding grabbing claws, then delivered a sharp palm-strike to the face of the closest one as it overextended, sending it staggering back a step. It wasn't about decisive blows now; it was about survival, controlling the space, managing the angles under Theron's guidance as the guard finally closed the distance.

  He felt strangely calm amidst the frenzy. The Ether flowed as a clarifying current, sharpening his senses, speeding his reactions, allowing him to process Theron’s shouted commands and react almost before they were fully spoken. It was a dance, brutal and deadly, guided by his own instincts and Theron’s crucial direction. Theron arrived beside him now, sword flashing, instantly engaging the two berserkers, giving Aren precious breathing room.

  "Leader! Opening! Low left!" Theron yelled, skillfully parrying a blow from one goblin while simultaneously kicking the other away to create an opening.

  Aren didn't need telling twice. He saw it too, clearer than ever – the slight shift in the leader's stance as it prepared another desperate axe swing, leaving its lower left side momentarily exposed while distracted by Theron's intervention. He exploded forward, ignoring the goblins Theron now battled. Feinting high with his right hand, he drew the leader's desperate guard up slightly. Then he dropped low, driving his left fist, now charged with pulsing Ether, directly into the leader's exposed ribs.

  It wasn't a flashy blow, but it was precise, targeted, and delivered with his full weight, speed, and newfound power behind it. He felt as if Ether shot out of his fist on impact.

  The effect was immediate and devastating. The leader gasped, a horrible wet, choked sound. The burning rage in its eyes flickered, replaced by shock and profound pain. The axe slipped from its grasp, clattering onto the forest floor. The creature staggered back, clutching its side, its crimson skin seeming to pale visibly. It tried to snarl, but only managed a gurgling cough.

  Following the momentum, Aren pivoted smoothly and unleashed a powerful front kick, pouring all he had into the blow. His foot struck the goblin leader squarely in the solar plexus. The creature flew backwards as if hit by a physical force far greater than the kick itself, slamming hard against the massive trunk of a nearby ancient tree with a dull thud. It coughed, a spray of dark blood painting the moss underneath, then slid down the trunk, its legs giving out. The massive goblin crumpled onto the ground, motionless.

  The moment the leader fell, the transformation gripping the other goblins faded. The furious crimson color drained rapidly from their skin, receding back to the mottled charcoal and blue. They seemed to shrink slightly, the unnatural bulk gone. The berserk fury vanished from their eyes, replaced instantly by confusion and sudden, overwhelming terror. They froze, looking from their fallen leader to Aren and Theron, who now stood side-by-side facing them.

  One goblin whimpered, turned, and bolted into the undergrowth, crashing through bushes in blind panic.

  Silence fell, heavy and abrupt, broken only by the ragged sound of Aren’s own breathing, Theron’s sharp inhales, and a muffled sob from within the ravaged cart. The faint glow from Aren's ring subsided. The golden trails faded from his eyes. The heightened awareness receded, leaving him feeling acutely drained, the pain in his shoulder and ribs surging back, but his mind was strangely clear.

  "Theron?" Aren called out, his voice raspy.

  "Here, Sir Aren." The guard stepped forward quickly, sheathing his sword. His face was grim, streaked with sweat and grime, his uniform torn, but his eyes were sharp. "Are you injured?"

  "Shoulder's cut. Think I cracked a rib or two," Aren managed, wincing as he shifted his weight. He forced himself to straighten up, glancing towards the damaged cart. "Milo? Finn? Are you alright in there?"

  The torn canvas flap was thrown back, and Milo peered out, his face pale and wide-eyed, clutching the spear. Finn huddled behind him, trembling but seemingly unharmed. "We… we are alright, Sir Aren," Milo stammered, his voice shaking. "Thanks to you… and Theron."

  Relief washed over Aren, potent and swift, momentarily overshadowing the pain. He looked down at the fallen goblin leader, then back at the dense woods where the others had fled. That was too close. Way too close. The Ether hummed faintly within him, a quiet reminder of the power he’d touched. It felt cleaner, steadier, but the exhaustion was profound. He needed to understand this, practice it. But first… rest. And maybe a stiff drink, once they were out of this damned forest.

  Thanks for being so patient!