Jester ducked. The wind of the blow ruffled his hair.
He tried to counter. Swinging his Nunchaku in a wide arc. Aiming for the Goatman's legs. But the demon simply leapt over it. Its movements were economical and precise.
This was a nightmare. Two demons. One was a juggernaut. The other was a terrifyingly agile assassin. His stalling strategy had just gotten a lot more complicated.
He evaded a heavy slam from the Wereboar's tusk. Stumbling backward.
The Goatman saw the opening. Its leg shot out. A powerful, precise kick aimed at his chest.
There was no time to react. No space to dodge. The hooved impact was like being struck by a charging train. A sudden, jarring force ripped through his body. Stealing his breath. Sending jolts of agony through his ribs.
He flew backward. A ragdoll launched through the air. Crashing through a series of wooden food stalls. With a splintering, deafening noise.
The impact was brutal. Wood exploded around him. Canvas awnings tore. The scent of spilled spices, crushed vegetables, and broken pottery filled his nostrils. As he tumbled amidst the wreckage.
He finally came to a stop in a heap of shattered planks and overturned barrels. Darkness threatened to consume his vision. A sudden white-hot starburst of pain behind his eyes.
He lay there for a moment. Winded. Every muscle in his body was screaming in protest. His head throbbed. And a searing pain bloomed in his side.
He could feel warm, sticky liquid seeping into his clothes. Blood, he presumed. Though he couldn't tell if it was his own. Or others.
Jester coughed. A dry, rasping sound. And tried to push himself up.
The two demons sensed victory. They began to converge on the shattered remains of the food stalls.
The Horned Wereboar let out a triumphant bellow. Its hooves thudded heavily on the cobblestones.
The Black Goatman moved with a silent, deadly purpose. Its glowing eyes were unwavering. Ready to deliver the final, crushing blow.
But before either demon could follow up on their attack, a new sound cut through the air. A sharp, high-pitched crack. One that wasn't a spatial distortion. But the powerful discharge of arcane energy.
A bolt of pure, crackling lightning erupted from the edge of the market square. Thick as a man's arm and impossibly bright. It arced through the air with a searing hiss. Striking the Black Goatman squarely in the chest.
The demon shrieked. A sound like grinding stone against sharpened metal. Its predatory advance halted abruptly.
Blue-white energy exploded around it. Its black fur stood on end. Smoking. And it stumbled backward. Momentarily stunned. Its intelligent eyes were wide with surprise and pain.
Jester turned his head and could see the source of the lightning bolt. A woman wearing sneakers, denim pants, and hooded jacket. With scepter in her hand.
Almost simultaneously, two figures appeared from the same direction. Moving with practiced speed and lethal intent.
One was a man, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. Clad in practical leather jacket, cargo pants, and sneakers. He wielded a gleaming spear. Its tip was already glowing with a faint, inner light.
He didn't hesitate. Charging directly at the now-recovering Black Goatman. His movements were precise and purposeful. The spear became a blur, a silver streak. Aimed at the demon's exposed flank.
The other was an equally imposing figure. A woman, with a face set in a grim mask. Wearing similar outfits. But, she hefted an oversized, two-handed axe.
The weapon was far too large for a normal person. But she held it with surprising ease.
She went straight for the Horned Wereboar. Roaring a challenge as she closed the distance. She didn't bother with finesse. Her axe came down in a wide, arcing swing. Aimed at the Wereboar's leg. A move designed to cripple the colossal beast.
The sudden intervention. The sheer force of these new arrivals... It created a momentary lull in Jester's pain.
He gritted his teeth. Pushing a splintered plank off his chest. He expected that his body would scream. Protesting every movement. But the searing pain had actually lessened. Quickly. Replaced by a dull, widespread ache.
Jester could feel something strange happening within him. A resilience that defied logic. The kick should have broken ribs. Maybe punctured a lung.
But while he was bruised and battered, it felt… wrong. His body was pretty much alright. Not as bad as it should have been.
A bizarre, almost cartoonish sensation seemed to still be lingering in his muscles and bone. A peculiar elasticity to his movements.
He remembered his avatar in the Toonworld. He had [Toon Physique] as his passive trait there. Could that be it? Was the bizarre, exaggerated trait of his Toonworld persona bleeding over into his real body?
He felt something different happened to his body now. It felt stretched. Compressed. Like a rubber band that had been snapped hard. But not broken.
His body felt slightly more… toonish. Not as exaggerated as his avatar. But still... slightly less solid. More flexible. More capable of absorbing impact.
He scrambled out of the wreckage. Ignoring the slight dull ache in all over his body. His Nunchaku was still clutched in his hand. It seemed more familiar now. Like a reliable anchor in the storm.
He tried to stand upright. He swayed slightly. But the clarity of his vision was back.
The fight had erupted into a full-blown melee. The spear-wielder was a whirlwind of precision. Darting around the Black Goatman. Forcing it to defend against his relentless thrusts.
The axe-wielder was a living battering ram. Her oversized weapon cleaving into the Horned Wereboar. Leaving deeper gouges in its hide than Jester's Nunchaku ever could.
The Wereboar Demon roared in genuine pain now. Its charges becoming less directed. More desperate.
And then, from various alleyways and the shattered remains of market entrances, five other Transcenders joined the fray.
One, a woman in stylish dress. She began chanting. Arcane symbols were glowing in the air around her. Her hands were weaving intricate patterns. The ring on her little finger sparkled as she did so.
Another, in hooded outfits, moved with the silent grace of a hunter. Twin daggers flashed as he sought the demons' vulnerable points.
A plain-clothed warrior, slammed his ornate shield into the Horned Wereboar's side. Deflecting one of its desperate swings.
A lithe archer in business outfit perched precariously on an overturned cart. He lifted his fancy bow and began loosing endless arrows from his magical quiver. Each fletched shaft struck with surprising force.
And finally, a burly man in blue overall. His gauntlets of shimmering steel covered his fists with an inner fire. He launched himself into the fray. His punches resonating with audible force against the demons' tough hides.
Eight Transcenders. Eight skilled, powerful individuals. Perhaps not all of them were veterans. But they were certainly far beyond Jester's current capabilities.
They moved in cooperative concert. A wave of seasoned warriors crashing against the demonic invaders. The number. Their coordinated attacks. Their varied abilities... it was overwhelming.
The two previously dominant demons were now on the defensive. Their roars and shrieks echoed with frustration and dawning fear. They were being suppressed. Slowly but surely. By the combined might of Oakhaven's defending transcenders.
Jester was still slightly groggy. But he watched the tide turn. He had stalled. And now, the true heroes had arrived.
The eight transcenders moved with brutal efficiency. Jester watched as the coordinated assault unfolded.
The Horned Wereboar and the Black Goatman were now in terrible situation. Barrage of attacks struck them. Both melee and ranged. Physical and magical.
This was not Jester's fight anymore. He had done his part. Acted on instinct. And nearly gotten himself killed.
Now, the professionals were here. His presence was no longer an asset. It was a potential liability. Another civilian to protect. Another set of questions to answer.
He didn't want the spotlight. Not for this. Not yet.
His [Wild Nunchaku] was still clutched tight in one hand. He quickly dismissed it. The weapon vanishing with a faint shimmer back into his inventory.
He sneaked away from the battle zone. The stealth principles he had just learned today helped him to do so. He moved with a newfound fluidity. Using the objects around the place as covers.
He didn't make a sound. Didn't draw attention. He just moved. He navigated the periphery of the Market District.
The decision to head to the Electronic Zone. To browse for some camera recorders... It evaporated from his mind.
That was a casual activity for a normal day. This had not been normal. This had been a brutal, nasty reminder of Sherra's reality.
Jester's only thought was home. A place of quiet. A place to think. A place to process the raw surge of impotent rage that had driven him to charge a demon. Only to be tossed aside like a ragdoll.
He walked quickly. His legs still felt a slight residual tremor from the adrenaline dump. The battle was still happening behind him. He didn't look back.