Before the others could reach me, I yanked my dagger free and plunged it into the bastard's gut. His body jolted, a wet gasp escaping his lips as he crumpled to the ground. But as he fell, his weight dragged the blade with him, wrenching it from my grasp.
Damn it.
Three more. Just a few steps away. My pulse pounded in my ears as I turned, mind racing. I was unarmed, outnumbered, and Elias was still picking himself up from the ground, completely exposed.
"Elias, careful!" I barked, my voice sharp with urgency.
I had to move.
A second one rushed me, his grip tight around a rusted knife. I caught the gleam of steel just before he struck, my body reacting on instinct. I sidestepped, fast and fluid, grabbing his wrist in a crushing grip.
He barely had time to register before I drove my elbow into his face with all the force I could muster.
A revolting crunch. Blood sprayed from his shattered nose as he staggered back, a strangled grunt tearing from his throat. But before I could finish him off, a rough hand clamped down on my arm from behind, fingers like a vice locking me in place.
Shit—too slow.
I reacted on instinct, snapping my head back with force. My skull connected with something solid—a cheekbone, maybe a jaw. Not a clean hit, but enough to make the bastard grunt in pain, his grip loosening just enough.
I twisted, trying to yank myself free, but before I could fully break away, another one was on me. A short, wiry guy with quick moves—faster than the others. I barely saw his leg sweep before it was too late.
My feet were gone from under me. The world tilted.
I crashed onto the filthy ground, pain jolting up my spine as the breath shot from my lungs. Boots came down hard, slamming into my ribs, my side, my shoulder. I gritted my teeth against the sharp bursts of pain, forcing my body to move.
I rolled. A second kick whistled past my head, missing by inches. Another roll, and I was free—scrambling, pushing up, ignoring the way my muscles screamed in protest.
I staggered upright, shaking off the disorientation. My head snapped toward the ground where the first attacker had fallen.
His weapon—a steel pipe—lay just a few feet away.
I needed to get to it. Now!
I lunged for the pipe, every muscle in my body screaming at me to move faster. Just a few more feet—almost there—
A flicker of movement. Too close.
The glint of a blade.
I twisted, instincts screaming, but not fast enough.
A sharp, burning pain tore through my side as the knife found its mark, slicing into flesh. I sucked in a sharp breath, my elbow slamming down just in time to stop the bastard from driving it in deeper. My vision blurred for a split second, pain clawing at my nerves, but I couldn't stop—wouldn't stop.
With a snarl, I surged forward, using the momentum to slam my knee into his gut. A harsh gasp escaped him as he doubled over, staggering back. I stumbled too, my own body rebelling against the wound, blood gushing out as the knife was lodged out.
No time to check it. No time for pain.
I sucked in a breath, shoving the agony aside as I dove for the pipe. My fingers wrapped around the cool metal, gripping it tight as I stumbled back, forcing space between me and them. But the desperation creeping into my chest didn't ease.
The small one and the brute were already closing in, their movements sharp, practiced.
I had no choice.
With a guttural growl, I swung the pipe in a wide, brutal arc, the air whistling as metal carved through it—a warning, a threat. The smaller one flinched, hesitating just long enough for doubt to creep in. But the brute? He didn't hesitate. His stance shifted, muscles coiling like a spring, and then—he lunged.
A charge. A grapple.
I recognized the movement instantly, instincts screaming at me to move.
I let my knees buckle, faking a stumble just as he barreled toward me. His arms reached out, ready to wrap around me like a vise, but I was already swinging. The pipe cut through the air with deadly precision, striking his kneecap with a sickening crack.
He crumpled.
The air split with his scream as he hit the ground, clutching his ruined leg. His face twisted in agony, body writhing—he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.
A victory.
But no time to celebrate.
"Rowan!"
Elias's voice rang out, laced with panic. I barely had time to register it before a sharp, crushing pain erupted in my side.
The goblin had struck.
His fist slammed into the exact spot where the knife had lodged earlier, the wound already burning like fire beneath my ribs. A new, searing agony tore through me, my vision flashing white-hot. My breath hitched—then failed entirely.
I gasped, body rebelling against the pain, my grip on the pipe faltering. My knees buckled, and before I could stop it, I collapsed.
The world tilted, my body hitting the ground hard. The impact sent another wave of pain rolling through me, sharp and merciless.
Above me, the short bastard loomed, his shadow stretching over me like a vulture circling its dying prey. Smug. Ready.
Then he pounced.
A fist crashed against my raised forearms, jolting through my bones like a shockwave. Another blow followed. And another. My arms shook, my body screaming with pain, but I held my guard—barely. Each punch sent sharp, splintering pain through my already battered body. I wouldn't last long like this. I had to move. I had to do something—
Then, a break in the assault. Not because of me.
A thin slice of hesitation cut through the fight, as sharp and weak as the piece of glass pressed against the goblin's arm.
Elias.
The goblin froze, blinking down at the thin, timid line of red blooming across his forearm. He barely seemed to register the pain at first, his shock greater than the wound itself. His head turned, his beady eyes locking onto Elias—the boy standing frozen, gripping the jagged shard of glass like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing in fear.
For a moment, silence. Then the goblin's lips curled, fury replacing his surprise. He straightened up, only half a head taller than Elias, but twice as menacing.
"You fucking brat—" he snarled, his voice a low, venomous promise of pain. "I'll fuckin'—"
He never got to finish.
I was already moving.
The pipe sang through the air, its brutal arc ending with a nauseating crack against the back of his skull. His words died in his throat as his body lurched forward, his knees buckling like a puppet with its strings cut. He collapsed in a heap, twitching slightly before going completely still.
I didn't waste time watching him drop. My eyes snapped to the last one standing—the knife guy. He was up now, body tense, his grip tightening on the blade. He was ready for round two.
But I wasn't.
Pain pulsed through me, my side burning, blood soaking through my shirt. I was losing too much too fast. We had to get out. Now.
I grabbed Elias by the arm, yanking him forward as I forced my wounded body into a desperate sprint. Every step sent a fresh wave of agony tearing through my side, but I clenched my teeth and pushed on.
Behind us, the last attacker wasted no time. His footsteps pounded against the alley floor, fast—too fast. He was gaining.
I forced my gaze ahead, scanning for anything—anything—that could turn the tide.
Then I saw them.
Three crates, stacked haphazardly against the alley wall. Convenient.
I veered toward them, dragging Elias with me. Our pursuer matched our movement, unrelenting, closing in fast. The second we reached the crates, I pivoted on my heel, bracing myself as I shoved against the stack with all the strength I could muster.
The wood groaned before giving way, tumbling down in a cascade of splintered boards. The timing was perfect. The execution—less so.
The bastard reacted faster than I anticipated.
With a sharp inhale, he jumped—legs coiling, body twisting midair, his blade glinting under the dim alley light. My stomach dropped as I watched him descend, his aim not at me—but Elias.
The knife carved across my brother's arm, a cruel, shallow slice. Blood sprayed into the air, splattering onto the ground in crimson droplets.
A snarl ripped from my throat. This fucker.
I was on him in an instant, slamming my body against his with every ounce of force I had left. He staggered, his footing momentarily unsteady—but I didn't give him the chance to recover.
With a sharp inhale, I gripped the pipe tighter, raised it high, and swung.
The impact landed with a appalling bang. His ribs. Definitely broken. He gasped, the wind forced from his lungs, his body collapsing onto the alley floor in a boneless heap.
I didn't breathe. Didn't move. I watched, waiting for him to get up. To fight back. But he didn't.
Only then did I exhale, a sharp, shaky breath. We had to keep moving.
Elias and I locked eyes, both of us taking in the cuts, the blood, the exhaustion carved into each other's faces. His gaze dropped to my side, where crimson soaked through my shirt, and at the same time, I caught sight of the fresh wound on his arm.
"You're bleeding." The words left our mouths in unison.
For a moment, despite everything—the pain, the lingering adrenaline, the bodies left groaning in the alley—I let out a chuckle. A dry, breathless thing. But the moment my ribs shook with laughter, pain lanced through my side, sharp and unforgiving.
I winced. Fuck.
Elias noticed instantly, his face tightening with concern. "Are you okay?" His voice was softer now, laced with something fragile, something that reminded me too much of the little brother I used to know—the one who looked at me like I had all the answers.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to straighten. "We need to get back," I muttered, pressing a hand against my wound. The warmth of my own blood seeped through my fingers. "Or I'll bleed out before we even make it."
That was all the convincing he needed.
Without another word, we turned, feet dragging but determined, making our way toward the only place we could still call home.