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With his crossbow out and aimed, the other Hunter rapid-fired arrows at several goblins, striking them right between the eyes. All of them were sent flying back to the floor. Not dead, but on the floor was better than trying to cut us to pieces.
The Austrian’s expression was pure joy. Out of the two of us, no surprise, he was having the most fun.
What a stab junkie.
Smirking to himself, Phillip rose and swung an arm out to slice into several more necks, taking nearly four of the creatures down in one move. Goblin heads went rolling. Like the ones before them, their bodies burst into gloppy liquid a second later.
“I love when their heads get a full roll in before they burst. Sort of satisfying, don’t you think?”
“Uh-huh,” I replied, not listening. I was just trying to keep my dinner from making a grand reappearance.
No matter how many times I saw it, the display was beyond vomit-inducing, and my once-thought steel-clad stomach lurched in grossed out horror. I missed a good ol’ fight with a vampire, whose body only burst into ash and didn’t require a power wash after extinguishing it.
Those were the good old days.
In minutes, the area turned into a poor re-enactment of the Spartan300war scene, with liquid explosions and ground covered in nothing but goblin goo. The visual of our war was far less appealing, missing hundreds of gorgeous muscle men in speedos and capes and an overabundance of epically slowed down battle pan-ins. It definitely didn’t scream ‘heroic two overcoming the odds.’ Instead, it screamed ‘three showers and a small pile of incinerated clothes.’ Maybe the death of a certain sassy heroine too big for her britches.
For sure, I’d never wear these boots again.
The Austrian posed for a second, pretending to be some kind of Prince of Death. He wasn’t, but you had to give the dude props for his limitless enthusiasm. Truth be told, even I wanted to applaud his fighting genius.
Phillip was amazing in a one-on-one stand-off, but fighting a horde the size we did showcased his impressive skill set the most. Guess two-hundred plus years of living would pretty much make anyone a god on the battlefield. Still, it was no small feat to fight through so many, and definitely not without obtaining some injuries doing it.
His clothes were perfectly in place, nowhere cut or torn, and his skin was immaculate even with black-tar blood spraying every few seconds. Granted, nothing would scar, but blood may be present. I wasn’t terribly sure what our regeneration abilities meant for bloodshed. The only true way to know for sure was to bleed, which I’d be crazy to do on purpose. So, I wouldn’t.
But say whatever you want about the dude, he could fight.
Moonlight rained down on him, casting the Austrian’s bad boy look in a beautiful glow. Standing the way he did, Phillip belonged there, enemies closing in, dark hair blowing in the wind, puckered mouth and tattooed hand blowing me a kiss.
Wait, what? What an asshat.
It was definitely from mocking the bastard Hunter blew that kiss. I was covered in splashes of goo. Very few places were left untouched. That last decapitation put me in the direct path of another liquid explosion, and my face was covered immediately in tar-like muck.
“You okay over there?” the other Hunter asked, knowing perfectly well I wasn’t.
Wiping the black-liquid from my eyes, I coughed and spat out what had gotten into my mouth. “Oh, I’m just over here living the dream, Phil,” I remarked flatly, sinking a blade into the stomach of a nearby goblin. “How the fuck are you still clean?”
Phillip’s lips rose in their usual sexy way. “Dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge.”
“You aren’t actually quotingDodgeballto me right now,” I grumbled but ducked all the same, cutting off the legs of another goblin.
“Does it turn you on?”
“Not even a little bit,” I sassed, finding my smile.
“Too bad,” he remarked while pretending to be disappointed.
I spun around and sliced several goblins close to me with a pair of daggers to clear space. “How could you get sexy from all this carnage?”
Do not ask him that, V. I repeat, do not ask him anything remotely sexual. Your life depends on it.
“How could you not? Suspension Bridge Effect, it’s a thing.”
“No it’s not,” I barked in retort.
“Is too,” Phillip countered, smirking a little too happily in the midst of battle. “Or at the very least, you must be all hot and bothered from watching me look so good.”
“You’re the only one who thinks so.”
