Alright, here we go again. Let me set the scene for you, because trust me, you wouldn't believe it otherwise. There I was, Finn, just trying to enjoy a relatively peaceful evening, when these four charming individuals decided I needed a bit of… forceful persuasion. Right now, charming individual number one, a goon built like a brick outhouse, had me in a headlock that was making my vision swim. Charming individual number two, the apparent leader – let’s call him Scarface because, well, he had a scar – was busy using my face as his personal punching bag.
“Just tell us where the pendant is, Finn!” Scarface snarled, his breath smelling suspiciously of cheap ale. Whack. Another one landed on my cheekbone.
Now, here's the thing you need to understand about me. I have this skill. It’s called Plot Armor. Yeah, I know, sounds ridiculous. But basically, the universe has this weird tendency to make sure my story ends correctly, eventually. It’s just that ‘eventually’ part that really gets me.
Whack. Another punch.
Across the dusty courtyard, I saw Elara. Her beautiful face was etched with worry, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. I hated that she had to witness this. I wanted to be her hero, not her damsel in distress – or rather, her punching bag in distress.
“Look,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by Brick Outhouse’s surprisingly strong grip. “It takes a while for it to kick in, okay? It’s not like a switch I can just flip. The plot has to thicken, you know?” Whack. My lip was definitely bleeding now.
Scarface laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Oh, the plot’s thickening alright, Finn. See, this pretty little trinket your friend has?” He gestured towards Elara with a cruel smirk. “It’s the key. The key to us ruling this pathetic little world.” He puffed out his chest like a rooster. “And thanks to you making me waste my time, Finn, we’re not just taking the pendant anymore. We’re taking everything. Including her.”
Elara gasped, her eyes widening in fear. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, her face pale. My heart clenched. This was bad. Really bad. My own knees felt weak, and Brick Outhouse tightened his grip, forcing me down until I was kneeling too, facing Elara.
This was the part that always made me nervous. Plot Armor wasn't exactly reliable in terms of timing. Sometimes, it was quick, a sudden twist of fate right when I needed it. But other times -- other times it took its sweet, dramatic time. I’m talking whole chapters could go by with me getting my teeth kicked in. Sometimes it felt like the plot needed a whole season to arc before things finally turned my way. And honestly, the longer the trouble, the bigger the boss usually is. I was really hoping this wasn't one of those 'world-ending threat' kind of beatings.
Right now, kneeling in the dust, with Elara’s terrified face mirroring my own apprehension, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this might be one of those ‘long game’ scenarios. Maybe this beating was just Act One. Maybe we were heading into a whole multi-book series of misfortune before the tide finally turned. The thought was discouraging, to say the least.
And then, I heard it. Faint at first, but definitely there. A subtle shift in the ambient sound, a growing sense of dramatic weight. It was like the beginning of a really epic movie soundtrack. The violins were just starting to swell, hinting at the hero’s eventual triumph. Could it be? Was this the turning point? Or was this just the soundtrack getting a little ahead of itself, teasing a victory that was still seasons away? That was the first sign. The background music had begun its march to victory, maybe. I really hoped it wasn't just a particularly dramatic low point in the score.
I tried to stand, to get to Elara, but Brick Outhouse’s grip was like iron. Still, something felt different. A warmth started to spread through my chest, a tingling sensation in my fingertips. And then, as I strained against the headlock, my vision flickered, and I knew my eyes glowed a vibrant, angry red for a split second. That was the second sign. Lighting effects were go.
Darkness fell. Suddenly, Brick Outhouse let out a yelp of surprise and stumbled back, releasing me. Apparently, charming individual number three, who’d been lurking behind him, had slipped on a stray rock and his foot had somehow connected with the back of Brick Outhouse’s knee. He went down like a felled tree.
I scrambled to my feet, a surge of adrenaline coursing through me. Scarface turned, fury blazing in his eyes. He charged, but it was like he was moving in slow motion. I swung wildly, a clumsy haymaker that should have missed by a mile. Instead, it landed squarely on his jaw with a satisfying thwack. He staggered back, his eyes glazed over.
See? I thought, a grim satisfaction settling in as my clumsy punch connected. It's like, now that it's really down to the wire, every move I make, no matter how ridiculous, just works.
Charming individual number four, a skinny guy who’d mostly been watching, decided to make a run for Elara. But as he did, he tripped over the unconscious Brick Outhouse, went sprawling, and landed right at Elara’s feet, looking utterly defeated.
Scarface, still dazed, tried to lunge again. I dodged, more by accident than skill, and he stumbled into the path of the still-recovering Brick Outhouse, who, confused and angry, swung a wild punch that knocked Scarface out cold.
Just like that, it was over. All four of them were sprawled on the ground, groaning or completely unconscious. The background music faded, the dramatic swelling of the violins receding into silence. The strange red glow in my eyes vanished, and the courtyard lights seemed to return to their normal, dim level.
Elara rushed to me, her relief palpable. She threw her arms around me, her hug tight and warm. “Finn! You did it!”
I hugged her back, feeling the last vestiges of adrenaline drain away, replaced by a familiar ache in my ribs and jaw. Yeah, well, I thought, looking down at the sorry state of my attackers. It’s not exactly my preferred method of conflict resolution, you know? All that getting beat up beforehand? Really not a fan. But as Elara looked up at me, her eyes shining with admiration, a wry smile touched my lips.
Guess that's just the hero's burden, even when the hero mostly just gets pummeled until the script says otherwise.
It really hurts.
