ALL NOVEL 3: The Hero Who Complains
Silas trudged through the dense forest, muttering curses with every step.
The Whispering Caverns were a day's journey away, and he was already regretting his decision to play hero.
"Stupid forest, stupid quest, stupid everything," he grumbled, swatting at a mosquito.
"I could be back in town, complaining about normal things like bad ale and scratchy blankets. But nooooo, I had to go and grow a stupid conscience."
The forest seemed determined to make his journey as uncomfortable as possible.
Roots appeared out of nowhere to trip him, branches swung low to smack him in the face, and the air was thick with the buzzing of insects.
"Freakin' hell," Silas said to a particularly annoying fly.
As he walked, he heard a rustling in the bushes. A massive, snarling wolf emerged, its eyes glowing an unnatural red.
"Okay, one wolf I can handle." Silas thought.
Just as he said this the wolf growled and its fur bristled, and it grew to three times its size and a high voltage current of electricity visibly ran across its body.
"Oh, come on!" Silas groaned.
"Can't I run into a normal goddamn wolf!? Why do you all have to be monsters!?"
He drew his sword, settling into the wild, unorthodox stance he'd developed over the years. It wasn't pretty, but it got the job done.
The monstrous wolf lunged at Silas, its electrified fur crackling with lethal energy.
As its jaws clamped onto his arm, Silas felt no pain, but he knew thousands of volts were coursing through his body.
He screamed in frustration, knowing the agony that awaited him later.
"Get off me, you jerk!" Silas groaned, his voice a mix of anger and resignation.
The wolf pressed its advantage, slashing its claws across Silas's face. Again, not a single sliver of pain or injury was felt.
He dodged another lunge, finally getting into the rhythm of battle, his movements fluid and unpredictable.
"I don't like getting hurt!" Silas yelled at the wolf, knowing full well the irony of his statement given his current lack of visible injuries.
The fight became a deadly dance, with Silas desperately trying to find an opening while avoiding the wolf's electrified attacks.
Each bite, slash, and shock added to the tally of pain he'd have to endure later, amplified tenfold.
As the wolf reared up for another lunge, he feinted left before diving right, driving his sword deep into the creature's side.
The wolf's howl of agony was cut short as the electricity coursing through its body surged into the metal blade, causing it to convulse violently before collapsing to the forest floor, lifeless and smoking.
Silas stood over the fallen beast, panting heavily. He was physically unmarked, but mentally dreading the tsunami of pain that would eventually crash over him.
"Fan-freaking-tastic," he muttered, wiping his brow.
Silas continued his journey, his mind wandering to how he'd developed his unique fighting style.
It wasn't by choice, that was for sure. It was pure survival instinct, honed by years of desperately trying not to die in this death trap of a world.
"I bet some warrior would kill for my 'talent'," Silas mused as he climbed over a fallen log. "Well, they're welcome to it. I'd trade it for a comfy government job any day. You don't even have to be nice to people when you work for the government, they just have to listen to you."
His musings were interrupted by the sound of goblin voices. Great, just what he needed.
"Hey, look! A human!" one of the goblins cackled. "Let's gut 'im!"
Silas sighed heavily. "You know what? Not today. I'm not in the mood."
He turned and ran, the goblins hot on his heels. He sprinted through the forest, leapt over obstacles and ducked under branches.
After an hour, Silas finally lost the goblins. He slumped against a tree, panting heavily.
"You'd think after ten years, I'd be used to this," he gasped. "But nope, still hate it."
As he caught his breath, Silas considered his options. He could turn back, and forget this whole hero business.
But once again he thought of the kind apothecary, her lifeless eyes staring at the sky. No, he had to see this through.
"Stupid conscience," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of minor skirmishes and constant complaining. Silas fought when he had to, ran when he could, and grumbled the entire time.
As night began to fall, Silas finally saw the entrance to the Whispering Caverns in the distance. The mouth of the cave loomed ominously, seeming to swallow the last rays of sunlight.
"Great," he sighed. "Dark, creepy caves. Because this day couldn't get any better."
Silas approached the entrance cautiously, his hand on his sword hilt. The caves lived up to their name, with an eerie whisper echoing from deep within.
"You know," Silas said to no one in particular, "I'm about to walk into a scary cave that's literally whispering to me right now. What the hell's wrong with me?"
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. The weight of his quest settled heavily on his shoulders, along with the knowledge of the pain that was coming.
"Alright, Silas," he muttered to himself. "You've made it this far. Might as well see it through. But I swear, if I die in there, I'm going to be really annoyed."
With one last longing look at the forest behind him, Silas stepped into the darkness of the Whispering Caverns.
The adventure he never wanted was about to reach its climax, and he was decidedly not ready for it.