[ WP ] You are the antagonist of the story . You 're trying to stop an insane serial killer , the hero .

“ Everybody buffed?! ” 
 
 The Knight ’ s booming rhetorical question echoed obnoxiously through the cavern. He was already moving onwards with a hastened irreverence, while his companions scrambled to complete their preparations. A frail, timid sorceress and a nervous thief hopped along behind him, not wanting to get too far behind. 
 
 Olik had already recognised the wretched knightly cries from afar. He ’ d heard them once before, muffled by clanking steel and the air-rending noises of incantations becoming manifest. It had been a week since then, marked by countless ceremonies to honour the dead. A week of families in mourning, of community gatherings to celebrate perseverance and strengthen resolve. 
 
 This time was already different. This time the elite warriors at the front of the cavern had all fallen. This time Olik got to put a face to the senseless scenes of bloodshed, even if it was obscured behind a cheap and terribly made iron helmet. 
 
 The rumours of the town propaganda machine sanctioning violence were surely confirmed now. A sack of coins for a sack of goblin heads, all to protect the so called realm from threats to its citizens. The truth was simpler of course. Expansion and extermination, carried out by naive thugs-for-hire with no money and everything to prove. 
 
 Olik was small in stature, even by goblin standards. Aloof and thoughtful, he preferred daydreams to sparring. He was athletically gifted and fairly capable with the small blade he ’ d cherished since childhood, but his attachment was mostly sentimental. 
 
 He ’ d never fought anyone or anything for real before. He ’ d never wanted to. 
 
 “ Hrghhh ” He exhaled, searching for but failing to find a single coherent word for his Chieftain, who was preparing to charge at the intruders. 
 
 He clutched at his blade so tightly that his hand was turning pale. He stared at it, trying to completely process what we knew he must use it for. 
 
 In his fleeting moment of hesitation, he missed the rush. He looked on, jarred by indecision and deep panic, as his Chieftan ’ s twin blades clashed heavily against the knight ’ s crude leather armour. 
 
 The knight was partially off balance, yet aptly deflected attacks using the small buckler attached to his left arm. The sorceress was clearly drained, her staff had but a faint glow remaining, and she had resorted to ineffectually throwing rocks. The thief had likewise maintained equal distance, and was firing dull arrows from a cheap looking shortbow, widely missing each shot. 
 
 Olik snapped out of it. He glanced at his chieftain, now on the blackfoot deflecting the knight ’ s attacks. He glanced back at his young kin cowering behind him. He had to press forward. This was happening, he resolved. In a few precious moments he ’ d already nearly failed his chieftain by being late to the fray. Get to it. Press forward. Go now. 
 
 He locked his sights on the knight. If he could flank the knight unseen, he might land a blow. With his heart pounding so hard his chest was constricting, he leapt toward the clashing metal with a howl. 
 
 At that moment, the sorceress pointed her staff and began to chant. It almost seemed as though she ’ d been waiting for this moment. The fading staff, clearly with one last charge left in it after all, erupted with a vile aberration. 
 
 Thorns sprouted from the cavern ’ s rocky soil, engulfing the chieftain and constraining his movement. The chieftain looked panicked, legs ensnared with deep thorn wounds, but Olik immediately noticed the knight ’ s face had an equal measure of fear and dread. The knight turned and screamed an obscenity at his companions. Olik tried to process what was happening for a moment, before it became abundantly clear. 
 
 The knight ’ s right arm had also become ensnared, and new tendrils were beginning to grasp at his torso. Even more shockingly, the sorceress had misjudged her spell so badly that she ’ d also put herself and thief within its effects. Their struggle was brief. Succumbing to completely helpless immobility, they looked on, gripped by cold anticipation. 
 
 Olik on the other hand had the agility to carefully maintain movement. With a steady but measured momentum, he closed on the struggling knight. Both the knight and the chieftain were now tightly bound, bleeding, and contorted awkwardly. He raised his blade to the knight ’ s neck, peering into his defiant eyes. The knight spat at him, but even that little movement caused visible pain. 
 
 Olik pressed his mouth firmly shut, to contain the uneasy noises he imagined he ’ d make. He clenched the blade firmly, and drove it forward.
