We—Hanso, Miguel, and I—had halted. We were no longer headed north. Because, in front of us, a battle unveiled.
Two hobgoblins against a human man. It was a fight of magic power. The hobgoblins were supposedly related or perhaps clones because, strangely, they shared an ability. Spikes protruded from their bodies like extending claws of four-legged animals. They lunged at the lone human who stood with fear in his eyes.
They constantly stabbed and slashed the human to his body, and then retracted their spikes. After the spikes were yanked out, the human's wounds quickly regenerated. But he was weak. Slow. He flung punches but missed. And when his blows did come through, they hadn't done significant damage to the muscular hobgoblins.
"Come on, brother! Let's kill this mother fucker!"
"He keeps regenerating. I don't know where to hit."
"A dead man can't regenerate. Aim for the heart or the head. He's bound to die!"
