The rest of it is going on Patreon this evening, because it occurred to me to get it up before Christmas.
Timmy had been smart enough to figure out how the pile was a trap. Elves could mess with what you saw, he knew. So throw a brick at the pile, let the elf toss whatever off, then attack the elf for real. And if the elf was really there, well, you just hit it with a brick, right? Only thing was, you could be lucky or unlucky about where the elf really was, and Timmy had been real unlucky: it was close enough to get a stab in, and Timmy wasn’t really ready for that.
At least the elf wasn’t good at fighting; it had tried to shove its knife into Timmy’s gut, only to stumble a little because of the junk of the floor. That meant the stab turned into a slice along Timmy’s side, and owowowowow that HURT. Timmy punched back, as hard as he could, and while smacking the elf in the face hurt Timmy’s good hand a little it wrecked the elf’s nose and knocked it back about four feet.
The two squared off, glaring at each other. The elf looked a lot less human, now; its face looked cracked, with pieces kind of wriggling together as the ‘skin’ put itself back together. But it had a black glass knife that Timmy knew was really sharp, and the elf seemed really into having another go.
The elf started to talk, hawked, spat out a few teeth, and spoke. “Nasty little boy. I was behaving.”
Timmy had pulled out his own weapon; a piece of iron pipe, as heavy as he could manage to swing for more than a minute. “I don’t care,” Timmy said.
As one of your patrons, Moe, I very much enjoyed it, and am wondering if this is the last visit you’ll make to this world.
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Mew