Ariella watched from the shadows as Erik disappeared beneath the villager’s onslaught. In spite of his enhanced abilities, the farmers were large, rawboned fellows with courage fortified by considerable quantities of alcohol. She shook her head as the spectacle unfolded. This, she surmised, could not help but go badly for her old friend.
She stifled laughter as the press of bodies parted and she glimpsed Erik struggling with impotent rage. His protests were silenced, in rather a final manner, as a two-foot length of sharpened ash wood was pounded into his chest with brutal efficiency.
Though she’d intended to remain solely an observer, she was forced to act when one of the stalwarts produced a short ax and made ready to lop of Erik’s head. With a sigh, she knocked an arrow and dropped the wielder to the ground. Five more arrows struck home before the mob found discretion the better part of valor and fled into the night.
Dropping from the rafters she bent over the lifeless body and quipped, “You can get up now. Those sheep will regain their nerve soon enough and be back to finish the job.”
With a grin, Erik sprang up, removing the offending stake with obvious distaste. “I swear it was not my fault this time, Ariella!”
“Save the story, fool, and let’s get the hell out of here. You can’t always count on having two hearts to save you.”
“Why, of course, I can’t my dear. That’s what I have you for.”
This story was written for the weekly Thursday Threads flash fiction challenge prompt: "You can get up now."