GTS Syndrome Vol 2 Ch 8: Choosing To Fight, Guts Wont Save You!

I crouched low behind a jagged boulder, trying to slow my breath. My chest rose and fell like a damn drum, heart beating so loud I worried t

I crouched low behind a jagged boulder, trying to slow my breath. My chest rose and fell like a damn drum, heart beating so loud I worried the bastards might hear it over the wind. Just beyond the stone, five of them—no, six—moved like wolves around a terrified family: father, mother, and their little girl clinging to her mother's torn cloak. The man held a rusted farming tool like it was a holy relic. It wouldn't save him.

My fingers tightened around the hilt of my emerald blade. Penelope wasn't back yet. Probably still doing her... business. Ugh. No time to think about that. I looked again. One of the bandits, the tallest, leaned forward and backhanded the father, knocking him to the ground.

I saw red.

I waited until one of them strayed just far enough from the others, close to my rock. His blade hung lazy in his hand. Big mistake.

I lunged.

With a shout, I leapt from the shadows and slashed down. The blade sliced clean through his hand—his scream filled the canyon like a bell tolling doom.

"AAAGH! MY HAND!"

That got their attention. Every head turned, eyes widening at the sight of a bleeding, dirty, undersized man holding a glowing green sword.

"Who the hell are you?" one spat, pulling a dagger from his belt.

"The guy who's gonna ruin your day," I said, trying to sound tougher than I felt.

They charged.

I barely dodged the first swing, my feet slipping on loose stones. I brought the sword up in a wide arc, the blade clashing against rusted iron. My training from Endsby kicked in—not much, but enough to block and parry. Slash, duck, pivot, block, but not enough to do all of that while fighting more than two enemies.

"Shit!!!" I yelled as I continued to defend myself, but seeing a good enough opening to attack back.

Pain exploded in my side as a boot caught me in the ribs. I flew back, hit the ground hard. My vision blurred. Blood. My arm was cut. My lip was busted. My breathing was sharp and shallow. I struggled to rise, legs shaking.

They circled me now.

"Should've stayed hidden, runt," one growled, raising his sword.

I lifted my blade weakly. "Go to hell."

Then the world darkened.

A shadow. Massive.

A thud like a mountain slamming into the earth made the bandits freeze.

She was back.

Penelope.

She loomed behind them like a nightmare dressed in dirt and rage. Her eyes burned with fury, lips curled back in a silent snarl. Her shadow swallowed all of us, and the wind from her presence alone sent pebbles tumbling across the ground.

"Oh no..." I croaked, smearing blood from my chin. "They're so screwed."

Penelope's eyes snapped to me—her gaze softened for half a heartbeat—then hardened again as she turned to the bandits.

"What... is this?" she asked, voice low and deadly, like the rumble of an avalanche.

The tallest bandit turned, sword still raised. "Back off, freak! This ain't your busin—"

CRUNCH.

Her boot came down on him like a meteor. No time to scream. No warning. One second he was there, the next he was just red mist and bones snapping beneath a mountain of leather and steel.

The others screamed.

Penelope didn't stop.

She swung her leg and sent two of them flying with a sweep of her foot, their bodies ragdolling into the rocks. One bandit tried to run. A huge hand shot down and grabbed him mid-sprint—she held him up like a broken doll, dangling by torso, the man struggled, he screamed for her to let him go, but all he was met with was Penelope's apathetic eyes.

Soon her grip tightened around the man, who continued to let out blood cuddling screams as blood spilled from his mouth. Soon his body went limp, unmoving as Penelope's grip squeezed him harder.

"You hurt him," she said flatly, staring at the blood on my clothes. "You die."

She crushed him. Just like that.

The last one dropped his weapon, falling to his knees. "Please! Please! I didn't touch him! I—"

Penelope's foot descended.

"I don't care."

CRUNCH.

Silence followed. Thick, heavy silence. Only the wind, and my ragged breathing.

I caught my breath, letting my eyes close for just a moment. The fight was over. The bandits were dead. The family was safe.

Or so I thought.

A sudden shift in the air made my eyes snap open. I looked up to see Penelopes sharp eyes and her fingers curling slightly, like she was gripping something tight. My heart skipped a beat as I saw her towering form turn, slowly, deliberately, toward the family I'd fought to protect.

They were still frozen in place—father in front, arms stretched wide, shielding his daughter like a living barricade. The man had guts, I'll give him that.

But guts weren't going to stop Penelope.

Her gaze fell on them like falling ice. Cold. Flat. Unkind. Her lips didn't move, but I could practically hear the thought behind those eyes: Liabilities.

She took a step forward.

I shouted her name, but she didn't stop. Her massive foot rose into the air, casting a long, dark shadow over the family. The little girl screamed. The mother fell to her knees, clutching her child. The father just stood there, trembling, but unmoving.

"No!" I shouted, scrambling out of her palm and dropping to the ground with a hard roll. "Stop!"

Penelope froze mid-step, her foot still raised high, her eyes now locked on me.

I stood between her and the family, spreading my arms like I could actually stop her if I had to. "These are the people I wanted to save."

"They're the reason you almost died," she snapped, her voice deeper, sharper than I'd ever heard it before. "If I hadn't come back when I did, you'd be bleeding out in the dirt, Braden."

"That's not their fault," I said firmly. "They didn't bring those bandits. They didn't ask for help. I chose to fight."

Penelope's eyes narrowed. "So you'd risk your life for strangers?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "If I didn't, what would that make me?"

The silence between us stretched, thick enough to choke on. Her foot stayed in the air, hovering like a guillotine. I could feel the weight of her stare drilling into me. For a second, just a second, I thought she might not listen. That she'd come down anyway.

Then—slowly—her foot lowered, not with violence but control, until it touched the ground again with a heavy thud.

She didn't look at the family.

"Get lost," she growled, not shouting but not gentle either.

The family didn't need to be told twice.

The father bowed low—almost fell, really—and shouted a quick thank you. The mother grabbed her daughter and ran. They disappeared into the rocks and dust like leaves in the wind.

I turned back to Penelope.

She was already walking away, her long strides quiet, her back turned, shoulders stiff as steel cables.

I stood there a second, heart still racing, blood still hot. Then I jogged to catch up, every step sending a new jab of pain through my ribs and arms.

Something was wrong. Off. Penelope didn't say a word as I caught up, didn't look at me.

I glanced up at her, at the giantess who had saved my life and nearly ended three others without blinking.

The answer was there about how she felt about my kind, I shouldn't even have questioned.

"Penelope..."