Steve was hiding behind the giant rock like a cornered animal.

  His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it wanted to burst out of his chest and escape through his throat. Each beat was a sharp blow inside him, echoing in his ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Thump. Thump. Thump. Too fast. Too loud. He was absolutely certain that sound would give him away.

  The goblin was still there.

  He could feel it.

  He didn’t need to see it.

  The fear didn’t come from his imagination. It came from his body. A creeping cold slithered down his spine, clinging to his muscles, locking his joints. Steve pressed his back against the rough stone, feeling tiny splinters dig into his skin, but the pain was irrelevant compared to the terror of being discovered.

  Breathe… slowly.

  He tried to inhale through his nose, but the air felt too heavy, thick, as if the forest was filled with something invisible that was suffocating him. So he held his breath. One second. Two. Three.

  His chest began to burn.

  Black spots appeared at the edges of his vision. His head spun slightly. He brought his hand to his mouth, pressing his lips hard to prevent any sound.

  I can’t pass out. Not now.

  An involuntary tremor ran through his arms. His sweaty hands slipped a little in the mud. A tiny noise—almost nothing—but to Steve it sounded like thunder.

  The goblin sniffed.

  Steve felt his blood run cold.

  The smell of his own body seemed stronger now. The wound on his face throbbed, hot, alive. Something was wrong there. Very wrong. The skin burned, and blood trickled slowly down his cheek, mixing with sweat and dirt.

  Infection.

  The thought came with panic.

  The metallic smell of blood spread, thick in the air. Steve realized too late that it was an invitation. A beacon.

  The goblin sniffed again, closer this time.

  The sound was low, deep, animal… but intelligent. The kind of sound that didn’t come from hunger alone, but from the certainty that prey was near.

  Steve swallowed hard, tasting iron in his mouth.

  Think. Think, damn it.

  His eyes scanned the ground around him. Mud. Rotten leaves. Stagnant water. Without making a sound, he reached out and scooped up a handful of cold, thick mud. The smell was awful—damp, rotten—but that didn’t matter.

  With extreme care, he began spreading the mud over his face.

  The sensation was immediate. Cold. Sticky. Seeping into the cuts, drawing a silent groan that he forced down. He covered the wound, his neck, his arms. Wherever there was blood, there was mud now.

  His whole body trembled.

  Another sniff.

  Then… hesitation.

  Steve held his breath again, this time until the pain became sharp. His chest begged for air. His throat burned. His veins throbbed.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Then he heard something different.

  Footsteps.

  But not coming closer.

  Moving away.

  Very slowly.

  The goblin was retreating.

  Steve almost cried with relief.

  His muscles relaxed for a dangerous instant. The world spun again. He drew in a deep breath, pulling the air with a stifled sob, his eyes watering.

  I did it…

  His still-racing heart began to slow. Thump. Thump. Thump. Less violent. Less desperate.

  That was when he moved.

  Just one step.

  Just one mistake.

  Steve’s foot pressed down on something loose on the ground.

  Clack.

  The stone shifted.

  The sound echoed like a gunshot in the forest’s silence.

  “Shit…” escaped in a broken whisper.

  The world froze.

  The goblin stopped.

  Steve felt it before he heard it. A shift in the air pressure. The silence growing too heavy.

  Then the creature’s body turned.

  Not fast.

  Not furious.

  Slow.

  Deliberate.

  The goblin’s gaze cut through the space and found Steve behind the rock. Its small eyes gleamed with recognition. Not surprise. Recognition.

  Without thinking.

  Without hesitating.

  The goblin raised its arm.

  The stone axe left its hand with a violent whistle, slicing through the air with brutal force.

  Steve only had time to widen his eyes.

  The impact came like an explosion.

  The giant rock shattered with a dry crack, splitting, shards flying everywhere. The force was absurd. Inhuman.

  Steve was hurled forward.

  His body left the ground.

  The world became a blur of pain, dust, and sound.

  Steve fell to his knees, the world spinning in hazy blotches.

  The impact had knocked the air from his lungs. He tried to breathe, but only a weak wheeze came, useless. His chest burned as if filled with ground glass. The taste of blood flooded his mouth—thick, hot, too metallic to ignore.

  In front of him, the goblin advanced.

  Drooling.

  A thick strand of saliva dripped from its deformed chin, falling into the mud. Its small, yellowish eyes were fixed on him, not hurried, but pleased. Like someone who had already decided what to eat… and was simply savoring the moment.

  Steve grabbed a rock from the ground.

  His hands shook so much he almost dropped it. Still, he yelled—a hoarse, broken sound—and threw it with all the strength he had left.

  The rock hit the goblin’s shoulder.

  Nothing.

  No flinch.

  Not even a blink.

  Steve’s heart sank.

  That was when he saw it.

  Tucked into the creature’s belt, almost hidden by dirt and dried blood, was a small knife. Crude. Short blade. Red. Blood still dripped from it, falling to the ground in slow drops.

  The goblin charged.

  Too fast.

  Mud splashed as the creature ran, its wide feet crushing leaves and water. Steve reacted on pure instinct. He plunged his hands into the mud and flung it into the monster’s face.

  The impact was wet, messy.

  The goblin roared, temporarily blinded, its huge hands clawing at the air, trying to grab him. Steve didn’t think—he ducked under the creature’s legs, feeling the hot, rotten breath pass over his head.

  On the other side.

  He turned and snatched the knife from the belt.

  Heavy. Slippery.

  He gripped it with both hands.

  And struck.

  The blade sank into the goblin’s back.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  The creature’s scream was animal, tearing through the forest. Steve screamed with it—not from courage, but from desperation. Each stab came with a sob, with tears mixed into the mud, with one repeated thought:

  I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.

  The goblin spun violently.

  A massive arm swung like a tree trunk.

  The blow sent Steve flying backward. His back slammed into a tree, his head exploding in white light. The knife flew from his hand and landed far away, out of reach.

  Steve slid to the ground, gasping, blind for a few seconds.

  When his vision returned, he saw the goblin wiping its face, clearing the mud.

  Its eyes found him again.

  Now there was rage.

  The creature walked slowly.

  Each step was a verdict.

  When it got close, it raised its foot.

  And stomped.

  The crack was sharp.

  Clear.

  Steve’s leg bones snapped like an old branch.

  The scream tore out, uncontrollable. The pain was absolute. Total. There was no comparison. No thought. Just pain. Tears streamed unchecked, his body writhing uselessly.

  The goblin smiled.

  It twisted its foot, grinding deeper, savoring the sound, the reaction. Steve felt his consciousness waver, his vision darkening at the edges.

  The knife.

  It was there.

  Close.

  With one last shred of sanity, Steve stretched out, his fingers finding the handle. He gripped it with both hands and drove it into the goblin’s foot.

  The roar came instantly.

  He stabbed again.

  And again.

  And again.

  No technique. No strength. Just hate and pain.

  The goblin grabbed Steve’s left arm.

  The pressure was unbearable.

  The sound of bone being crushed made Steve scream until his voice gave out. His hand lost all shape. The arm fell, useless.

  The creature lifted him into the air.

  Steve dangled like a broken doll, his whole body bleeding, the world swaying. The goblin clenched its fist and punched him in the stomach.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  Steve spat blood, each blow erasing another piece of his consciousness.

  Flashbacks flooded his mind.

  His father yelling.

  Classmates laughing.

  The misery.

  The real world.

  “The real world was rotten… this one is worse.

  But at least here… the pain is honest.”

  He smiled.

  Empty.

  Then he remembered his mother.

  The hospital.

  The silence of the rooms.

  The simple life he wanted, far from everything.

  With one last thread of will, he raised his good arm.

  And drove the knife in.

  Into the eye.

  Then the other.

  Into the neck.

  Into the face.

  The goblin howled, blinded, maddened, hurling Steve away. He hit the ground hard, with no strength left to move.

  The monster still came.

  Sniffing.

  Steve cried and smiled at the same time.

  “Sorry, Mom…” he murmured. “Looks like… it won’t be this time.”

  Then, an arrow.

  It pierced through the goblin’s body from behind.

  The creature collapsed, dead.

  Voices emerged.

  “Damn goblin… devoured our last offering.”

  “Sir… this man is still alive.”

  “A living offering…” another voice murmured, satisfied. “The goddess will like this.”

  Steve tried to speak.

  “Who… are you…?”

  A shadow leaned over him.

  “Don’t worry,” the voice said, low. “We’ll take very good care of you.”

  Darkness closed in.

  And Steve blacked out.