The first day of tracking, Skuggi and Jurgen found footprints heading west. Not the chaotic scatter of a fleeing horde, but organized columns. The undead moved with purpose even without their supposed owner.

  They followed at a distance. Stayed downwind when possible. Marked their trail with small cuts on tree bark so they could find their way back.

  The goblins moved during twilight hours. Dawn and dusk, when light was uncertain. During full daylight, they disappeared.

  On the second day, Skuggi and Jurgen found where they went.

  A cave system. Natural limestone formations riddled with openings and passages. The goblins filed inside as the sun climbed, emerging only when shadows grew long again.

  Skuggi watched from a ridge above the main entrance. Counted them as they appeared at sunset. Forty-two. Three fewer than had surrounded the settlement, but close enough.

  Jurgen signed a question: What do they eat?

  Good question. The undead didn't need sustenance the way living things did. But they were consuming something; Skuggi could smell blood and rot coming from the cave entrance even from this distance.

  They moved closer after the goblins left to hunt. Found the evidence inside the cave mouth. Carcasses. Deer, rabbits, and a fox. All torn apart, partially consumed. Bones were scattered and cracked open for marrow.

  "They're still feeding," Skuggi said. "Even though they don't need to."

  Jurgen examined the remains. Signed: instinct or something else?

  "Don't know. But it gives us a pattern. They hunt at night. Hide during the day. Feed on whatever they can catch."

  They spent the third day observing from concealment. Watched the goblins return at dawn carrying fresh kills. Watched them disappear into the cave system. Waited to see if they'd emerge during daylight.

  Nothing for hours. Complete stillness.

  Then Skuggi threw a rock. Let it clatter down the slope and bounce off the cave entrance. The sound echoed.

  Movement inside. Shadows shifting. Three goblins emerged, hollow eyes scanning for threats. They stood there for a full minute before retreating back into darkness.

  Jurgen signed, "Noise wakes them."

  "But not much. Small sounds, animal movements, they ignore those. But loud noises, unusual sounds..." Skuggi picked up another rock. Threw it harder. More goblins appeared this time. Seven, eight. Agitated but not aggressive. Looking for the source.

  When no threat materialized, they retreated again.

  "They respond to disturbance but don't investigate far," Skuggi said. "Just check the immediate area, then return to hiding."

  On the fourth day, they went back to the ruined village. To retrieve the hobgoblin's corpse and prepare it for transport.

  The body was gone.

  Skuggi stood in the exact spot where he'd killed the creature. Blood still stained the ground, dark patches on scorched earth. But no corpse. No drag marks. No tracks indicating anything had moved it.

  Jurgen circled the area. His signs came confused: nothing here, no trail, how possible?

  Skuggi crouched. Examined the blood pattern. It spread outward from a central point, where the hobgoblin had fallen and bled out. But there was no disruption in the pattern. No smears or gaps that would indicate the body being moved.

  He expanded his search. Found the footprints he and his group had left when fleeing. Found the tracks of the undead horde that had surrounded them. Found evidence of their own return, his boots, Jurgen's, on the path they'd taken this morning.

  But nothing that explained the missing corpse.

  The undead goblins hadn't taken it. They'd have left tracks and would have consumed at least part of it based on their feeding patterns. This was complete removal. No trace...

  Skuggi's mind turned to possibilities he didn't want to consider. The alchemists. His former captors. They had resources and methods he didn't understand. If they were tracking him, and they almost certainly were, they might have agents in the area. Might have found the hobgoblin's body and recognized it for what it was.

  Or something else. Something he hadn't encountered yet.

  Too many unknowns. Too few answers.

  Jurgen signed. We tell others?

  "No point. It achieves nothing to worry about problems we can't solve." Skuggi stood. "Focus on what we can control. The undead are still a threat. We deal with them first."

  They returned to the cave system. Spent the fifth day mapping it completely. Found three entrances: the main one the goblins used, a smaller opening fifty yards west, and a crack in the limestone near the ridge top that led to an upper chamber.

  That crack was important. Skuggi could fit through it if he squeezed. It opened into a space directly above the main cave where the goblins congregated during daylight.

  An advantage. If they could position themselves above the undead and rain something down on them...

  The plan formed over the next two days. Simple. Brutal. Dependent on the holy mead working as promised.

  Skuggi returned to the settlement on the evening of the sixth day. Found Myn An exhausted, hands blistered from days of ritual work. But beside her sat fifteen waterskins. Each one filled with holy mead. The liquid caught torchlight and glowed faintly in the gathering dark.

  "Is it enough?" she asked. Her voice was rough from chanting prayers.

  "It'll have to be." Skuggi examined the containers. Standard leather waterskins, each holding maybe a quart. Not ideal for what he had planned.

  He found Materlyn. "I need flasks. Small ones. Something that can be thrown or dropped. And I need them to break on impact."

  She frowned. "We don't have glass. Haven't had the materials or means to make it."

  "Animal bladders then. Dried, stretched. Anything that will hold liquid and rupture easily."

  Understanding dawned. "You're going to drop the holy mead on them from above."

  "Yes."

  She gathered the women who knew leatherworking. They spent the night preparing containers from the internal organs of the animals they'd hunted and butchered. Bladders, stomach linings, intestines tied and sealed. Not pretty, but functional.

  By morning, they had thirty small flasks. Each one held maybe a cup of holy mead. Skuggi tested them, dropping one from shoulder height onto rock. It burst on impact, liquid spreading across stone.

  Good enough.

  He spent the rest of that day preparing. Selected dead animals from the settlement's refuse, carcasses too damaged or diseased to eat but still fresh enough to smell like food. Loaded them into packs. Collected rope, the flasks of holy mead, and his weapons.

  Jurgen joined him as the sun dropped toward the horizon.

  They moved through the forest in familiar silence. Reached the cave system as darkness fell completely.

  Skuggi carried the dead animals to the main cave entrance. Arranged them just inside where the goblins would smell them immediately upon returning from their nightly hunt. Set them in a cluster twenty feet from the entrance. Far enough in that the creatures would have to commit to entering. Close enough that Skuggi could reach them easily when needed.

  Then he and Jurgen climbed to the upper entrance. The crack in the limestone was tight, Skuggi had to remove his pack and push it through first, then squeeze after it. Jurgen followed with more difficulty. His broader frame barely fit.

  They emerged in the upper chamber. The floor was uneven limestone, slick with moisture. The space opened up, maybe fifteen feet across and eight feet high. And in the center, a gap. Not a hole exactly, just a section where the floor ended and you could look down into the main cave below.

  Perfect position. They could see the bait animals directly underneath. Could drop the flasks straight down onto anything that gathered there.

  Skuggi arranged the flasks along the edge of the gap. Thirty of them were set carefully so they wouldn't tip or roll. Connected them with thin rope, when he pulled one end, the whole line would tip forward and fall.

  Jurgen positioned himself near the crack they'd entered through. Held a rope they'd secured to a stable rock formation. When Skuggi gave the signal, Jurgen would pull him up if he needed to retreat quickly.

  Everything ready. Now they waited.

  The goblins returned an hour later. Skuggi heard them first, those shuffling footsteps, the particular lack of breathing sounds. Forty-two sets of feet moving with mechanical coordination.

  They reached the cave entrance. Paused. The smell of the bait animals would have reached them by now.

  Skuggi climbed down from the upper chamber. Used handholds in the limestone to descend silently. Positioned himself near the back of the main cave, behind a rock formation that would give him cover.

  He took a breath. Then screamed.

  Not words. Just sound. Loud, sudden, wrong. The kind of noise that demanded investigation.

  The goblins responded immediately. Rushed into the cave toward the source. Hollow eyes scanning, bodies moving faster than the shambling walk they used for normal travel.

  Skuggi ran deeper into the cave. Led them past the bait animals. Made them follow his voice, his movement. Got them committed to pursuit.

  Then he cut left. Found the narrow passage he'd scouted earlier. Squeezed through. The goblins were too focused on where he'd been to notice where he'd gone.

  He climbed. Fast, using the handholds he'd memorized during reconnaissance, he scaled the cliff. Heard the goblins behind him slow and confused. They'd lost his trail.

  Then one of them noticed the bait animals.

  The sounds changed. From pursuit to feeding. Tearing flesh. Cracking bones. The mechanical efficiency of creatures following base programming even when actual hunger didn't exist.

  Skuggi reached the upper chamber. Jurgen was already in position. His eyes asked the question: ready?

  Skuggi nodded. Moved to the gap in the floor. Looked down.

  The goblins had gathered below. Clustered around the bait animals. Thirty-eight of them in a rough circle, tearing at dead flesh. Four stood apart, positioned as guards. Less intelligent than the hobgoblin had been, but some tactical awareness remained.

  Skuggi grabbed the rope connected to the flasks. Met Jurgen's eyes. Counted down on his fingers.

  Three. Two. One.

  He pulled.

  The flasks tipped. Fell. Some broke on the edges of the gap, spilling their contents early. Others fell true, straight down into the mass of feeding goblins below.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Glass and treated bladders shattered on impact. Holy mead spread—across backs, heads, the stone floor. The liquid caught what little light filtered into the cave, glowed with that faint luminescence.

  For a second, nothing happened.

  Then the screaming started.

  Not human screams. Something worse. The sound of things that shouldn't be able to make sound finding voices through magic-burned throats.

  Smoke rose from wherever the holy mead touched. Not fire-smoke. Thicker, darker. The smell of corruption being purged, of necromantic energy dissolving.

  The goblins thrashed. Clawed at their own flesh trying to remove the liquid. But it had already soaked in, was already working through dead tissue, destroying the bindings that kept them animated.

  Bodies collapsed. Not dead, they were already dead. Just... released. Whatever force held them upright, made them move, was being severed by Líf's blessing.

  Some tried to shield themselves. Used the bodies of their fallen companions as protection. Pressed against walls where the mead hadn't reached. The four guards hadn't been hit at all, they'd been too far from the cluster.

  Skuggi watched the ones who'd been protected. Counted seven still standing. Using corpses as barriers, hollow eyes scanning upward now, finding the source of the attack.

  "Jurgen," Skuggi said quietly. "I'm going down."

  Jurgen signed rapidly: too dangerous, wait, finish them from here.

  "We're out of holy mead. And they know we're up here now." Skuggi drew the hobgoblin's sword. "I can handle seven."

  He didn't wait for permission. Dropped through a wider section of the gap. Fell fifteen feet. Landed hard, rolled to absorb impact. Came up with the sword ready.

  The seven remaining goblins turned toward him as one.

  They charged. Not coordinated like when the hobgoblin had led them. Just base aggression, the simplest programming still functioning.

  Skuggi met the first one. Its club swung at his head. He ducked under it, drove the sword up through its ribcage. The blade found the spine, severed it. The goblin collapsed.

  Not killed—that was impossible, it was already dead. But damaged beyond the ability to move. The necromantic energy couldn't animate a body missing critical structural components.

  The second and third came together. Skuggi kicked one in the knee, felt bone shatter. It went down. He beheaded the other with a horizontal cut. The head rolled away. The body stood for another second before collapsing.

  Four left. They'd learned enough to be wary. Circled him instead of charging. Looking for openings.

  Skuggi's enhanced vision let him track all of them simultaneously. See their positions in the cave's darkness. Predict their movements from shifts in weight, changes in posture.

  When they attacked, he was ready. Blocked the first strike, deflected the second into the path of the third attacker. Cut the hamstring of the fourth. Drove his sword through the skull of the one he'd deflected.

  Skull destruction. That worked when dismemberment wasn't practical. Destroy enough of the head and whatever animated them lost its anchor point.

  The remaining three pressed harder. No fear, no self-preservation. Just mechanical aggression.

  Skuggi destroyed them methodically. Crushed one's skull with a rock after disarming it. Beheaded the second one. Severed the spine of the third.

  Then silence. Just his breathing and the drip of water somewhere deeper in the cave system.

  He looked at what remained. Piles of bone and desiccated flesh where the holy mead had done its work. Intact corpses where he'd damaged them too severely to function. Thirty-eight destroyed by Líf's blessing. Seven more by violence.

  Forty-five total. Three more than what had surrounded the settlement. They'd been gathering reinforcements. Or finding more corpses to animate.

  Either way, they were done now.

  Jurgen descended using the rope they'd secured. Landed beside Skuggi, while carrying a torch. His hands moved through signs: amazing, scary, how see in dark?

  Skuggi said. "I can see without light. Not perfectly, but enough."

  They searched the bodies. Found weapons, axes, hammers, swords. Most were damaged, rusty, poorly maintained. But some were salvageable. Found armor pieces too. Leather mostly, some chain mail sections. All taken from previous victims.

  Someone behind the undead had been looting the people they killed. Building an armory for a force that would never tire, never stop, never need food or rest.

  Thank the gods they'd found this nest before it grew larger.

  They loaded what was useful into packs. Made three trips back to the settlement over the next two days. Brought weapons, armor, anything that could be repaired or repurposed.

  Materlyn examined the haul. Her eyes lit up when she saw the quality of some pieces. "This is good material. Better than we've ever had. I can work with this."

  She gathered the women who knew textile work, leather treatment, basic smithing. They spent the next week sorting, cleaning, repairing.

  On the eighth day, Materlyn found Skuggi. "I've made you something."

  She led him to where she'd been working. Laid out on a table was clothing. Real clothing, not just scavenged pieces. Purpose-built from the salvaged materials.

  A cloak. Dark fabric, probably from someone's traveling gear. She'd cut it down, frayed the edges deliberately to help it blend with shadows. It hung to mid-thigh, would move with him without tangling.

  A scarf. Lighter color, beige or gray. Draped across his shoulders and chest. Practical warmth without restricting movement.

  Tunic layers underneath. Dark, fitted. Reinforced with leather strips across the chest and shoulders. The kind of thing that would turn a glancing blade, slow a serious strike enough to make the difference between injury and death.

  The hobgoblin's sword. Jurgen had given it to him two days ago, said nothing, just handed it over with a look that meant this is yours, you earned it. It would go across his back. The sheath was worn but functional.

  A belt. Dark leather, decorated with... Skuggi looked closer. Small bones. Carved and polished. "Are those…"

  "Goblin finger bones," Materlyn said. Her voice was matter-of-fact. "From the ones you killed. I thought they'd serve as reminder. Warning to others. Trophy for you. Take your pick."

  The belt also held pouches. For supplies, tools, whatever he'd need. Practical and symbolic both.

  Trousers. Dark, fitted for movement. Reinforced at the knees and seat where wear would be heaviest.

  Boots. Leather, built for rough terrain. Salvaged from someone who'd been close to Skuggi's size. Materlyn had adjusted them, added padding, ensured they'd last.

  "Try them on," she said.

  Skuggi did. Piece by piece. The fabric felt foreign after months of wearing whatever scraps he could find. But it fit. Everything fit. Not perfectly; some sections were loose, others tight, but close enough that adjustments could be made.

  He looked down at himself. Dark and practical. Built for someone who moved through shadows, who fought and survived and kept going.

  He looked like... something. Not the lab subject in sterile white. Not the refugee in torn and bloodstained clothes.

  An adventurer, maybe. Someone with purpose. Someone who belonged to the path they'd chosen rather than the cage they'd escaped.

  "How does it feel?" Materlyn asked.

  Skuggi moved. Tested the range of motion. Drew the sword, returned it to its sheath. Crouched, stood, twisted to check for restrictions.

  "Good," he said. "It feels good."

  She smiled. "The others contributed. Hilde did the leatherwork. Signe helped with the stitching. Myn An blessed it, nothing formal, just asked Líf to protect you while you wear it. Even Freia added something." She pointed at a small embroidered symbol on the inside of the cloak. The Freydottir crest. Barely visible. Private.

  "Why?" Skuggi asked. "Why go to this effort?"

  "Because you've protected us. Kept us alive. Given us time to build something that might last." Materlyn's expression was serious. "And because you looked like you didn't belong anywhere. Like you were just passing through until you found wherever you were supposed to be. We wanted you to know…" She stopped. Started again. "You belong here. With us. For as long as you choose to stay."

  Skuggi had no words for what that meant. For the feeling it created in his chest. Warmth and weight and something that might have been the beginning of understanding what connection felt like.

  He touched the cloak. Felt the rough fabric under his fingers. Looked at the bone ornaments on the belt. At the sword on his back. At the clothes that people had made for him because they wanted him to have them.

  "Thank you," he said. Inadequate. But all he had.

  Materlyn nodded. "You're welcome. Now go show Freia. She's been asking about it for three days."

  He walked through the settlement wearing his new clothes. People noticed. Eyes tracked him. A few nodded. Recognition. Respect.

  He found Freia near the defensive wall. She looked him over, took in every detail.

  "You look dangerous," she said finally.

  "I am dangerous."

  "I know. But now you look like you know it too." She touched the cloak's edge. "This suits you. Makes you look like someone with a purpose."

  "What purpose?"

  "Haven't figured that out yet?"

  Skuggi thought about it. About the hobgoblin's words. About alchemists making weapons. About choosing what to be instead of accepting what you were made for.

  "I'm going to find them," he said. "The other places where my cpators may be.Stop them from making more horrible things to people."

  Freia smiled. "Good. And are you still coming with me?."

  "After we make sure this settlement can defend itself. After we know they're safe."

  "Obviously." She looked past him, at the village they'd built from nothing. At the people working, living, surviving. "They'll be fine. Aionel's a good leader. They have defenses. Knowledge. They can handle whatever comes next."

  "And we go looking for answers."

  "We go looking for answers," she agreed.

  Skuggi pulled the cloak tighter around himself. Felt the weight of the sword on his back. Looked at his hands, scarred now from combat, work, the violence required to survive.

  He'd been made a weapon. The alchemists had designed him to fight, to kill, to serve purposes he'd never chosen.

  But weapons could choose new purposes. Could be wielded by their own hands instead of others'.

  He'd promised himself he would find the facilities. Stop the experiments. Free whatever subjects he could. Destroy whatever couldn't be freed.

  Not because the alchemists had made him capable of it. Because he'd chosen it.

  Because some things were worth fighting for. Worth the pain of bone blades tearing through skin. Worth the risk of death.

  People. Connection. The fragile bonds between creatures who shouldn't matter to each other but did anyway.

  He understood that now. Finally. After months of watching, learning, and trying to comprehend what it meant to belong somewhere.

  He belonged here. With these people. In these clothes made by their hands.

  And when he left, he'd carry that belonging with him. Proof that he'd been more than just a weapon.

  Proof that he'd been human enough to matter.

  The thought settled into his chest. Heavy and warm and right.

  For the first time since escaping the lab, Skuggi felt like himself.

  Whatever that meant. Whoever that would become.

  He'd figure it out. One step at a time.

  Starting now.

  “???????? ??? ???????... ?????? ???? ?? ???????? ?? ?????? ?? ??? ?? ?????????...”

  “Monsters are mirrors... showing only the darkness we refuse to see in ourselves...”

  How was it??