Chapter 12 — The Eyes in the Dark
The sound of screeching echoed through the tunnels behind him.
Heavy, uneven footsteps scraped against stone—a chorus of snarls and chittering that seemed to close in from every direction.
Sam didn't look back. He couldn't.
His lungs burned. His legs screamed. Every heartbeat thundered louder than the horde chasing him.
A few minutes ago, he'd thought he could lead them away—lose them in the twisting tunnels, then circle back to Serena. Maybe face the last goblin afterward.
But that plan had crumbled fast. He'd forgotten one simple truth: this was their home.
And trying to lose the goblins in their own nest was pure foolishness.
Now, the pursuit had only grown worse. More goblins had joined the chase, drawn by the noise, until their number swelled to over a hundred—with over twenty wolves in tow.
Some even tried cutting him off, their snarls echoing ahead. He avoided them only by instinct, and sheer luck.
Then he saw it—a slit in the cavern wall, barely wide enough for two goblins to squeeze through at once.
It was dark and narrow, almost hidden behind a jagged outcrop of rock.
A chance.
He didn't hesitate. Sam slipped through the gap, scraping his shoulder against rough stone as he stumbled into a small hollow beyond.
The air was stale, thick with the smell of moss and damp earth. The space wasn't too deep—a cramped chamber with uneven walls and a single narrow entrance.
But it would do.
He pressed his back against the side wall, breathing hard.
The bone pike trembled faintly in his hands, slick with green blood from the previous fight.
His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. His pulse pounded in his ears.
The first goblin burst through the gap, screeching as it lunged. Its wrinkled face—old, furious—twisted into something primal. Likely one of those that joined the chase midway.
Sam didn't hesitate. The pike shot forward with a wet crunch, punching clean through its skull.
The body fell instantly, blocking part of the entrance.
Another goblin came right after, tripping over the corpse. Sam yanked the pike free, spun it halfway, and rammed it through the second goblin's neck.
Blood sprayed across the rock walls, hot and thick.
They kept coming.
Two more squeezed in, snarling and shoving, desperate to reach him.
Sam jabbed again—the narrow space turning their numbers into a curse.
Bodies piled up in the entrance, choking the passage with limbs, snarls, and dying screams. Forcing the goblin to drag the dead out to be able to enter. Further slowing them down.
This gave Sam the much-needed respite.
But exhaustion was real. Not all of them went down with one hit. Some he was forced to exchange multiple strikes with.
Until every strike grew heavier, slower.
Every breath came sharper, cutting through his throat like glass.
He fought without thought now—only instinct.
His shoulder burned. His grip trembled. He couldn't stop.
A wolf darted through the pile, raking its claws across his back. The pain exploded like fire, tearing through his focus.
Then a goblin caught his thigh with a rusted blade. Sam grunted, drove his knee up, and slammed the pike's blunt end into its skull until it stopped moving.
The next one climbed over its kin. Sam met it halfway—the pike thrust through its mouth and out the back of its head.
He didn't even pull it out right away. He just stood there, chest heaving, tasting blood and iron in the air.
The floor was slick with gore.
Bodies pressed together near the entrance—twitching, broken, some still alive.
Light from the crystals embedded in the walls flickered, casting Sam's silhouette across the blood-stained walls.
It could have been minutes. It could have been hours.
When the last goblin fell, Sam slumped against the wall. His breath came in shallow bursts.
The pike, now broken to barely a third of its length, hung loosely in his trembling grip. His left arm dangled uselessly by his side.
But somehow—he'd done it.
He was bleeding. Dizzy. The world tilted slightly every time he blinked.
The echoes of battle still rang in his skull even though the cave had fallen silent.
He pushed himself up, limping toward the entrance.
One of the two larger goblins—a brute twice the size of the others—was still alive, gurgling weakly in the pile. Its eyes rolled, cloudy with pain.
Most of his wounds came from them alone—even his limp hand.
He'd only won because the narrow passage turned their size against them.
Sam stared down at the creature quietly. Then lifted the broken pike and drove it straight through its eye.
The sound was wet. Final.
He left the weapon there for a moment, his bloodstained face blank, his chest rising and falling slowly.
He was about to pull it free when he froze.
A weight pressed against his instincts, cold and suffocating.
A roar suddenly sounded shaking the walls of the cave with its intensity.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Beyond the narrow entrance, half-veiled by shadow, a pair of red eyes watched him—still, silent, and filled with malice so raw he could almost taste it.
Then came the voice—half growl, half snarl.
"Grunt. Grunt."
[translation] "You…" it hissed. The words coming out thick with rage and disbelief. "You kill my kin."