Chapter 13 — The Stench of Death
The Goblin Leader sat upon his throne of jagged stone, one clawed hand drumming lazily against the armrest. A half-gnawed slab of meat rested in his other, its still-fresh blood slicking his greenish fingers. Around him, the cavern flickered dimly—pale blue crystals embedded in the walls pulsing with ghostly light. Their glow caught on his fangs whenever he bit down, painting his grin in blood.
The chamber stank of damp stone, musk, and decay. His brood had long since gone—nearly all thirty of them, sent scurrying after the strange human that had trespassed upon his territory. Only a few remained behind. Their breaths came shallow, eyes glued to the floor, too terrified to even glance at their king.
He ignored them.
Instead, his yellow eyes drifted toward the far corner—toward the pale-skinned human female his son had one of his servants capture earlier for him to breed with. She lay still, unmoving, her chest rising and falling faintly. Hands and feet bound by mana suppress vines.
A slow growl escaped his throat—half amusement, half wonder. He never could understand the need to breed with one so weak as she was, but his son wants her, so he kept her alive. So where was he?
'Still toying with the other one, perhaps,' he thought, licking his teeth clean with a rough, grey tongue. The idea amused him enough to let his head fall back against the throne.
Then… silence.
Not the ordinary kind—no. This one lingered, stretching out like a taut thread about to snap.
His ear twitched.
The scurrying footsteps that had filled the tunnels earlier were gone. No chatter. No distant shrieks. No growls. Only the slow, steady drip… drip… drip of water echoing from somewhere deep below.
A faint crease formed across his forehead.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
He waited another heartbeat. Then another. Nothing.
The meat dropped from his claws, landing with a soft wet splat against the stone floor.
"…Too long," he muttered, voice dry sounding and guttural—part hiss, part growl. Sounding like it came from a beast—-and it did.
He rose. The fur cloak hanging from his shoulders shifted, releasing a faint, rank odor. His cleaver—a massive hunk of jagged iron as tall as a goblin child—was pulled from where it leaned against the throne. It scraped against the stone as he lifted it, sparks hissing from the edge.
He started to walk.
Each step echoed, heavy and uneven, the sound reverberating down the tunnels like distant thunder. The weaker goblins scrambled away, pressing against the walls, trembling as his shadow swept over them. None dared breathe until he was gone.
But they still quietly followed behind.
The smell reached him first.
Blood. Thick, coppery, fresh.
His nostrils flared. His pace quickened.
The deeper he went, the warmer the air became—heavy with steam and rot. Then, rounding a corner, he saw it.
The corridor ahead was slick with dark green blood. It coated the walls, the floor, even the low ceiling. And at the narrowest point of the tunnel—a mound of twisted corpses blocked the way forward. Arms and legs tangled in impossible knots. Glassy eyes stared at nothing. The entire mass pulsed faintly, still dripping.
The Leader stopped. For the first time, his expression froze—confusion flickering across his features.
So many dead.
He moved closer, stepping over a limp arm. His claws scraped the stone. The crystals on the walls flickered as though frightened of what they illuminated.
A shape stirred beyond the pile. A human shape.
The Leader's eyes narrowed.
A familiar one. He stood bloodied, trembling, barely standing. His weapon buried in the skull of one of his evolved kin.
A low growl rumbled up the Leader's chest, rising until it filled the tunnel like thunder. Dust trembled loose from the ceiling. The few goblins who had followed him backed away in fright, squealing in terror as the sound turned into a roar.
The human turned around slowly.
The two stared at each other across the corpses. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Neither even breathed. Then—
"Y-you… your kill… my kin!"
The human said nothing. Probably because all that he heard were growling and grunting. his chest rose and fell weakly. He simply wrenched the pike free from the corpse and pointed it forward, the motion slow, trembling—yet unwavering.
The Leader bared his teeth, the blue crystals glinting across their edges.
"Then you die, h-human."
His aura erupted.
It wasn't light. It wasn't sound. It was pressure—raw, crushing, primal. The air bent around him, twisting with invisible weight. The lesser goblins screamed, their bodies convulsing. Blood ran from their noses, their ears.
If this was how it was for them one could only wonder how Sam felt.
And still, the aura deepened.
POV Shift: Sam
Sam's body hit the floor before he realized it. His limbs refused to obey him. It felt like the entire mountain had decided to collapse on his chest.
He gasped—once, twice—but the air wouldn't come. His vision swam. The corners of his sight darkened.
His wounds burst open again, spilling warmth down his sides. His left arm—the broken one—dangled uselessly. Each heartbeat came slower than the last.
The weight wasn't just physical. It clawed at his will, his mind, his sanity. A primal instinct screamed at him to run, but how could he? He couldn't even move!
He could feel the Leader's gaze on him — ragefull and primal, like a beast staring down prey.
Was this it?
Was this where he died?
What happens to Serena if he dies?
No! I refuse to die.
Something inside him snapped.
A faint pulse shivered through his chest—he searched for something that could help him out and only one thing came to mind.
His talent.
Reaching down, he called—and it answered.
Darkness seeped from him—not just from his hands this time, but from everywhere. From his pores, his wounds, even the tip of his hair. Tendrils of shadow writhed and spread across the floor, tasting the air like serpents before slithering toward the corpses around him. Even the ones beyond the narrow entrance.
The Leader didn't notice at first, too consumed by his own fury.
When he finally did…it was too late.
The shadows moved.
They crawled over the pile of corpses, coating them like tar, pulling them apart, swallowing them whole. The crystals dimmed, their light seamingly swallowed by the dark.
The aura pressing down on Sam shattered like brittle glass by the intensity as the cloud of darkness rushed back into his body, carrying with it the weight of nearly two hundred devoured corpses.
In an instant Sam's aura began to swell.
The Goblin Leader's roar turned from fury to confusion, then to berserk fury as he watched the bodies of his kin disappear.
As for sam,
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
YOU HAVE REACHED YOUR STAT LIMIT.
WARNING: YOU HAVE EXCEEDED YOUR STAT LIMITS!
This was the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.