The goblins fanned out like a plague of vermin, their clawed feet scraping against broken shelves and splintered tiles. The metal racks groaned beneath their hunched weight, bending with a shriek that echoed through the desolate pharmacy. Flickering fluorescent lights blinked overhead, dying ghosts trapped in their sockets, washing the ruined aisles in pulses of cold, white light. Shadows twisted across shattered glass and rusted metal, alive and dancing to the rhythm of their breath.
The air reeked of rot and rust—blood drying on tile, fur soaked in filth, and the acrid sting of chemicals seeping from broken bottles. The stench of monsters and death.
And in the center of it all stood Jagger.
No—the thing wearing him.
He inhaled deeply, the foul scent of the goblins filling his lungs like incense. The grin that stretched across his face was too wide, too strained; his jaw quivered as if fighting to hold it. Every muscle in his body trembled with manic anticipation, skin crawling with barely restrained violence. He could feel his heart thrumming, a thunderous rhythm of blood and madness.
The goblins muttered among themselves in harsh, guttural tones—clicks and snarls that sounded like bone grinding on metal. Their yellow eyes gleamed with hatred and hunger. One leapt from a shattered counter, landing in a crouch, blade dragging across the floor with a screech that sparked fire from stone.
Jagger's head turned toward it in a motion too sharp, too deliberate. His neck popped. His lips peeled back over his teeth. His fingers clenched around the broken arrow shaft in his palm, knuckles whitening, veins pulsing with unnatural light.
"I'm gonna enjoy killing every single one of you."
The world held its breath. Then—chaos erupted.
Arrows screamed through the air. Goblins lunged from every direction, their shrieks colliding into a single hideous roar. Axes glinted, knives flashed, claws tore at the air. They came for him in a storm of teeth and iron.
Jagger smiled wider.
And then—time fractured.
The world slowed to a crawl, reality stretching into a haze. He could see everything—the arcs of every arrow, the twitch of every claw, the reflection of flickering lights in their beady eyes. His perception fractured, becoming crystal-clear, hyper-fast, disturbing.
Then—time snapped back.
He moved.
Arrows sliced by, brushing against his clothes as he slipped between them with mechanical precision. His body bent and twisted like liquid metal, every motion seamless, guided by instinct not his own. His right arm shot out. The arrowhead in his hand pierced the nearest goblin's skull with a wet crunch. The creature spasmed once and went limp.
Jagger ripped the corpse upward, using its body like a weapon. With a heaving motion, he threw it into another goblin. The impact burst them both apart—bones shattered, flesh tore, and a rain of blood painted the cracked tiles red.
"Eight more to go!" he roared, laughter bubbling up, raw and wild.
Two goblins dropped from above, their claws hooking into his shirt, dragging him backward. He didn't resist—he jumped. The force of their pull flipped him through the air. He seized both their skulls mid-fall and slammed them into the ground. The tiles split open beneath the impact, blood spraying outward in a thick halo. The sound of their skulls breaking was wet and sharp—like fruit splitting open under a hammer.
He landed in a crouch, toes cracking the tile beneath him. An axe glinted at his feet, dropped mid-fight. He snatched it up without thought, the weight of it perfect in his grip. A goblin lifted its bow to fire—its eyes widened just as the axe split its head clean in two. The blade embedded deep into its skull, cleaving bone and brain, spraying gore against the pharmacy wall in a fan of red.
The others froze, staring in horror as his crimson eyes gleamed through the haze.
Jagger's movements blurred again. One heartbeat—then he was there. His fists connected with a goblin's skull, bone and flesh collapsing under the impact. The next fell before its scream even left its throat. His laughter rang through the air, wild and ecstatic.
"YES! YES! YES!"
The sound sent a tremor through the remaining goblins. They shook, claws twitching. Their weapons quivered in trembling hands. Their yellow eyes darted, seeking escape that didn't exist.
Jagger raised his bloodied hands to his lips and licked. The metallic taste burst across his tongue, hot and coppery, intoxicating. His grin widened, teeth glinting under the pulsing lights. His eyes burned crimson.
The goblins hesitated. Fear rolled off them like a scent—he could smell it. Their sweat, their panic, their ragged breath. They whined low in their throats, the sound trembling.
"I NEED YOUR BLOOD!"
His roar split the air. The ground itself cracked as he lunged. The floor fractured under the pressure of his legs, sending dust and shards flying as he shot forward like a released spring.
He seized a fallen knife mid-motion and slashed. The blade tore through the first goblin's shoulder and down to its hip, the cut so clean it didn't even realize it was dead until its entrails spilled steaming onto the floor. It collapsed, twitching, painting the ground with viscera.
Two more lunged. He ducked between them, body twisting like smoke. His knife found the first one's skull. The crunch echoed—wet, final. He tore the blade free, blood spattering across his cheek in a warm spray.
The second goblin froze, trembling, its blade slipping from its claws. It looked into his eyes and saw the thing inside him—something not human. The knife hovered a hair's breadth from its eye, reflecting its own terror.
'What is this feeling?'
Something writhed inside Jagger—alive, whispering, hungry. It coiled through his veins like smoke, hissing:
'Kill! Kill! Kill!'
He kicked. The blow sent the goblin flying, its body spinning before crashing into the wall with a splatter. The sound of its neck breaking was almost gentle. He laughed—high, ragged, shaking. The laughter didn't sound human anymore.
He tore through the last of them in a frenzy—blood exploding in every direction, bones cracking under his fists. The pharmacy became a slaughterhouse. Walls dripped red. Air burned thick with iron and rot. His heart thundered in his chest, drowning out everything but his laughter.
He loved it. Every second of it.
The second-to-last goblin tried one final, pitiful strike, stabbing for his throat. Jagger caught its wrist mid-air. The bone snapped beneath his fingers. Before the creature could scream, he sank his teeth into its neck. Flesh tore free in a spray of arterial red, blood filling his mouth with heat. He spat the meat aside and threw the corpse down, its body twitching in a growing pool.
The last goblin screamed. It dropped its blade, stumbled backward, slipped in the blood of its kin. Its claws scrabbled against the floor as it tried to crawl away.
"Oh, the fear…" Jagger's voice was almost tender, dripping with mock sympathy.
He stepped through the blood, each footfall heavy and wet. Steam rose from his skin. The crimson glow of his eyes burned bright against the ruin around him.
"Oh, how long I've waited to feel this again," he murmured. "This euphoria. This pleasure."
The goblin shrieked, its cry piercing the suffocating silence. Its claws scraped across the tile, leaving long, desperate scratches.
Jagger crouched low beside it, his blood-soaked hand caressing its trembling cheek. "Don't worry," he whispered, smiling gently. "I'll make it quick."
He seized its throat and lifted it high. Its legs kicked, claws raking his arms, blood smearing across his skin. His other hand clamped down on its shoulder.
With one sharp pull, he ripped.
Muscle tore. Bone snapped. Flesh parted in a shower of blood and tendon. The goblin's head tore free, spine dangling in a long rope of meat. Hot blood cascaded down his arm, steaming in the cool air.
"Ohhh, yes…"
The sound that escaped him was neither laughter nor cry. It was a broken sob wrapped in ecstasy—a release, raw and trembling.