Lucian swung the burning torch like a club. The first goblin leapt, screeching, and the flaming end connected with its skull. There was a sickening crunch as bone gave way and fire licked across its matted hair. The creature went limp, tumbling to the ground.
"So fragile…" Lucian muttered, his breath short. The beast was smaller than he'd expected, almost frail beneath its leathery hide.
The second goblin scrambled over its fallen comrade, a jagged blade flashing in the gloom. Lucian parried, the force of the slash jarring his wrist. He shoved back, using his weight to create space. The goblin's eyes widened as it stumbled. Lucian saw an opening and thrust the torch at its face. Flames licked at its nose and it recoiled with a howl.
Sharp pain shot through Lucian's left hand. He glanced down to see a deep, ragged cut across his palm. Blood welled up.
The third goblin squealed, dropped its weapon, and sprinted into the dark. Lucian hesitated, his chest heaving. Adrenaline screamed at him to chase it down.
"Damn it," he hissed. If it reached others, he'd be buried under a green tide. If he let it go, he'd have to navigate this maze blind.
Lucian ran, his heavy boots pounding the stone floor. The torch illuminated the retreating creature's scaly back. He ignored the burning in his lungs, the throbbing cut in his palm.
Thump. Thump.
The sound of his own heart was a drum in his ears. The goblin skidded around a sharp bend ahead.
Lucian sprinted, lungs burning, for what felt like hours but was probably just minutes. The goblin stayed just ahead, always dipping around a corner or climbing a crude stone incline.
They were ascending. He could feel the burn in his calves, the slight upward tilt of the tunnel floor. The goblin's panicked squeals echoed differently here, flatter, more contained. It wasn't leading him deeper into a burrow; it was trying to reach an outpost.
A orange glow emanated from a gap in the tunnel wall up ahead. The goblin slowed, its head cocking, its mouth opening wide.
"No," Lucian breathed.
Without second thoughts he charged, his weight a battering ram. He slammed into the creature just as it began to inhale for a shriek. They went down in a tangle of limbs and sharp claws. Lucian's knee pinned its chest, and he drove his fist into its throat, silencing the call. The goblin thrashed, but Lucian's strength, fueled by adrenaline, was greater. He twisted, heard the crackle of bone, and the body went slack.
He rolled off, gasping. The cut on his palm remained, a deep weeping line. He stared at the blood, reminding him of the two dead goblins before this one.
Three. I killed three.
The thought didn't feel triumphant. It felt… efficient. Like clearing a rat nest. His hands didn't shake. He simply wiped his palm on his trousers, smearing the fabric with crimson.
He looked up toward the orange glow. The goblin had been desperate to reach it.
Lucian approached the edge of the cavern's drop-off, peering down. The orange glow came from torches staked into the ground around a wide, open pit. He counted eight goblins. They patrolled the perimeter, but their movements were sluggish, uncoordinated. One picked at a rusty sword, another dug in its ear. He frowned. How could someone die to those?
To the side, a smaller cave mouth yawned open. Inside, the light caught the faces of three men. Miners, judging by their clothes. They sat slumped, alive but defeated. One coughed, a dry, hacking sound.
Lucian tracked a goblin's path near a wall. It sniffed the air, turned its back on the prisoners, and shuffled toward the fire pit. He observed the sheer lack of vigilance. The goblins looked underfed and bored, not battle-ready. How did these three get captured by such weak creatures? He watched a larger goblin by the pit raise a jug and tilt it, but the liquid wasn't oil. It was dark, syrupy.
He crouched behind a boulder, as the goblin by the fire pit took a swig from the dark jug, its back exposed. He scanned the others. They were sluggish, clumsy, exactly like the three he'd just dispatched. Still, a cold bead of sweat trickled down his temple. What if one was a shaman? What if they could use magic?
He shut the doubts down.
Lucian exploded from cover. His hand clamped over the goblin's mouth, silencing its startle. He hooked his arm around its throat, locked his grip, and twisted. A sickening crack echoed through the cavern. The body went limp. He lowered it silently to the ground, eyes already tracking the next target. The darkness was his ally now.
Lucian sank back into the shadows, his movements methodical despite their clumsiness. He watched the remaining seven goblins with growing contempt. Their weapons, crude spears and chipped blades, dragged along the ground as they shuffled about. One scratched its armpit vigorously while another dozed against the cavern wall, spittle dripping from its slack jaw.
He stalked the second goblin with surprising stealth for his bulk. The creature never heard him approach. Lucian simply grabbed its head and smashed it against the rock face. A wet crunch, and it slid to the ground, lifeless. He wiped his hands on his trousers, unmoved by the violence.
The third one wandered too close to a dark alcove. Lucian's arm shot out like a striking snake, dragging the creature backward. Its legs kicked feebly as his forearm crushed its windpipe. He felt bones give way beneath his grip.
This is almost insulting, he thought, dropping the body. These are the monsters that supposedly threatened the mine?
The fourth goblin bent over to pick at something on the ground. Lucian lifted a discarded mining pick and brought it down on the creature's exposed neck. The wet sound of metal parting flesh filled his ears.
By the fifth kill, sweat soaked his shirt, not from exertion but the heat of the cavern. The goblin never saw him coming. One moment it was gnawing on a bone, the next Lucian's knee was in its back, forcing its face into the dirt while he twisted its head until its neck snapped.
The sixth finally noticed something amiss. It turned in a slow circle, grunting questions to companions who would never answer. Lucian charged from behind, tackling it to the ground. The goblin's teeth snapped at his face, but its jaws met only his fist, again and again until it stopped moving.
The last one stood by the prisoner grate, suddenly alert, sensing death in the shadows. It fumbled with a crude horn hanging from its belt. Lucian lunged across the open space, his movements ungainly but effective. He caught the goblin's wrist before it could raise the horn to its lips. With his free hand, he drove his thumb into its eye socket. The creature's shriek died in its throat as Lucian's grip tightened around its neck.
When it was done, Lucian stood among the carnage, breathing heavily. These weren't warriors worthy of being called a threat. How could they've killed any person here?