Chapter 6: Survival Instinct
Steve was hidden behind the giant rock like a cornered animal.
His heart beat so hard it seemed to want to burst through his chest and escape through his throat. Each pulse was a dry blow inside him, echoing in his ears, muffling the rest of the world. Thump. Thump. Thump. Too fast. Too loud. He was certain — absolutely certain — that this sound would give him away.
The goblin was still there.
He could feel it.
Didn't need to see.
The fear didn't come from imagination. It came from the body. A creeping cold slid down his spine, sticking to his muscles, locking his joints. Steve pressed his back against the rough stone, feeling small splinters entering his skin, but the pain was irrelevant compared to the dread of being found.
Breathe... slowly.
He tried to inhale through his nose, but the air seemed too heavy, thick, as if the forest were full of something invisible that suffocated. Then he held his breath. One second. Two. Three.
His chest began to burn.
Black spots appeared at the edges of his vision. His head spun slightly. He brought his hand to his mouth, pressing his lips hard to prevent any sound.
I can't pass out. Not now.
An involuntary tremor ran through his arms. His sweaty hands slipped a little in the mud. A minimal noise — almost nothing — but to Steve it sounded like thunder.
The goblin sniffed.
Steve felt his blood freeze.
The smell of his own body seemed stronger now. The wound on his face throbbed, hot, alive. Something was wrong there. Very wrong. The skin burned, and blood slowly ran down his cheek, mixing with sweat and dirt.
Infection.
The thought came accompanied by panic.
The metallic smell of blood was spreading, dense. Steve realized too late that this was an invitation. A beacon.
The goblin sniffed again, closer.
The sound was low, deep, animal... but intelligent. The kind of sound that doesn't come just from hunger, but from the certainty that prey is near.
Steve swallowed hard, tasting iron in his mouth.
Think. Think, damn it.
His eyes scanned the ground around him. Mud. Rotten leaves. Stagnant water. Without making noise, he extended his hand, grabbing a handful of cold, thick mud. The smell was horrible — damp, rotted — but that didn't matter.
With extreme care, he began to spread the mud over his face.
The sensation was immediate. Cold. Sticky. Entering the cuts, tearing out a silent moan that he swallowed by force. He covered the wound, his neck, his arms. Where there was blood, there was mud now.
His entire body trembled.
Another sniff.
Then... hesitation.
Steve held his breath again, this time until the pain became sharp. His chest begged for air. His throat burned. His veins throbbed.
Then he heard something different.
Footsteps.
But not approaching.
Moving away.
Very slowly.
The goblin was retreating.
Steve almost cried with relief.
His muscles relaxed for one dangerous instant. The world spun again. He inhaled deeply, pulling air with a contained sob, his eyes watering.
I made it...
His still racing heart began to slow down. Thump. Thump. Thump. Less violent. Less desperate.
That's when he moved.
Just one step.
Just one mistake.
Steve's foot pressed on something loose on the ground.
Click.
The stone moved.
The sound echoed like a gunshot in the forest's silence.
— Shit... — escaped in a broken whisper.
The world froze.
The goblin stopped.
Steve felt it before hearing it. A change in air pressure. The silence becoming too heavy.
Then the creature's body turned.
Not fast.
Not furious.
Slow.
Conscious.
The goblin's gaze crossed the space and found Steve behind the rock. The small eyes gleamed with recognition. Not surprise. Recognition.
Without thinking.
Without hesitating.
The goblin raised its arm.
The stone axe left its hand with a violent whistle, tearing through the air with brutal force.
Steve only had time to widen his eyes.
The impact came like an explosion.
The giant stone shattered with a dry crash, cracking, shards flying everywhere. The force was absurd. Inhuman.
Steve was thrown forward.
His body left the ground.
The world became a blur of pain, dust and sound.
---
Steve fell to his knees, the world spinning in blurry patches.
The impact had knocked the air from his lungs. He tried to inhale, but only a weak, useless wheeze came. His chest burned as if it were full of ground glass. The taste of blood flooded his mouth — thick, hot, too metallic to ignore.
In front of him, the goblin advanced.
Drooling.
The thick thread of saliva dripped down its deformed chin, dripping into the mud. The small, yellowish eyes were fixed on him, not in a hurry, but with pleasure. Like someone who has already decided what they're going to eat... and just savors the moment.
Steve grabbed a stone from the ground.
His hands trembled so much he almost dropped it. Still, he screamed — a hoarse, broken sound — and threw it with all the strength he had left.
The stone hit the goblin's shoulder.
Nothing.
Not a flinch.
Not a blink.
Steve's heart sank.
That's when he saw it.
Attached to the creature's belt, almost hidden by the dirt and dried blood, there was a small knife. Rudimentary. Short blade. Red. Blood still dripped, falling to the ground in slow drops.
The goblin advanced.
Too fast.
Mud splashed as the creature ran, its wide feet crushing leaves and water. Steve reacted on pure instinct. He plunged his hands into the mud and threw everything at the monster's face.
The impact was dirty, wet.
The goblin roared, temporarily blind, its huge hands reaching into the air, trying to grab him. Steve didn't think — he passed under the creature's legs, feeling the hot, rotten breath passing over his head.
On the other side.
He turned and grabbed the knife from the belt.
Heavy. Slippery.
He held it with both hands.
And ran.
The blade entered the goblin's back.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The creature's scream was animal, tearing through the forest. Steve screamed along — not from courage, but from desperation. Each strike was accompanied by a sob, by tears mixed with mud, by a repeated thought:
I don't want to die. I don't want to die.
The goblin turned violently.
A huge arm came like a trunk.
The impact threw Steve backward. His back hit a tree, his head exploding in white light. The knife flew from his hand and fell far away, out of reach.
Steve slid to the ground, gasping, blind for a few seconds.
When his vision returned, he saw the goblin wiping its face, getting rid of the mud.
The eyes found him again.
Now there was rage.
The creature walked slowly.
Each step was a sentence.
When it got close, it raised its foot.
And stepped.
The crack was dry.
Clear.
The bones in Steve's leg broke like an old branch.
The scream came out torn, uncontrollable. The pain was absolute. Total. There was no comparison. There was no thought. Only pain. Tears flowed uncontrollably, his body twisting uselessly.
The goblin smiled.
It moved its foot, crushing more, appreciating the sound, the reaction. Steve felt consciousness waver, vision darkening at the edges.
The knife.
It was there.
Close.
With one last remnant of sanity, Steve stretched, his fingers finding the handle. He held it with both hands and drove it into the goblin's foot.
The roar came immediately.
He attacked again.
And again.
And again.
Without technique. Without strength. Just hatred and pain.
The goblin grabbed Steve's left arm.
The pressure was absurd.
The sound of the bone being crushed made Steve scream until his voice failed. His hand completely lost its shape. The arm fell, useless.
The creature lifted him in the air.
Steve hung like a broken doll, his entire body bleeding, the world swaying. The goblin closed its fist and punched his stomach.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Steve spat blood, each blow erasing a piece of consciousness.
Flashbacks invaded his mind.
His father screaming.
Classmates laughing.
Misery.
The real world.
"The real world was rotten... this one is worse.
But at least here... the pain is honest."
He smiled.
Empty.
Then he remembered his mother.
The hospital.
The silence of the rooms.
The simple life he wanted, away from everything.
With one last thread of will, he raised his good arm.
And drove in the knife.
Into the eye.
Then the other.
The neck.
The face.
The goblin roared, blind, maddened, throwing Steve away. He fell heavily to the ground, without strength to move.
The monster still came.
Sniffing.
Steve cried and smiled at the same time.
— Sorry, Mom... — he murmured. — Looks like... not this time.
Then, an arrow.
The impact pierced through the goblin's body from behind.
The creature fell, dead.
Voices emerged.
— Damn goblin... devoured our last offering.
— Sir... this man is still alive.
— A living offering... — another voice murmured, satisfied. — The goddess will like this.
Steve tried to speak.
— Who... are you...?
A shadow leaned over him.
— Don't worry — said the voice, low. — We'll take very good care of you.
Darkness closed in.
And Steve blacked out.