I stand in the doorway of my wooden hut, watching the village's five strongest men prepare. Their swords, axes, and spears glint in the morning light as they ready themselves to face the goblins. Staying behind sets my nerves on edge. They said no women allowed, but like hell, I'm letting that stop me.
Determined, I grab the rusty shears and cut my long brown hair, uneven chunks falling to the floor. Each strand feels like I'm shedding my old self.
I pull on my brother's baggy clothes, binding my chest tightly with torn cloth until it's hard to breathe. A smear of mud across my face hides any trace of softness.
My heart races as I glance in the cracked mirror. The girl is gone. In her place stands someone scrappy, unrecognizable. Perfect.
My only weapon is a small knife, which I clutch tightly in my trembling hand. I have no idea how to fight, but I remember my brother teaching me. "Stab the goblin in the chest like this, Keira," he said, his firm grip guiding mine.
My older brother always believed in me, even when I didn't. Goblins killed him—ripped him away from me. He was all I had left after the fever took our parents. That's why I'm going. I can't just stay behind.
Even as fear claws at my chest, I try to channel his strength by gripping the knife as he taught me.
I step out of the hut and walk toward the forest's edge, where the men are already walking. Their laughter reaches me before I catch up.
"A boy? What use is he?" one of them scoffs, glancing back.
I straighten up, forcing my voice to drop as low as I can. "I'm not a boy. I'm a man. I turned 18."
The words come out rough and uneven, but they seem to work. The men pause, exchange skeptical glances, then shrug and keep walking. I fall in behind them, keeping my head down, hoping they don't notice how out of place I am among them. My fingers grip the small knife in my pocket, and I tell myself that I will keep up and learn quickly.
The walk seems endless. My legs ache, my breath comes in quick gasps, and I frequently hide behind a tree to pee. Every time I rush to catch up, my heart races at the thought of falling behind.
By dusk, we reach the cave. Moving cautiously, we creep forward, taking cover behind trees, bushes, and rocks. Goblins are nocturnal creatures that rarely venture out during the day. The strategy is simple: wait until nightfall and pick them off one by one as they emerge to hunt.
Hours pass without a sign of movement. Tension rises, and whispers spread throughout the group. Maybe we were wrong. Perhaps the goblins aren't here. But returning empty-handed is not an option.
The decision is made. We're going in.
Every step grows heavier as we creep into the cave. The air becomes colder and damp, and each crunch of gravel underfoot is far too loud.
One man lights a torch, its weak flame flickering against the dark. It barely pushes back the shadows, revealing jagged rocks and a narrow path ahead. My knife feels slick in my sweaty grip as we move forward, each step slow and filled with dread.
As we go deeper, the faint light of the entrance fades, and we are swallowed by suffocating inky blackness. My eyes strain to see ahead, and every sound heightens my fear.
Then, out of the shadows, something—or perhaps many somethings—charges at us. A blur of movement, claws, and snarls. The torch sputters and dies, leaving us in complete darkness.
Screams rip through the cave, the guttural snarls of the attackers blending with the desperate cries of wounded men. My heart races as terror grips me. I'm blindly stumbling in the dark, overwhelmed by the noise—shouts, steel clashing, bodies slamming against stone.
Then the smell hits me, putrid and suffocating, like rotting flesh on damp earth. My stomach churns. Goblins. They're here, and they're everywhere.
A hand grabs mine and pulls me into motion. It's one of our men, pulling me along as we sprint to the cave's entrance, leaving the others behind. Our footsteps echo in the stifling silence, punctuated only by our ragged breaths as we flee for our lives.
The faint glow of moonlight slicing through the cave's darkness sparks a flicker of hope. We're so close. Almost out. But just as that hope blooms, a massive figure looms into view, blocking our path. More grotesque, menacing shapes emerge from the shadows.
The man steps in front of me without hesitation, protecting me from the approaching creatures. My heart hammers as guttural laughter echoes around us, chilling me to the core.
I turn, only to see more dark figures approaching from behind, their twisted faces briefly illuminated by the moonlight. The air grows heavy with dread. We are surrounded. This is not an attack; it is an ambush.
My eyes widen in terror as I take in the creatures surrounding us. Some are small and hunched, scuttling like insects, while others stand nearly my height—or taller. They're just as horrifying as the stories I grew up hearing.
Their sickly green skin glistens in the dim light, mottled with scars. Most are bald, their glowing red or yellow eyes dull and empty, like embers smoldering in the dark. Broad noses sit flat on their faces, framed by pointed, bat-like ears. Their wide mouths stretch into cruel, twisted grins, revealing rows of jagged yellow fangs.
Dressed in scraps of filthy rags, they clutch crude weapons—rusty blades, sharpened sticks, and jagged clubs. Wild and feral, they look ready for blood.
My heart feels like it stops as one steps forward. Taller than the others, his muscular frame is covered in scars and fresh blood, with only a tattered loincloth to keep him covered. He holds a blood-streaked club, swinging it lazily. My blood runs cold as his glowing eyes lock on me, his lips curling into a menacing grin.
The man leaps between me and the monster, his sword swinging wildly. He barely has a chance to strike before the creature brings its club down with a sickening crunch. The sound of skull shattering echoes through the cave. His body crumples to the ground, limp and lifeless.
But the monster doesn't stop. It keeps pounding, over and over. My stomach churns at the sight, and I double over, vomiting uncontrollably.
Laughter erupts around me, harsh and guttural, as the goblins watch me retch. My body shakes, and then I feel it—a hand gripping my shoulder. My heart stops.
I turn slowly, the stench of decay hitting me like a wave. The creature before me grins, its sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. It pulls out a rusty sword, its blade nicked and stained, likely taken from someone who didn't live long enough to regret meeting it.
Suddenly, a deep, inhuman shriek cuts through the air, silencing everything. The goblins freeze. Even the one with the sword steps back slightly.
The towering creature that killed the man steps forward, its chest rising and falling. Its fiery eyes lock onto me as it leans in close, sniffing the air around me. Wide nostrils flare, and a sick grin spreads across its grotesque face.
My blood runs cold as it sniffs again, and its rumbling laughter sends chills down my spine.
"Female," it growls, the word tinged with perverse delight.
The goblins erupt in screeches of excitement, their hideous, ear-piercing sounds echoing off the cave walls. My heart sinks, the noise stabbing at my nerves like jagged blades.
Before I can react, one creature lunges at me. Its hairy, clawed fingers clamp tightly around my arm, the grip bruising. I try to pull back, but its strength is too much.
Its glowing eyes gleam with malice as it yanks me forward, dragging me deeper into the cave, where more goblins wait. Their shadowy forms shift and writhe, eager for whatever nightmare they've planned.
"Come, human," it sneers, spitting the word like poison. Its yellow teeth glint like grotesque pearls in the dim light, its eyes filled with cruel mischief.
I plant my feet, digging in with everything I have, refusing to budge. Another goblin advances, ropes in its clawed hands.
They bind my wrists tightly, the rough fibers biting into my skin. I thrash, but it's useless. The giant goblin who killed the man grabs the rope's end and tugs it sharply. I stumble forward as he pulls me deeper into the cave, his strides firm as he barks orders at the other goblins in a language I don't understand.
The other goblins fall in line, their harsh chatter filling the damp air as they scurry behind us. I have a feeling he must be their leader.
The stench of rot and decay grows stronger as I'm dragged deeper, the terror in my chest settling like a stone. The cave is pitch black, and I can't see a thing, but the goblins, cursed with their ability to see in the dark, move effortlessly.
Suddenly, the leader growls, "Pick up the meat."
A chill runs through me as I realize what he means—the dead men from my village.
We walk a few more feet before he forces me into a narrow passageway. I duck, but the ceiling is so low it scrapes my scalp. The walls press in from every side, and panic wells up in my chest. I feel trapped, the air squeezing out of my lungs.
The stench is unbearable, thick and suffocating, like diarrhea mixed with rot. My throat tightens as bile rises, but I swallow it back, forcing myself to keep moving.
As I'm forced deeper, my baggy shirt catches on a jagged rock, ripping open and revealing my skin. I tug on the fabric, attempting to conceal my exposed breasts, but the vile goblin drags me along as its cohorts mock and taunt from behind.
After what feels like an eternity in the cramped tunnel, we reach a wider chamber. The faint glow of a campfire flickers ahead, casting eerie shadows on the damp, uneven walls. Around it, a group of goblins sits, their hideous faces illuminated by the flames.
The stink is overwhelming, like a dozen barbarians rotting in the middle of a mud wrestling match against an army of corpses. I gag, but swallow it down. The goblins are unaffected by the smell. For them, this is home. To me, it's hell.
As we approach the fire, my eyes adjust to the blazing light, and my stomach turns again. Dozens of goblins encircle us, their glowing eyes filled with malice. Wide, jagged grins reveal long, pointed teeth framed by rotting gums. The way the flames dance across their distorted features makes one thing painfully clear: they're eyeing me as their next meal.
The goblin leader yanks me forward, dragging me to a jagged stalagmite. My breath catches as I see another figure tied to it, dressed in torn and bloody rags. It's Esme—my best friend. The one I thought was killed last night.
He shoves me roughly against the stone, tying my wrists tight before stomping off toward the fire to join the others.
"Esme," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Are you alright?"
"Shut up, Keira," she hisses, her voice low and shaking. "Please, don't draw attention. Or we'll be dinner."
We watch in horror as the goblins drag the dead into their camp and toss them carelessly by the roaring fire. I close my eyes, but the sickening sounds continue to reach me—wet tearing of flesh and sharp snaps of bones breaking.
"Esme," I breathe. I open my eyes to see her staring blankly at the ground. I can't, and I don't want to, imagine the horrors she must have endured last night. "Come closer," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the goblins' harsh laughter.
She hesitates, trembling, but finally inches closer, her legs scraping against the stone. I shift slightly, feeling the knife press against my thigh. "Can you reach into my pocket?" I whisper.
Her shaking fingers fumble awkwardly as she reaches into my pocket and pulls it free. The blade slips from her grip, landing with a soft clatter on the ground. I hold my breath, every muscle tensed, waiting for any sign that the goblins heard.
But they’re too busy feasting, their attention fixed on the grisly meal. I let out a shaky breath and glance at Esme. Her wide, panicked eyes meet mine, and I see she’s frozen with fear, unable to move. The knife lies just out of my reach.
Thinking fast, I shift my foot, nudging some nearby straw over the blade to hide it as best I can.
When the horrible meal finally ends, one of the larger goblins rises and lumbers toward us. His glowing eyes fix on Esme, and he begins untying the ropes binding her legs. Gripping the rope around her wrists, he yanks her forward, dragging her closer to him.
"Come, pretty," he sneers, his lips curling into a cruel smile, eyes glinting with wicked satisfaction.
"What are you going to do to her?" I ask, my voice cracking with fear.
He turns to face me, his grin darkening. "She behave good, she make strong babies," he growls. "She behave bad... she breakfast."
It hits me like a blow. Goblins are all male—they need a female from another species to breed. And now, Esme is that female.
My chest tightens as I look at Esme. Her wide, panicked eyes met mine. She's still a virgin—I'm not. I've already lost everything. My family is gone, my village destroyed, and I’m alone in this world with nothing left.
What happens to me doesn’t matter anymore. I've made my peace with it. If this is how it ends, so be it. But if I can keep their attention on me, maybe—just maybe—Esme can find the knife and escape.
I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to remain calm. The goblin is watching, his hungry eyes darting between us.
"Take me," I say, my voice firm, even as panic threatens to consume me. "Leave her alone."
Esme stares at me, her face frozen in horror and confusion. I don’t look at her. My gaze stays on the goblin.
"You?" he grunts. "She prettier."
He tilts his head, his confusion obvious, like he doesn’t understand much of what I’m saying.
Swallowing hard, I slow my words, forcing them out carefully. "I will do whatever you want me to do."
For a moment, he just stares at me dumbly, as if the meaning hasn't sunk in. Then he grumbles. "She is chosen."
Desperation grips me. "I will make stronger babies than she. She is weak. I am strong," I say, my voice steady even as my heart pounds like a drum.
He pauses, his eyes narrowing, considering my words. Then, with a feral snarl, he lunges at me, his claws ripping through my clothes, exposing my skin to the cold air. His gaze sweeps over me, taking in my pink nipples, my heaving breasts, and then his eyes snap to the patch of black hair between my legs, his interest piqued.
His grin widens, and a low, pleased growl emerges from his throat. "Wide hips. Many babies."
Satisfied, he turns back to Esme, tying her to the stalagmite again without a second glance, ignoring her muffled sobs. Then he grabs me and drags me closer to the fire, the flickering light illuminating a scene that freezes the blood in my veins.
I see them—dozens of goblins. Their vile gazes are directed at me, and their twisted smirks grow with excitement as they approach, circling like scavengers above fresh kill.
TO BE CONTINUED...
