The sky roared with thunder. Rain pounded the earth in heavy sheets. At the cave entrance, two goblins stood on guard, shivering from the cold — unaware this night would be their last.
One goblin glanced at the treeline, then turned back.
His companion was already face-down in the mud, a stone embedded in his skull.
Panicking, the goblin fumbled for his horn to sound the alarm. But the soaked leather refused to whistle — even if it did, the roaring storm would drown it out.
He turned to run into the cave—
Crack!
A second stone struck the back of his head.
From the shadows, a lone figure emerged.
Jed — soaked in rain, barefoot, his legs and hands caked in mud. The only sound from him was the splash of wet earth beneath his steps. His only weapon? A leather pouch made from monkey hide, filled with sharp, weighted stones.
This boy — barely into his teens — no longer hesitated. What once was fear had turned into raw instinct.
He entered the cave. His sanctuary, his life, depended on this.
Deeper inside, dozens of goblins feasted and laughed, celebrating the spoils of their last raid. Stolen torches and human lanterns lit the cavern. The smell was foul, the atmosphere vile.
One goblin flinched, hearing a noise echo from the cave mouth. He nudged a companion, and both shuffled toward the entrance.
Then —
Thwack! Thwack!
Two more stones. Two more bodies dropped.
Panic spread.
Shouts. Scrambling. They called for their leader — a towering alpha goblin, his chest glowing with a deep purple glowstone.
The goblins formed ranks, crude weapons raised, eyes on the cave's blackened throat.
But more stones came — coated in mud.
They struck the torches. One by one, the lights flickered out.
Darkness.
And then — screams.
Agonizing, wet, violent screams that echoed in the dark.
One after another.
Jed had become a ghost. A predator. To the goblins, a nightmare cloaked in mud and rain.
For the first time in a long while —
the goblins felt fear.