The deep silence of the underground chamber was almost comforting.
Luki lay on his back on the cold floor, his head resting on his own backpack, one hand placed over his stomach while the other arm covered his eyes.
He wasn't exactly asleep, his body relaxed, but his mind remained alert, as always. His breathing was slow, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. After so many battles, any space free of monsters was a rare luxury.
That was when he heard something.
A subtle sound, faint, almost indistinguishable from the rustle of his own clothes or the droplets sliding down the Dungeon's walls. A muffled scratching... an irregular thud... low, jumbled noises, like hoarse voices trying to hide in the echo.
Immediately, Luki's elven ears twitched with a slight spasm, moving instinctively as if trying to catch the sound more clearly.
A second later, the muscles in his abdomen tightened and he sat up, eyes narrowing, now fully awake.
Without saying a word, he rose slowly and walked with light steps toward the room's only passage.
He crouched down by the side of the entrance, keeping perfectly silent. He peeked into the narrow corridor, his eyes widened, pupils dilating and then contracting, a soft green glow pulsing faintly as they focused into the darkness ahead, trying to see beyond normal reach.
Far ahead, shadows moved. Heavy. Organized.
And the noises... they were clearer now.
— Shwriiiek! — Shwruaak! — Gruahhh! — Shwriek!!! — Ghruaan!!
Grunts. Muffled guttural murmurs. Five different sources.
He recognized the sounds instantly.
Goblins, he thought, with the certainty of someone who had fought dozens before. The tone, the rhythm, even the panting breath — unmistakable.
But then came another sound. A deeper snarl, heavy, filled with savage authority. It sounded like a goblin... but it wasn't.
— Grruooarrr!!!
Luki frowned, unsettled. Instinct told him yes, but reason screamed it was different. Heavier. Deadlier.
Something else was coming with them.
He stayed motionless, crouched behind the passage's edge, his eyes locked onto the thick darkness far way that was now gaining shape. First, distorted shadows. Then moving limbs, the outline of large heads, the faint glow of bestial eyes reflecting what little light existed.
With each step they took, the image grew sharper.
Five forms. Small, hunched, aggressive — goblins. Just as he had predicted. Troubling, yes, but nothing he couldn't handle.
What Luki failed to realize, however, was that the monsters were still far from the room's entrance. The clarity with which he saw their details, the wet gleam in their eyes, the tension in their thin arms, even the cracks in their yellowed teeth, wasn't normal. His elven eyes were doing their work in silence, adjusting focus, balancing shadows, interpreting shapes in the dark with a precision no ordinary human eyes could achieve.
But for Luki, already accustomed to this new body, it all felt... natural. Like breathing.
What truly unsettled him was the towering figure leading the group.
At the front walked a monster taller, broader, and slower. Its skin was a darker green, almost mossy. Its nose was long and pointed, curving downward like the beak of some grotesque bird. Its ears were huge, disproportionate, stretched outward like blades, the tips reddened as if constantly inflamed. Jagged yellow teeth jutted from its parted lips, revealing fangs made more for tearing flesh than chewing it.
Its limbs, in contrast with its round torso, were long and well defined. Arms with taut muscles beneath rough skin, firm legs carrying its weight with an almost graceful steadiness. If not for the typical goblin beer-belly, it might have been mistaken for someone with an enviable physique. In its hand, it carried a thick wooden club wrapped with rawhide straps, and from the tip, fresh blood still dripped lazily. Someone or something had felt its bite not long ago.
Luki's eyes widened, nearly bulging from his face, but even that exaggerated reaction couldn't convey the true terror coursing through his veins at that moment.
This was strong. Strong in a different way. Not just physically, though that was true as well, but strong in presence, in posture, in intent. Stronger than any monster he had ever seen. Stronger than the mutant goblins of this new Dungeon generation. And, above all, far, far stronger than him.
It could only be a...
— Hobgoblin... — he whispered, barely a breath, as if the very word could seal his doom.
Hobgoblins. The classic evolved form of goblins. Larger bodies, more humanoid, more organized. Yet still disgusting and grotesque enough to keep their origins unmistakable: the curved nose, the reddened ears, the crooked teeth, and the infamous beer-belly that seemed to defy every rule of monstrous biology.
Usually seen as leaders of small groups, intelligent enough to coordinate simple ambushes or use weapons with strategy.
As far as he knows, this type of monster shouldn't exist in this world, and if they really exist and Luki just don't remenber, then they cleary don't belong to the first floor.
Just one glance was enough to make Luki's stomach sink: its eyes gleamed with focus. Not the empty stare of a starving beast. The calculating gaze of a predator. Compared to that, the enhanced goblins he had faced earlier looked like children bickering with sticks.
Every sign pointed to a single fate: he was screwed.
Without hesitation, moving silently and precisely, Luki dashed to his backpack. He began setting the field, or at least, as much as he could with what little he had. His body worked fast, his hands moving in a feverish rhythm. Within seconds, he was panting, sweating, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He couldn't waste time. He mustn't waste time. That group was nearly at the entrance, or so he thought. But he was wrong.
What he didn't realize was that the monsters were still far, very far. But his sharpened sight, a quiet gift of his elven body, painted the world with superhuman clarity. What is far is near, what is dark is clear as day, though to him, it was nothing but... normal.
When he finished, still breathing hard, he searched for a hiding place. His eyes landed on a cluster of stalagmites near the wall, tall and jagged, almost like a natural fence.
He threw himself inside, body low, face pressed against the cold stone. He wiped the sweat with his forearm and, with trembling fingers, pulled a water bottle from his pack. He poured part of it onto the ground, creating a small puddle between the cracks in the rock. He quickly mixed it with dirt and smeared the mud across his entire body, arms, face, neck, armor, and even his inner clothes, not caring about his wounds for the moment.
And then, he waited.
[POV: Hobgoblin]
The heavy steps of the Hobgoblin echoed through the damp stone corridors of the Dungeon, each heel strike reverberating with authority and contained fury. He walked slowly, his belly swaying under the tension of long, defined muscles — a grotesque blend of brute strength and monstrous sloth.
A faint smile curved his cracked lips, revealing bloodstained fangs. His mind replayed the scene from minutes earlier. Flesh tearing beneath his claws. The bitter taste of hot, living meat. The shrill screams... mixed with words. Too many words.
— Tsk... talked too much... — he muttered through clenched teeth, spitting on the floor. He could still taste that thing. Weak. Skinny. But the sound of its despair had made it worthwhile.
In truth, it hadn't been an adventurer.
It had been a goblin.
But not one of his.
One of those different vermin, with too many eyes, with too much cunning, with... too much freedom. One that dared to think, to run, to disobey.
— Worthless little traitor... — he growled with disdain, fangs grinding. — Deserved every bite...
His once-content expression twisted into a crooked, cruel grin, almost nostalgic. He recalled the goblin writhing, kicking, begging in words that never should have existed. Weak, filthy, disgusting. But its pain... its pain was delicious.
And then, the smell.
His snout wrinkled slightly. He stopped walking. His face tightened with rage again.
Blood. Leather. Cheap iron. And... elf.
A low growl rumbled from his throat. The club in his grip creaked as his hand clenched tighter. Hunger returned. But now it was laced with fury.
— An intruder... here... in my path... — he muttered.
He turned slowly to the five goblins behind him. Their eyes gleamed with instinctive fear. Weak as they were, they knew what would follow if they hesitated.
— Go. Search. Kill. Or you become food.
The goblins recoiled, trembling, but obeyed with the urgency of cowards.
— "Leave it to us, boss!" — one squeaked, stumbling over his own leg.
— "Goblin catch intruder quick, goblin show strength!" — screeched another, already rushing ahead.
— "Goblin do good job, good job!" — they all repeated, like terrified parrots trying to flatter the monster behind them.
The Hobgoblin merely watched. One step, then another, following at an unhurried pace. His narrowed eyes burned with contempt. He knew they were useless. But even useless things could serve as bait.
And he was still hungry.