"Authors note: Sorry for the shorter chapter I've been trying to write these at a very fast pace and felt despite how short this chapter is it was the perfect time to end it."
The hiss hung in the air, sharp and wet, like steam escaping a cracked pipe. The goblin's eyes gleamed yellow in the faint glow of the Dungeon's veins, its crooked teeth clicking as it crouched lower, claws flexing.
Then chaos erupted behind Kairon.
A grinding tear split the wall further back, and three more goblins spilled out into the chamber with shrieks that rattled through the stone. Sera's shield snapped up, Lars's sword came free in a shimmer of steel, and Corin's arrow whistled past Kairon's ear before finding a mark. Bren darted ahead with a bark of laughter that was half defiance, half thrill.
The party was pulled instantly into the fight, their formation shifting away from him. Kairon's stomach dropped as he realized—he was alone.
The lone goblin hissed again and sprang.
Kairon's dagger wavered in his hand, sweat slicking the hilt. He stumbled sideways, barely avoiding the swipe of jagged claws. They scraped stone where he had stood a heartbeat before, sending sparks into the dim. His chest heaved, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the battle behind him.
Move. Don't freeze. If you stop, you die.
The goblin lunged again. This time, claws raked his forearm. A shallow cut, but white-hot pain flared through him, and he gasped, staggering backward. His dagger almost slipped free, his grip weak and trembling.
The monster's breath was rancid, a foul stench of rot and damp earth. Its hiss became a shriek, shrill and ragged, filling the chamber like broken glass grinding together. Kairon's knees shook.
He thought of Mira. Of the cliffside winds. Of the promise he had made himself. He couldn't let this be the end—not here, not now.
The goblin pounced again. Kairon thrust out his dagger wildly. The blade scraped along its ribs, shallow but enough to draw a spurt of dark blood. The creature screeched, recoiling before slashing back. Its claws glanced across his shoulder, tearing fabric, leaving a burning line of pain.
Kairon cried out, stumbling, breath ragged. His legs begged him to collapse, but fear forced them upright.
He attacked again, this time with both hands gripping the dagger, a clumsy but desperate stab. The point sank into the goblin's side. The creature writhed, shrieking, snapping its teeth close enough that Kairon felt the hot spray of its breath across his cheek.
His vision blurred with sweat and tears, but he didn't let go. He shoved harder, twisting the blade, until the goblin's shriek broke into a wet gurgle. It sagged against him, then dissolved into drifting black smoke.
The jagged magic stone clattered to the floor, glowing faintly. Kairon fell to his knees beside it, gasping for breath. His arms ached, his shoulder burned, and his whole body trembled as though the Dungeon had drained him hollow.
With shaking fingers, he scooped up the stone and shoved it into his satchel. His blood smeared against its glow, leaving red streaks before it vanished among the others.
Behind him, steel still rang. His companions fought on, their movements a rhythm of survival he couldn't hope to match. But he had survived, too. Alone.
Kairon pressed a hand against his bleeding shoulder, staggered upright, and gripped his dagger tighter. His legs wobbled, but they carried him forward.
The stairwell to Floor Four loomed at the chamber's edge, dark and slick with moisture, waiting.
And though fear still twisted in his chest, there was something else now. A faint ember buried beneath the terror—proof that he could fight, even if the Dungeon demanded blood to grant him that knowledge.