Chapter 9 – The Pack's First Blood
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The pale light of dawn seeped through the mist that clung to the Forbidden Forest. The air was damp, heavy with the stench of rot and wet leaves. Altair stood at the mouth of the cave, his emerald eyes scanning the trees. The memory of the White Wolf's glowing gaze still lingered in his mind, a reminder of the monsters that ruled this prison of a forest.
But this morning, another threat approached—closer, more immediate.
A goblin sentry stumbled inside, face pale, voice frantic. "Enemies… wild goblins… coming!"
Altair's claws curled into fists. He knew well: in this forest, goblins devoured their own.
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From the thicket, shadows emerged. Ten wild goblins stepped into the clearing, their bodies scarred, their yellow eyes feral. Hunger gleamed in their gazes, hunger for food, for blood… and for the trembling females behind Altair.
The leader of the wild pack sneered, saliva dripping from jagged teeth. "Meat… females… cave…" His gaze locked on Lila and Mira.
Altair's followers recoiled. Some pressed themselves against the cave wall, others nearly bolted inside.
Altair raised his hand sharply. "No one runs!"
His voice cracked like a whip, cutting through fear. "If you flee, you die. If we fight together, we live."
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Altair's mind spun. "They outnumber us. But they're wild—no discipline. If I can force a shape onto this chaos…"
"Three in front—make a wall!" he barked. "Two left, two right! Lila, Mira—stay behind, guard the wounded!"
His goblins hesitated, confusion twisting their faces. But his glare brooked no argument. Reluctantly, trembling, they obeyed.
The wild goblins laughed, mocking. "Formations? From goblins?!"
Altair only tightened his grip on the jagged stone in his hand.
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With a roar, the wild goblins charged.
Altair met them head-on, swinging his stone. It smashed across the face of the enemy leader, green blood spraying. The brute howled and swung a broken club in retaliation. Altair ducked low, stabbing his weapon into its belly.
Behind him, his goblins fought clumsily but together. For the first time, they pushed as one, holding the line. Their crude sticks struck, their claws dug deep. Lila hurled stones with fierce precision, Mira pulled the wounded back.
The wild goblins faltered, their frenzy colliding with Altair's desperate order.
"Yes," Altair thought, eyes blazing. "This is how. Even with filth, I can forge soldiers."
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Minutes stretched like hours in the frenzy.
Three wild goblins lay dead, blood seeping into the earth. Two more fled into the forest, shrieking. The survivors staggered, broken, retreating with curses on their lips.
Altair's pack, though battered, still stood. Wounded, panting, but alive.
Altair planted his feet, raising his bloodied stone high. His body dripped gore, his breath came ragged—but his voice cut sharp and clear.
"Hear me! Today, we proved one thing: we are not prey. We are a pack!"
A ragged cheer erupted. For the first time, the goblins howled not in fear, but in triumph. Their voices rose into the morning fog, echoing like the cry of something new being born.
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That night, firelight flickered in the cave. Lila leaned closer to Altair, her dark eyes steady. "You're different. You're not… like other goblins."
Mira nodded softly, her cheeks faintly flushed.
Altair gave a thin, dangerous smile. "Of course. I am no mere goblin. I am Altair. And I will make the world kneel."
The pack looked at him differently now—not just as another goblin, but as their leader.
Not yet an army, not yet a kingdom. But no longer rabble.
The first pack had been forged in blood.
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