The hunting party trudged homeward under a sky bruised with the deep oranges and purples of late summer sunset. The air was thick with the dry, sweet scent of sun-baked grass and the faint, metallic tang of dried blood from the rabbit carcasses slung over their shoulders. Every step kicked up fine dust that clung to sweat-damp skin and filled nostrils with the earthy smell of the plains.
Kai's boots crunched softly on the packed dirt road. His muscles carried the pleasant, heavy ache of three days' exertion, and the weight of his short sword at his hip felt reassuring. Lila walked beside him, her light footsteps almost silent, humming a village tune under her breath. Occasionally, a warm breeze carried the faint floral scent of her hair—wild herbs from Sylvara's garden that she used to wash it.
Tomas's heavier tread came behind, accompanied by the constant rustle of him rummaging in his pack for the last of the dried apples. The crisp snap of each bite made Kai's mouth water.
The two militia men, Bren and Rolf, exchanged quiet jokes ahead, their chain shirts clinking softly with every stride.
Then the wind shifted.
It came from the east, cool and sudden, carrying a stench that punched the breath from Kai's lungs: acrid sweat, rotting meat left too long in the sun, wet fur, and beneath it all, the unmistakable reek of old blood baked into leather and iron. His stomach churned.
Bren froze mid-step. "Hold."
The tall grass on both sides of the road rustled unnaturally—too rhythmic, too widespread. A low chittering rose, like hundreds of sharp teeth clicking together in anticipation.
Rolf's voice dropped to a growl. "Goblins. Gods curse it—too many."
The ambush detonated like thunder.
A guttural, throat-tearing war cry shattered the evening calm. Dozens—no, scores—of green-skinned bodies erupted from the grass in a wave of motion and noise. The air filled instantly with the sour, eye-watering stink of unwashed goblin flesh, mixed with the sharper bite of their crude poisons smeared on arrowheads.
Black-fletched arrows hissed through the air, a deadly swarm that blotted the dying sunlight. One thudded into Rolf's thigh with a wet, meaty thunk; he roared in pain, the sound raw and animal, dropping to one knee as blood immediately soaked his trousers in a hot, spreading stain.
Bren bellowed a challenge and charged, spear thrusting. The wet crunch of iron piercing flesh followed, accompanied by a high-pitched goblin shriek that cut off abruptly in a gurgle.
Kai's world narrowed to a pounding heartbeat in his ears and the rush of mana igniting every nerve.
"Lila! Barrier! Tomas, behind me!"
Lila spun, arms sweeping wide. Wind howled into existence around them—a roaring vortex that whipped hair into eyes, filled mouths with grit, and battered arrows aside with sharp cracks as they tumbled harmlessly into the grass. The sudden pressure change popped Kai's ears.
Tomas's terrified gasp came from behind him, followed by the frantic whir of his sling loading.
Kai drew his sword. The worn leather hilt was slick with his sudden sweat, but familiar. He flooded mana into himself and the blade. Muscles swelled with heat, veins burning like molten rivers. The sword's edge shimmered; to his eyes alone it glowed silver, humming with a faint vibration he felt through bone.
Three goblins lunged at him, yellow eyes wild, mouths frothing with spittle that stank of rot. Their rusted daggers glinted dully.
The first's blade scraped across his forearm—enhanced skin turned the cut into a shallow sting rather than a deep gash—but he still felt the hot kiss of steel and the warm trickle of his own blood.
He riposted. His sword carved downward in a clean arc. The sensation was sickeningly vivid: the brief resistance of hide and muscle, then the wet give as the blade parted flesh and bone. Hot goblin blood sprayed across his face—salty, coppery, with an underlying bitterness that made him gag. The body crumpled with a heavy thud, the stench of its opened bowels joining the cacophony of odors.
The second goblin stabbed low. Kai twisted; the spear tip scraped sparks across the ground near his boot. He smashed the pommel into its temple—felt the skull dent with a muffled crack, like splitting green wood. It dropped soundlessly.
The third hesitated, reeking of fear-sweat now. Kai's slash took its head; the severed neck jetted black-red blood that steamed faintly in the cooling air.
All around, the battlefield became a nightmare of sensation.
Lila's wind roared constantly, tugging at clothes, whipping dust into stinging clouds. Her shouts were half-lost in the gale as she blasted a hobgoblin backward; the brute's roar of rage mixed with the crunch of its body hitting a rock.
Tomas's sling hummed—thwack!—a stone buried itself in a goblin's eye with a wet pop, followed by a piercing scream.
One of the teens screamed high and thin as an arrow punched through his shoulder; the sound cut off into sobbing. The air grew thick with the iron reek of fresh human blood.
Bren fought like a cornered bear, spear dripping, but goblin blades found him again and again—wet slicing sounds, his grunts turning to pained gasps.
Then the trolls arrived.
Their footfalls shook the ground like distant drums. Each step released a moldy, swampy stench—rotting vegetation and troll sweat. The first swung its club in a massive arc. The whoosh of displaced air buffeted Kai even from twenty paces away. When it connected with Bren, the impact was a nauseating crunch of ribs and mail, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting earth and the sudden, terrible silence where Bren's roar had been.
Rolf's furious scream cracked into despair as the troll's backhand sent him flying—bones snapped audibly, like dry branches.
Grishnak's voice rolled over the chaos like gravel poured down a well: deep, guttural, laced with cruel amusement. "Kill the adults! Young ones alive! The strong boy—mine!"
The Goblin Lord's presence carried its own aura of rot and old blood baked into iron plates bolted into flesh. His dire wolf mount snarled, drooling ropes of saliva that reeked of carrion.
Kai planted himself between Grishnak and his friends, tasting blood and dust on his tongue, feeling the sticky warmth of gore cooling on his skin.
Grishnak dismounted with a heavy clang of armor. The ground seemed to tremble. Up close, the Goblin Lord's breath was a furnace blast of decay and raw meat.
Their blades met.
The cleaver's impact drove shockwaves up Kai's arms; his teeth clacked together painfully, and the earth cracked beneath his heel. Sparks flew, sharp-smelling like forge embers. For a heartbeat he held—muscles screaming, joints creaking—then shoved back with everything his enhancement granted him.
Metal screeched on metal as he thrust for Grishnak's chest. The tip scored iron, drawing a hiss of black blood that smoked faintly where it touched the enchanted blade.
The fight became a blur of sensation: the burn of sweat in cuts, the constant roar of wind and screams, the wet slap of blades carving flesh, the coppery mist that hung in the air like fog.
Every parry jarred his bones. Every counter drew more of Grishnak's foul blood, which sizzled faintly against his sword's edge.
A spear grazed his side—fire lanced across his ribs, followed by the warm gush of blood soaking his shirt. The pain sharpened everything: colors brighter, sounds louder, smells more intense.
Lila's wind blade carved a screaming furrow across a troll's arm; the monster's bellow shook Kai's chest, and the stench of its blood—thick, swampy, and sour—rolled over them.
When Kai threw his sword to save Lila from the dire wolf, he felt the perfect balance of the enhanced weapon leave his hand, heard the whistle of its flight, then the meaty crunch as it buried itself in skull bone. The wolf's death yelp cut off with a wet gurgle.
Unarmed, facing Grishnak's descending cleaver, Kai tasted fear—sharp and metallic—at the back of his throat.
Then the village horn sounded: a deep, brassy note that cut through the din like a lifeline, carrying over the plains with desperate urgency.
Reinforcements crested the horizon, boots thundering, pitchforks and bows glinting in the last light.
Grishnak's snarl of frustration was almost bestial. Black blood dripped from his tusks as he spat, "Not over, boy. I remember your scent."
The retreat was a chaotic rustle of grass and fading stench as goblins melted away, dragging their wounded and the sour reek of defeat with them.
Silence fell, broken only by the wind, the groans of the dying, and the wet drip of blood into thirsty earth.
Kai stood amid the carnage, chest heaving, every breath tasting of iron and smoke. His side burned, his arms trembled from exertion, and his skin was crusted with drying gore—goblin, human, his own.
Lila stumbled to him, her face streaked with dirt and tears, smelling of sweat and wild magic. She pressed against his arm wordlessly.
Tomas dropped to his knees nearby, retching at the overwhelming stench of death.
Harlan's arrival was a thunder of footsteps and the familiar, comforting scent of home—soil, sweat, and pipe smoke—as he crushed Kai in a desperate embrace.
Under a sky now fully dark and pricked with cold stars, the battlefield reeked of blood, voided bowels, and trampled grass. The wind carried away the last echoes of screams, leaving only the soft, terrible sounds of survivors weeping and the slow drip of life into earth.
Kai stared toward the Whispering Forest, where the goblin stench still lingered faintly on the breeze.
The world had shown its teeth—sharp, bloody, and hungry.
And he had felt every bite.
To be continued...