The village's silence was a lie.
Steve felt it in his bones. It wasn't peace — it was something pretending to be peace. The kind of quiet that comes before something terrible, when even the wind holds its breath.
He walked beside Keara, watching the others spread out like predators in enemy territory. Finn disappeared into a cabin on the left, shoulders tense like ropes about to snap. Dagon checked another house, moving with that irritating calm. Fog and Jelím went in opposite directions, silent as shadows.
Steve entered a small cabin.
The interior was too simple to be true. Table with recent marks of use. Two benches still with impressions on the seats. Straw piled in the corner, molded by the shape of a body that had slept there.
Everything in place. Everything clean. Everything wrong.
As if someone had left fifteen minutes ago to fetch water and simply decided not to return.
He opened a box in the corner. Empty, but the lid was loose — used today. He checked under the straw. Nothing. But the smell there was strange. Metallic. Old.
He left quickly, heart racing for no apparent reason.
He tried another house. Same story. Utensils arranged. Clothes folded. A bowl with food that hadn't dried yet.
Where is everyone?
The feeling of invisible eyes grew with each second. Steve looked at the empty windows, expecting to see something looking back. Nothing. But the feeling remained, sticking to his skin like oil.
When he returned to the village center, the others were already there.
Finn was losing control.
He paced back and forth like a wounded animal, hand squeezing and releasing the sword hilt. Breathing came short. Jaw muscles jumped under the skin.
Suddenly he stopped.
Turned.
Kicked a barrel with explosive violence.
The wood detonated, pieces flying in all directions, the entire barrel rolling until it hit a distant house.
Finn turned to Steve, and there was fire in his eyes.
— The village where you were a short time ago — his voice came out vibrating — is this one here?
Steve instinctively took a step back.
— I... I'm not lying — he said, voice failing. — It was here. I'm sure.
Finn advanced.
— Sure? — he repeated, voice dropping dangerously. — Because if you're fooling us while they're—
— Hey.
Dagon's voice cut like a cold blade.
He was no longer leaning. He was standing. And something in his presence made Finn stop mid-step.
— Calm down, man — Dagon said, unhurried, but with the weight of stone. — In these moments it's better to think with a cool mind. Anger only makes you commit mistakes you can't undo later.
Finn locked up. Breathed deeply once. Twice. Three times. Closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the fury had receded — but Steve still saw it just below the surface, waiting.
Keara broke the tension.
— Did anyone find any clues?
Heavy silence.
Fog shook his head. Jelím remained motionless, the mask hiding everything.
Dagon sighed.
— But there was one thing... — Keara began, hesitant. — Did anyone else feel like they were being watched?
Steve nodded before thinking.
— Yes — he said. — The whole time. Didn't matter where I was.
— Me too — Fog confirmed.
Finn let out a humorless laugh.
— Great — he murmured. — Surrounded and without any clues.
He let himself fall sitting on the ground, head in his hands. For a moment he seemed smaller. Younger. More broken.
— Damn... — the voice came out strangled. — If we don't hurry... Diana... Jéssica... Fena...
He paused, shoulders trembling.
— All of them are at risk. And I promised.
The weight of those words sank into the group like an anchor.
Steve looked around, searching for anything useful, and his eyes landed on the temple in the village center.
— Has anyone checked that temple yet?
Everyone turned.
Finn stood up slowly.
— No — he answered. — Not yet.
Dagon pushed off from the tree.
— Then let's end this.
---
They walked in silence to the entrance.
The structure was larger up close. Ancient black wood, stained by more than time. Strange symbols carved deeply into the beams — circles, impossible lines, empty eyes that seemed to follow movement when not looked at directly.
Finn reached the door first. Heavy wood, no windows.
He pushed.
Locked.
He stepped back, hand going to his sword—
BOOOOM!
The sound exploded from all directions.
It wasn't thunder. It was an announcement. Deep, profound, making bones vibrate.
The ground shook. Steve almost fell. The trees shook violently. Birds exploded into desperate flight, screaming as they fled.
Then the sky disappeared.
Steve looked up.
Shadow. Shadow moving.
No — arrows. Hundreds of them.
Descending like apocalyptic rain, whistling, blocking the sky, impossible to avoid—
— JELÍM!
Dagon's scream tore through the panic.
The masked woman was already in the air, floating, arms spread.
She raised her hands above her head.
The pressure in the air changed instantly.
Steve felt it in his ears — a crack, as if something had been ripped from the world.
The arrows stopped.
All of them.
Frozen in the air meters from the group, vibrating, held by invisible force.
Jelím tilted her head.
— You don't need to shout.
She turned her wrist.
The arrows fell like solid rain, covering the ground around them, deadly but harmless.
Steve let out a trembling sigh.
That's when they heard it.
Crash. Distant.
Another. Closer.
Another. Much closer.
Coming from all directions, making the ground shake.
Finn gripped his sword.
— Stay alert — he said. — Looks like we'll have company.
The forest exploded.
From between trees, from houses, from holes in the ground — hundreds of goblins.
Greenish skin. Yellow and hungry eyes. Irregular teeth. Crude axes raised.
They ran in chaotic horde, stumbling over each other, screaming guttural sounds.
Finn assessed in half a second.
No exit. Surrounded.
Only one choice.
— Attack!
---
Finn moved first.
The sword cut through the air in a perfect arc. The first goblin lost its head before understanding what happened. Finn spun in the same movement, cutting two in half at stomach height.
He didn't stop.
He jumped back dodging an axe by millimeters, and counter-attacked. Upward strike tore through another enemy's chest.
He rolled. Rose attacking.
The sword described deadly circles. Each movement flowed to the next without pause. Without waste.
Heads rolled. Limbs flew. Each strike had purpose.
But Steve saw the truth — Finn fought with barely contained fury. Each death was desperation transformed into violence.
---
Jelím floated serenely.
Goblins ran toward her, screaming, axes raised.
She waited.
Closer.
Delicate gesture with her hand.
The axes were instantly ripped away, floating in the air.
They turned.
Attacked their own owners.
Blades pierced throats. Pierced skulls. Opened bellies.
Goblins fell en masse, killed by their own weapons.
Jelím tilted her head.
— I'll give a sample of the real power of a manipulator.
She snapped her fingers.
Small sound. Delicate.
Horrible effect.
The running goblins stopped. They stood motionless, confused.
Then they turned to each other.
And began to kill each other.
Claws tore faces. Teeth bit necks. Axes shattered skulls.
The horde devoured itself, while Jelím watched, floating above the massacre.
---
Dagon fought without flourish.
A goblin jumped. Dagon dodged minimally — the blade passed centimeters from his face — and counter-attacked, severing the arm at the elbow.
Three were running. He advanced toward them, slid along the ground under the first, cut the second's legs, rose and pierced the third's heart.
Three seconds. Three deaths.
There was no expression. No rage.
Just work.
Another from behind. Dagon blocked, used the momentum to kick brutally. The creature flew backward, knocking down two others.
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
Economical. Precise. Lethal.
And while he killed, his eyes occasionally checked Steve, ensuring the boy was still breathing.
---
Fog knelt in the center of chaos.
He placed his hands on the ground. Closed his eyes.
Whispered words in ancient language.
— Earth throw.
The ground exploded.
Stones the size of heads rose as if the planet spat them out. Compacted earth. Torn roots.
Everything floated around him.
Fog opened his eyes.
The projectiles were launched.
They flew with absurd speed, crushing everything.
Skulls exploded. Bodies flew meters away. Some tried to block — weapons shattered.
Fog remained motionless, controlling everything with small finger movements.
Earth turned weapon. He, the executor.
---
Steve fought differently.
Without technique. Without training. Without confidence.
He held the sword with both hands, fingers white with tension, sweating cold, breathing too fast.
A goblin ran toward him.
Steve instinctively raised the sword.
The axe descended.
Metal met wood.
The impact went through his arms like a shock. He held, but trembled violently.
He pushed back with desperate force.
He advanced — not from courage, but from panic — and attacked.
Crude strike. Awkward.
But it hit.
The blade sank into the goblin's shoulder, scraping bone.
The creature screamed — almost human sound — and hot blood splattered on Steve's face.
He tasted it.
Iron. Salt. Bitter.
He pulled the sword, hands slipping on the bloody handle, and attacked again.
And again.
Until the creature stopped.
Steve backed away, gasping, trembling.
He looked at the corpse.
At the blood on his hands.
I killed.
— Steve! Behind you!
Keara's voice.
He turned. Another goblin.
He blocked. Attacked. Survived.
There was no time to process. Just react.
Keara was behind, protected, hands glowing as she healed from a distance.
Steve fought to keep her safe.
Each strike was desperation. Each movement, instinct.
But he remained standing.
Remained alive.
---
The ground shook differently.
Brutal impact.
The forest split.
Three figures emerged.
Hobgoblins.
Over two and a half meters tall. Grotesque muscles. Long arms. Worked stone axes, stained with old blood.
The first roared — deep sound, vibrating in the air — and ran.
Straight at Finn.
---
Each step made the ground groan.
The hobgoblin crossed the distance in seconds.
Raised the axe with both hands.
Brutal descending strike.
Finn blocked.
The impact was absurd.
The shockwave raised dust. Nearby goblins were thrown.
Finn held.
But was forced to his knees.
The ground under his feet cracked, fissures spreading like webs, stones breaking.
He screamed — not from pain, but from effort — and pushed.
The hobgoblin didn't move.
It smiled.
And attacked again.
---
The second hobgoblin turned to Jelím.
Each step shook the world.
Jelím pointed calmly.
— Go, my servants. Finish that giant.
The controlled goblins turned like marionettes.
Dozens ran toward the hobgoblin, screaming.
The giant crushed them.
One strike. Five exploded.
Another strike. Four shattered.
Blood covered everything.
But they kept coming.
They climbed up the legs, driving axes, teeth, claws.
There were many. Much blood. Many bites.
The hobgoblin staggered.
More climbed.
They covered the body like a swarm.
It fell to its knees.
Then face-first.
It was devoured alive.
Steve watched, horrified.
This isn't strategy. It's sacrifice.
---
The third attacked Dagon.
Strike after strike, the axe descended brutally.
Dagon retreated. Somersault. Roll. Jump.
Just avoided, each movement economical.
He waited.
For the mistake.
The hobgoblin raised too high, exposing the left side.
Dagon dodged in the same instant.
Ran straight at it.
Jumped high.
Spun, sword above his head, dove.
The blade pierced the skull from top to bottom.
The giant fell.
Dagon landed lightly.
Pulled the sword.
Cleaned it on the creature's clothes.
Continued fighting as if nothing had happened.
---
Finn was still fighting.
Each block forced him further down.
I can't lose.
Diana. Jéssica. Fena.
I promised.
The hobgoblin attacked again.
Finn didn't block.
He rolled forward at the last second, passing under the attack.
Spun.
Cut.
Horizontal. Low. Precise.
Sliced through both tendons.
The hobgoblin fell to its knees.
Then face-first.
Finn jumped on its back, running up the spine, and when he reached the head, raised his sword.
Drove it straight into the heart.
The creature shuddered.
Went still.
Finn pulled the sword, gasping, covered in blood.
The remaining goblins hesitated, looking at the dead giants.
---
Steve felt it.
Something wrong in the air.
Absence.
He turned his head.
Saw the gleam. Tiny. Metallic.
Flying toward him.
His brain didn't process.
I'm going to die.
Dagon was there.
He hadn't run. He was simply there.
His hand moved in a blur.
Grabbed something in the air.
Poisoned needle stopped centimeters from Steve's eye.
For one eternal second, no one breathed.
Steve looked at the tip — black, gleaming with oily liquid dripping.
If that had...
Dagon released the needle.
Grabbed the sword.
Threw it.
The blade flew like lightning, spinning, whistling.
Rose.
THUNK.
A scream.
Something fell from a tree — body in black cloak, arm pierced by the sword, pinned to the trunk.
Dagon turned his head slightly.
— Jelím.
She raised her hand.
The cult member was ripped from the tree and brought floating.
He was thrown in the center, falling heavily among goblin corpses.
The veil slipped.
Deformed mouth exposed.
Steve felt bile rise.
— He's one of them — he murmured.
Finn was already moving.
He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him.
— Talk! — he shouted. — Where are the victims?!
The man smiled.
— For the... Goddess...
Distorted voice, carrying ecstasy.
Something broke in Finn.
He released with one hand.
Pulled his sword.
Raised it, trembling, ready to behead—
— Hold on.
Dagon's hand closed around Finn's wrist.
Not with force. Just pressure.
Finn stopped.
— I already said. Cool head. Anger only kills our only clue.
Finn breathed heavily.
Then lowered the sword slowly.
Dagon turned to Jelím.
— Can you control his mind?
Jelím hesitated.
— My manipulation is weak. Only creatures without intellect.
Dagon looked at the cultist.
At the destroyed mouth. Empty eyes.
He smiled.
— Try. Because from what I see, this guy has no intellect at all.
Jelím sighed, raised her arm.
Closed her eyes.
Silence.
Her fingers contracted.
The cultist shuddered. His head turned too fast.
Eyes lost focus.
Jelím opened her eyes.
— I got it.
Finn released his breath.
— Make him take us to the leader. Now.
The cultist stood up.
Rigid movements. Unnatural.
He began to walk.
Straight to the temple.
The group followed.
When they arrived, the cultist pushed the locked door.
It opened easily.
They entered.
Simple interior. Chairs. Bizarre statues on the walls.
In the back, enormous sculpture — naked woman, without eyes, mouth open screaming, hair falling like roots.
The cultist walked to the base.
Knelt.
Thrust his fingers into a crack.
Pulled.
A trapdoor opened.
Stairs descending into absolute darkness.
The group stopped.
Steve looked at the others.
— You know this could be a trap, right?
Finn walked to the edge.
Looked down.
— We'll find out.
And he began to descend.