I woke to the smell first.
Rot. Old blood. Wet earth.
The mountain of corpses rose around me like a grotesque hill, bodies layered atop one another in different stages of decay. Some were little more than bones wrapped in rags. Others were still swollen and dark, their faces frozen mid-expression.
I lay among them.
Again. Ugh, gross.
I stared up at the pale sky through gaps between branches and ribs and wondered—briefly—if this was just where I belonged now. Humph, yeah right, I was still alive.
My body felt stronger than before. Not weaker. My stats must have increased yet again. I pushed myself up slowly, careful not to disturb the pile more than necessary. Rotten flesh shifted unpleasantly beneath my palms. Something snapped with a dry crack that might have been a finger. I shuddered.
I didn't linger.
The familiar blue screen flickered at the edge of my vision, but I ignored it. I already knew what it would say. Another death. Blah blah.
I slid down the far side of the corpse mound and froze.
Two goblins stood watch near the edge of the pile.
They weren't alert. One leaned against a rock, scraping dried blood from a bone knife. The other squatted, poking at the dirt with the butt of a spear, seemingly bored out of his mind.
They hadn't noticed me yet.
I stayed perfectly still; if I were just slightly more decomposed, I'd blend right in... Unfortunately, I wasn't dead anymore. If I could just—
A foot shifted behind me.
A corpse rolled.
The goblins snapped their heads up.
Eyes locked on me instantly.
There was no confusion this time. No hesitation. Recognition flared hot and ugly in their expressions.
The one with the spear screamed. An ugly, high-pitched sound.
They charged.
I moved first.
I grabbed the nearest thing—an old femur slick with rot—and swung as the first goblin closed the distance. The bone shattered against its skull, splintering uselessly, but it staggered long enough for me to shove into it with my shoulder.
We hit the ground hard. This goblin seemed especially sturdy.
The second goblin reached me as I tried to rise.
The spear punched into my stomach. I coughed, and blood dribbled from my mouth.
I hissed as pain exploded through me, white-hot and immediate. The force drove the air from my lungs; my vision blurred from pain as blood spilled warm and fast between my fingers.
I didn't stop.
I slammed my palm into the goblin's throat, felt cartilage give, then tore the spear sideways as I wrenched it free from my own body. The goblin choked, stumbled, and fell.
The first one was back on its feet.
A bone blade flashed.
It buried itself deep into my thigh.
I collapsed, unable to hold my weight on the injury.
Pain roared now—loud, demanding, impossible to ignore. I felt my blood soaking into the dirt and felt my strength bleeding out with it. But the goblin was close. Too close.
I grabbed its ankle.
Pulled.
It went down hard, head cracking against stone.
I didn't give it time to rise again. I drove the spear down into its chest again and again until it stopped moving.
The second goblin tried to crawl away.
I dragged myself after it and finished the job with shaking hands, repeating the same actions.
"Ahhhh. Why was that so difficult? Am I that bad at fighting? My stats have already increased a lot." I spoke to myself. The action still made me feel better. I remembered killing the two goblins in the woods, how a punch had sent dirt into the air and a goblin crashing through roots dead. I decided that I may be strong, but it was pretty useless if I didn't know how to use it.
Silence followed.
I lay there, gasping, blood pooling beneath me, vision swimming.
Too slow.
Too loud.
I heard them coming before I saw them.
"Damn it." I desperately tried to get up and into some form or another of a defensive position, failing miserably. All I managed to do was cause further injury to my wounds.
More goblins poured from the forest—six, then ten, then more—drawn by the sounds of the confrontation and the smell of fresh blood. They surrounded me in seconds.
I tried to stand one last time.
My leg gave out.
They didn't kill me right away; instead, I felt many hands shove me to the ground. They stepped on my hand, forcing the spear from my grasp, and then bound my arms. Hauled me upright despite the spear wound still gaping in my stomach. Every step sent agony tearing through me, my vision blurring at the edges.
They dragged me back toward the cave.
I realized as soon as we passed the cage full of the other captives that I'd severely and deeply fucked up. We stopped directly on top of the altar. The same place I had died last. One of the green bastards brought out a set of thick-looking chains.
I panicked and managed to rip my arm free from one of their grasps, but it was futile as I was quickly restrained once more. They chained me there—arms spread wide, wrists locked in iron set into stone carved with symbols that still glowed faintly red. Blood ran freely now, dripping into channels etched to guide it exactly where they wanted it.
I was bleeding from fresh wounds, but there was nothing I could do about it. A goblin leaned close, sniffing, eyes bright with reverence.
Permanent.
That was the word I understood without hearing it spoken.
Not a sacrifice but a source.
As my strength ebbed and the cold crept in again, one last thought drifted through my mind—quiet, bitter, and unshakable.
So this is what happens when they decide to keep you.
Darkness followed.