Lux stood over the goblin's body, breathing hard.
The forest felt quieter now, as if it had leaned back to watch what he would do next. Smoke drifted from the disturbed campfire, carrying the sharp smell of ash and burned wood. The dead goblin lay twisted in the dirt, its mouth half open, its black eyes staring at nothing.
Lux's hands were shaking.
He stared at his sword. The blade was still rusty, still ugly, but now it was streaked with fresh blood. It should have disgusted him. It did. Yet his mind kept circling the same impossible feeling.
That rush.
It had not been an emotion. It had been physical. Real. Like a door inside him had opened and something heavy had poured in.
Lux's chest rose and fell. He tested his breath, expecting panic to choke him again.
It did not.
Pain still throbbed in his thigh where the goblin had cut him, but it was not as sharp as it had been a minute ago. The wound was still bleeding, and the leather pants stuck to his skin, but his body did not feel like it was collapsing anymore.
Lux lifted his left hand and looked at his palm. A blister had begun to form from grabbing the burning stick, but even that felt distant, like the pain had been pushed a step away.
He forced himself to look up.
The other two goblins were still there.
They had backed away toward the trees, watching him with a different kind of expression now. Not confident. Not playful.
Cautious.
One of them clicked its teeth, then made a short, angry sound, like it was arguing with itself. The one with the club took a step forward, then stopped.
Lux tightened his grip on the sword.
His arms felt steadier. His shoulders felt lighter. Even his balance felt different, like his body had adjusted to the weight of the weapon and accepted it.
Lux swallowed.
"If you come closer," he said, voice low, "I will kill you too."
He did not know if they understood his words, but they understood his tone. The goblins hissed. The one with the bone knife shifted its weight, ready to dart in.
Lux took a slow step forward.
The goblins flinched.
He took another step.
The one with the club threw a stone, but the throw was sloppy, rushed. Lux lifted his forearm, and the stone struck him with a dull impact. It hurt, but not enough to stop him.
Lux did not step back.
That was new.
His fear was still there, a cold thing in his stomach, but it did not control his legs anymore.
The goblin with the knife lunged, fast and low, the same way it had before.
Lux moved without thinking.
He turned his hip, shifted his foot, and swung down in a tight arc. The rusty sword caught the goblin's forearm and bit into it. The goblin shrieked and stumbled.
Lux did not stop.
He stepped in and drove the blade forward.
The sword sank into the goblin's chest with a wet resistance. Lux felt the impact run through his arms, but his body held steady. The goblin's eyes widened. Its mouth opened as if it wanted to scream again, but only air came out.
Lux pulled the blade free and stepped back.
The goblin fell.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then Lux felt it again.
That surge of power.
It rushed through him like heat, filling his muscles, tightening his core, making the air around him feel sharper. The world seemed slightly clearer, slightly louder. Lux could hear the crackle of the campfire, the rustle of leaves, even the frantic breathing of the last goblin.
Lux stared at his own hands.
They looked the same.
But they were not.
He flexed his fingers. His grip felt stronger, as if the tendons had been pulled tighter. He rolled his shoulders, and the movement felt smoother.
Lux's mind tried to reject it.
This was not how reality worked.
Yet the goblin at his feet was dead, and the feeling inside him was undeniable.
Lux turned to the last goblin.
It stood near the edge of the clearing, club raised, but its confidence was gone. It stared at Lux the way prey stared at a predator.
Lux took one step.
The goblin squealed and bolted into the trees.
Lux watched it run. He could have chased it. He felt like he could have. The thought itself was terrifying.
Instead, he stayed still and listened until the forest swallowed the sound of its footsteps.
Only then did Lux allow his legs to shake again.
He looked down at the bodies. Two dead goblins. Blood soaking into the earth. A broken wagon. A smoldering fire.
Lux's stomach twisted, and he turned away from the bodies and retched into the dirt.
Nothing came up. He had barely eaten. He gagged anyway, throat burning, eyes watering. He pressed a hand to his mouth and forced himself to breathe.
"I killed them," he whispered.
The words sounded wrong in the open air.
Lux wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and stumbled toward the wagon, needing something to do that was not staring at what he had done.
He checked the wagon carefully.
It had been attacked recently. The wood was fresh where it had splintered. A few crates lay broken nearby, their contents scattered. Lux found a torn sack of grain, ruined by dirt and moisture. He found a small bundle of cloth, but it was stained and smelled rotten.
Then he found something useful.
A canteen.
It was dented but intact. Lux shook it. A little water sloshed inside. He unscrewed the cap and sniffed. It smelled clean enough. He took a cautious sip.
Cold water touched his tongue and made him feel more awake than he wanted to be.
Lux set the canteen into the pouch at his belt. He searched again and found a short length of rope and a small knife with a chipped edge. The knife was not good, but it was better than nothing.
Lux kept both.
His thigh burned again when he moved wrong, reminding him that power was not the same as healing. He crouched beside the campfire and tore a strip of cloth from one of the ruined sacks. It was rough, but it would work.
He pressed the cloth against the cut on his thigh.
Pain flared. Lux clenched his teeth.
He wrapped the cloth tight around the wound, using the rope to secure it. The bandage looked ugly, but it slowed the bleeding.
When he finished, he sat back and stared at his hands again.
His breathing was steady.
His arms did not feel heavy.
His mind felt sick, but his body felt almost eager, as if it had tasted something and wanted more.
Lux hated that.
He stood and looked at the road.
The road was the first honest thing he had seen since arriving here. It had a direction. It suggested other people existed. It suggested answers, or at least the chance to not die alone in the woods.
Lux adjusted the sword at his side. He considered the weight of it, then tested a few swings in the air, slow and controlled.
The blade moved more cleanly now. His arms followed through without wobbling.
Lux frowned.
He had not learned technique in five minutes. He had not watched training videos. He had not practiced in a gym. Yet his body moved as if it had done this before, just a little.
Lux looked back at the goblin bodies.
He understood now, at least enough to fear it.
Killing made him stronger.
Not a little stronger.
Much stronger.
Lux did not know how far that could go. He did not know if there was a limit. He did not know if it would stop working, or if it would twist him into something unrecognizable.
But he knew one thing.
If the forest was filled with creatures like goblins, then this world was built to feed that rule.
Lux wiped sweat from his forehead and stared down the road.
He could stay here and wait, hoping someone came.
Or he could move.
Lux tightened his grip on the canteen, then started walking, following the road into the trees.
Each step took him farther from the clearing, farther from the wagon and the blood.
The forest closed behind him.
Lux did not look back.
He focused on the road, on the sound of his boots on dirt, on the rhythm of his own breathing. He kept his eyes scanning the tree line, listening for clicks and rustling leaves.
He did not know where the road led.
But he knew he could not return to the office and pretend that any of that mattered anymore.
Not after this.
Not after the strength that still hummed inside him like a living thing.