Everything hurt. His back was a map of fire where Gregor's claws had sliced him open, the wounds crusted over but still oozing something sticky that soaked through whatever rags he was wearing now. His nose felt wrong, crooked and swollen from the earlier beatings. And his mouth tasted like river water mixed with blood and regret.
He shifted carefully, peering through the bars. The cage was one of many stacked in what looked like the back of a covered cart, the kind with wooden sides and a canvas top flapping in the breeze. The backside of the cart was open, no door or gate, just a clear view of the dirt road stretching behind them, rutted and dusty, kicking up clouds as the wheels churned along. Trees lined the path, thick and ancient, their branches forming a canopy that dappled the ground with shadows. It was a forest road, somewhere wild and untamed, far from the ruined city or the river where everything had gone to hell. Birds called overhead, indifferent to the misery below. John rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of it. How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered was the waterfall, the plunge, the white water swallowing him whole. And Selio. And Lui. Dead. Both dead. Or as good as. The thought hit him like a fresh slap, but he pushed it down. Survival first. Freak out later.
His gaze shifted to the other cages in the cart. There were at least nine of them, maybe more, stacked haphazardly like crates of unwanted goods. And inside them, not humans like he'd first assumed in his daze. Goblins. L
ots of them. Small, wiry creatures with green skin stretched tight over bony frames, pointed ears twitching at every bump in the road. Most were feral, or at least they looked it, their eyes vacant and animalistic, no spark of intelligence beyond base survival instincts. They huddled in their cages, quiet as death, not snarling or rattling the bars like you'd expect from monsters in anime. No, these ones just stared at the floor or the walls, their expressions hollow, like they'd seen things that had broken whatever spirit they had left. Scars covered their bodies, old whip marks and burns, and some were missing fingers or ears. One goblin in the cage next to John's chewed absently on its own arm, drawing a thin line of blood, but it didn't seem to notice or care. John shuddered.
Twenty minutes dragged by, the cart jolting over roots and stones, John's body protesting every movement. He tried to piece together what had happened. The river must have carried him downstream, washed him up somewhere, and these... whoever they were... had found him. Slavers, probably. Humans this time, based on the voices he could hear up front, gruff and laughing about something crude. Great. From beast folk slavers to human ones. Progress? The cart slowed, then stopped with a creak of axles. Dust settled. Footsteps approached from the front, heavy and purposeful.
A big burly guy in armor climbed into the back of the cart, his frame filling the open space like a wall of meat and metal. Plate armor covered his chest and shoulders, dented and scratched from what looked like years of abuse, with a helmet tucked under one arm revealing a shaved head and a beard that could hide small animals. His eyes were small and mean, and he smelled like sweat and cheap ale.
"Alright, you lot of worthless shits,"
he grumbled, grabbing the first cage with practiced effort and heaving it toward the open back. The goblin inside yelped as the cage slid out and thudded to the ground outside. "Time to earn your keep, meat shields. Can't have you rotting in here forever, can we? Boss says we need fresh bait for the delve."
He laughed, a wet, phlegmy sound, and grabbed another cage, cussing under his breath as he tossed it out.
"Fucking goblins, always stinking up the place. At least you'll be useful for once, tripping traps and soaking arrows." Over nine cages in total, he cleared them one by one, his muscles bulging but his movements efficient, like he'd done this a hundred times. John's cage was last. The burly guy eyed him with mild surprise. "Huh, a human this time? Thought you were all beast folk wash-ups. Whatever, you'll do." He grabbed the bars and flung the cage out, John tumbling inside as it hit the dirt.
Outside, the world came into focus. A clearing in the forest, carts circled like a wagon train, campfires smoldering with the remains of breakfast. A group of humans, maybe a dozen, stood around, armed with spears and swords, wearing mismatched armor that screamed "adventurers" from every bad fantasy trope. They prodded the cages open with spear tips, herding the goblins out first, then John. He stumbled to his feet, chains linking his ankles now, short enough to shuffle but not run. The goblins milled about quietly, their feral eyes darting but no resistance. One tried to bite a spear haft and got a boot to the face for it. John kept his mouth shut, scanning for escape routes, but spears pointed at him from all sides.
As they formed up, John turned around fully for the first time. Behind them loomed a cave mouth, dark and yawning, set into a rocky hillside overgrown with vines. Stalactites hung like teeth from the entrance, and a faint chill wind blew out, carrying the scent of damp stone and something metallic, like blood. This was a dungeon, or close enough. John's weeb brain kicked in, recognizing the setup. Adventurers raiding a monster lair, using captives as fodder. Classic. But why goblins? And why him?
He opened his mouth to ask, "Hey, what's—" but a spear point jabbed his ribs, not piercing but close. "No questions, meat," the burly guy growled, his breath hot and foul.
"You walk, you trip traps, you die if needed. Simple as that."
John clamped his jaw shut, nodding. No point dying before he had to. The group shoved them forward, goblins in the lead, John mixed in the middle, adventurers at the rear with weapons ready.
The goblins shuffled ahead into the cave, their bare feet padding on cold stone. The entrance narrowed quickly, torches from the adventurers casting flickering shadows on jagged walls. One goblin, skinnier than the rest with wild eyes, darted forward a bit too eagerly, maybe scenting something or just panicking. It stepped on a loose stone, and the floor gave way beneath it. A deep pit yawned open, spikes at the bottom glinting in the torchlight, rusted and stained with old blood. The goblin plummeted, its scream short and wet as it impaled itself, twitching once before going still. The adventurers laughed.
"First one down," one said, a lanky guy with a bow.
"These ferals are dumber than rocks." John swallowed hard. Trap setters. That's what they were. Disposable bodies to clear the dangers so the "heroes" could swoop in for the glory.
As they pressed on, one of the adventurers muttered to another, low but audible. "Shame about that beast folk that washed ashore, though. Looked like a hybrid or something. Dead when we found it, but could've fetched a price."
John's heart dropped like that goblin into the pit. Selio. That was Selio. Washed up from the river, just like him. Dead. The image hit him: the derpy face, the webbed hands, the kind creature that had shared bread and fought for them. Gone. Crushed or drowned or broken on rocks.
The burly guy snorted, slapping the mutterer on the back. "Didn't stop me from fucking it, though. Dead meat is still meat." The adventurers burst into laughter, crude and echoing off the cave walls.
"Warm enough for a quick go, right? Better than these goblin shits." More laughs, slaps on shoulders, like it was the funniest joke in the world.
John's vision went red. Rage boiled up, hot and immediate, his fists clenching until nails bit into palms. Selio. That innocent, helpful feral, reduced to a punchline. Violated even in death. He wanted to scream, to charge the burly guy and tear his throat out with his teeth. But he knew better. Speaking out meant a spear through the gut right there. Death, quick and pointless. He bit his tongue, tasted blood, and kept shuffling. Survival first. Revenge... maybe never. But he filed the faces away. The burly guy's bearded grin. The lanky archer's snicker. If he got out of this, somehow...
The cave twisted deeper, the air growing thicker with moisture and the stink of rot. The goblins walked ahead, prodded by spears when they slowed. One stepped on a pressure plate, and darts whistled from hidden slits in the walls. Three goblins jerked as feathered shafts buried into their chests and necks, blood spraying. They dropped without a sound, bodies twitching. The adventurers stepped over them casually. "Good find," the burly guy said. "Saves us the trouble." Another goblin triggered a swinging blade trap, a pendulum axe that sliced clean through its midsection, guts spilling in a steaming pile. The feral ones didn't scream much, just gurgled and died, their quiet acceptance making it all the more horrific. John dodged a splash of blood, his chains rattling. How many left? He counted quickly. Six goblins now, down from over a dozen. Their eyes were even deader, if possible, like they knew this was their fate.
Deeper in, the tunnel widened into a chamber, stalagmites rising like teeth. In the distance, a shout echoed: "FIREEEE!" Arrows hissed through the air from deeper shadows, where archers lurked behind barricades of stone and bone. The goblins panicked, some trying to scatter, but spears from behind kept them forward. Shafts thudded into flesh, two goblins dropping immediately, feathers sprouting from their backs. The adventurers grabbed the nearest ferals, hauling them up like living shields. "Block it, you shits!" one yelled. A goblin took three arrows to the chest, its body jerking as the adventurer behind held it aloft, safe. John ducked low, no shield for him, an arrow whistling past his ear close enough to feel the fletching.
The burly guy snatched a goblin by the neck, lifting it one-handed like a ragdoll. "Time to earn your keep, meat shield!" He charged ahead, holding the squirming creature in front as arrows peppered it, the goblin's body convulsing with each impact until it went limp, a pincushion of wood and steel. The burly guy roared, tossing the corpse aside and barreling into the archers' position. His sword swung in wide arcs, cleaving through goblin defenders, wait, these weren't adventurers' traps anymore. These were advanced goblins, the intelligent kind, with crude armor and bows, manning defenses in their nest. John pieced it together mid-chaos: the humans were raiding an advanced goblin settlement, using captured lesser feral goblins as disposable fodder. Cruel. Beyond cruel. Forcing the dumb ones to die clearing the way into their smarter cousins' home. The irony twisted in his gut.
The adventurers followed the burly guy's lead, using the remaining goblins as shields to close the distance. Some arrows found marks: one adventurer took a shaft to the thigh, screaming, but the others pressed on. They slaughtered the archers up close, swords hacking through thin limbs and necks, green blood painting the walls. A crude voice from one adventurer, wiping his blade on a corpse:
"Guess the lesser goblins do serve a purpose after all. Meat shields. Who knew?"
Laughter again, but strained now, the raid turning bloody. John huddled behind a stalagmite, unchained but unarmed, watching the carnage. Only two goblin shields left now, both riddled with arrows but somehow still breathing, their feral eyes glazing over. Most had died to traps earlier—pits, darts, blades—or to the arrows here. The floor was a slaughterhouse slick with blood and bodies.
They pushed on, the cave narrowing again before opening into a vast chamber, the end of the line. Torchlight revealed a large open area, stalactites hanging from a high ceiling, bones scattered like decorations. In the center, a giant muscular goblin chief slept on a pile of furs and looted treasures, its chest rising and falling with snores that echoed like thunder. It was massive, easily twice the size of the burly guy, green skin rippling over slabs of muscle, a wooden club the size of a tree trunk propped beside it. Tusks jutted from its lower jaw, and crude tattoos marked its arms—symbols of strength or kills, probably.
The adventurers froze, then grinned. "Jackpot," the burly guy whispered. "Chief's down. We rush it, easy loot." Their egos inflated, weapons drawn, they charged as one, shouting war cries. The chief stirred, eyes snapping open, and rose with a bellow that shook dust from the ceiling. The fight was brutal and short. The lanky archer loosed arrows, but they bounced off the chief's thick hide like toothpicks. It swung its club in a lazy arc, catching the archer mid-reload and crushing his chest into pulp, bones snapping like dry branches. The adventurer's scream cut off wetly as he flew into a wall, crumpling.
Next, a sword-wielding woman darted in, slashing at the chief's legs. It kicked her aside like a doll, her body slamming into stalagmites with a crack of spine. She twitched once and went still. The burly guy roared, swinging his sword two-handed, but the chief parried with its club, the impact shattering the blade. A backhand sent the burly guy staggering, then the club came down, pulverizing his helmet and skull in one blow, brains splattering across the stone. His body dropped, twitching. The remaining adventurers' egos evaporated, faces paling as they realized they'd bitten off more than they could chew. One turned to run, but the chief grabbed him by the leg, hauling him back and smashing him against the ground repeatedly until he was a broken mess. Another begged, "Wait, we can—" but the club silenced him forever, caving his torso.
John watched from the shadows, heart pounding. All dead. One by one, crushed, broken, egos gone in pools of their own blood. This was his chance. He backed away slowly, chains rattling softly, aiming for the tunnel they'd come from. Escape. Finally. But the chief's head snapped toward the sound, eyes locking on him. It grunted, dropping its latest victim, and charged with surprising speed for its size, club raised.
John turned and ran, chains hobbling him, but terror lent speed. The chief's footsteps thundered behind, closing fast. He dodged a stalagmite, but the club swung, missing by inches and shattering rock. Shards cut his arms. He pushed harder, lungs burning, the tunnel entrance so close. Almost there.
The club connected. A glancing blow to his shoulder, but enough to spin him. Pain exploded, bone shattering. He stumbled, fell. The chief loomed over him, raising the club high. John looked up, time slowing.
The club came down, blowing his head clean off in a spray of blood and bone.