Zeke lay flat against the obsidian ridge, his body heat masked by the damp mulch. Below, the Goblin Kingdom was a cacophony of sound—the rhythmic hammering of a forge, the crackling of massive bone-fires, and the constant, high-pitched bickering of the smaller scouts.
He didn't need to look at a status screen to know his senses were evolving. His vision had adjusted to the permanent twilight, allowing him to see the individual rivets in the Hobgoblin King's rusted throne and the faint, shimmering veil of the Chaos Barrier protecting the valley.
"Thousands of them," Zeke whispered.
His mind began to break the scene down into a series of probabilities. A frontal assault was suicide. Stealth was possible, but the moment he killed a guard, the "hive" would react. He needed to turn their own biology against them.
But Zeke was unaware that as he mapped the fortress, he was being mapped in return.
The Sky-Palace of the First Realm: The Observation Chamber
In a realm far above the suffocating humidity of Sector 7, the air was made of pure, distilled mana. A massive, translucent pool of mercury-like liquid sat in the center of a hall carved from celestial marble.
Three figures stood around the pool, their auras clashing in the silent room. Each represented one of the three great continents of the First Realm.
"Another harvest, another batch of cattle," boomed the first—the Apostle of War, representing the demonic continent of Pandemonium. He was clad in obsidian plate armor that leaked a black, smoky vapor. "The Earth sector is particularly weak this time. Not a single Heroic-class soul among them."
"Look closer, brute," sneered the second—the Grand Vizier of the Floating Spires, representing the autonomous continent of Terminus. He wore robes woven from starlight and leaned on a staff made of a single blue crystal. "Look at the one at the edge of the Kingdom."
A third voice, melodic but cold, rose from the woman draped in white silk and gold. She was the Saint of the Silver Moon, representing the divine continent of Elysium. She pointed a slender finger at a flickering image in the pool.
"He is interesting," she whispered, her voice filled with a rare, crystalline curiosity. "Look at his eyes. There is no tremor of fear. No frantic prayer for salvation. He looks upon that horde not as a victim, but as a general evaluating a map."
The Apostle of War from Pandemonium leaned in, his armored gauntlet scraping against the marble. "His pulse is steady. Sublimely steady. I have seen seasoned warriors from the Iron Vanguard show more hesitation before a Tier 9 Boss than this boy from a Tier 0 world."
"It is more than just steady," the Vizier of Terminus observed, his eyes gleaming with intellectual hunger. "It is the calm of a natural-born predator. He has existed in this realm for less than a day, yet he has already discarded his mortal shell. He isn't just surviving; he is... hunting."
"I like him," the Apostle growled, a dark, booming laugh echoing in the hall. "He shows the kind of bravery that is forged in blood, not born of ignorance. He knows exactly what those Goblins can do to him, and he simply doesn't care. He is intrigued by the challenge."
"Elysium will watch him closely," the Saint smiled. "He possesses a soul that is too quiet for a mere mortal. Let us see if his execution matches his composure."
Sector 7: The Goblin Kingdom
Zeke felt a sudden, sharp prickle at the base of his skull—the weight of thousands of eyes pressing down on him. It wasn't the yellow eyes of the Goblins below, but something far more vast and ancient.
He didn't flinch. If the gods were watching, he would give them a show worth their time.
He reached into his leather pouch, pulling out the Shadow Stalker's organs. He had spent the last hour observing the wind.
"Fear is the first crack in any fortress," Zeke muttered. "And I have the keys."
He moved along the ridge with a ghost-like fluidity, circling to the windward side of the camp. He tied the organs to the arrows he had looted, then dipped them in the acidic green blood of the Stalker.
He didn't aim for the Goblins. He aimed for the bonfires.
Thrum.
The first arrow hissed through the air, disappearing into the central blaze of a cook-fire. As the organ hit the heat, it reacted violently. The sulfurous musk of the Shadow Stalker expanded into a thick, choking cloud of grey smoke that carried the chemical signature of a dying, vengeful beast.
The camp froze.
Goblins stopped their work, their yellow eyes widening. The scent of a Stalker was suddenly everywhere. The "rhythmic thrumming" of the camp turned into a panicked screeching. The smaller Goblins began to scramble, trampling one another to find cover.
In the confusion, the heavy mud-brick gates of the inner sanctum creaked open. A squad of armored Hobgoblin guards stepped out, barking orders and trying to beat the scouts back into line.
Zeke watched the gate. That was his opening.
High above, the three overseers leaned closer to the mercury pool, their earlier boredom entirely forgotten.
"Calculated chaos," the Apostle whispered. "Look at him go."
Zeke dropped from the ridge, blurring into the smoke with his daggers ready. The weeding was over; he was now the only predator in a valley of prey.
{MISSION OBJECTIVE UPDATED: INFILTRATE THE INNER SANCTUM.}
{NOTICE: YOUR ACTIONS HAVE DRAWN THE FAVORABLE ATTENTION OF THE 'HIGH OVERSEERS'.}