Monster Hunting

Max trudged through the endless red dunes, his shoes sinking slightly with each step. The dry wind howled around him, carrying with it the scent of rust and decay. Scattered throughout the wasteland were sun-bleached bones, remnants of whatever had once lived—and died—here. Some were small, likely the remains of lesser creatures, but others were massive, half-buried in the sand, their jagged edges standing like the ribs of a forgotten colossus.

Then, in the distance, he spotted something different. Structures. Faint outlines of what had once been homes and farms, now nothing more than ruins swallowed by time.

As he neared, Max saw that the wooden houses had long since collapsed, their frames blackened and brittle. Some looked like they had been burned, while others had simply rotted away under the relentless desert sun. The fences surrounding the farms were shattered, their wooden posts jutting from the sand like broken spears. Whatever had happened here, it hadn't been peaceful.

Max stepped into what remained of a farmhouse, its roof partially caved in, casting jagged shadows over the dusty floor. He ran his fingers along a crumbling windowsill, the old wood turning to powder beneath his touch. The silence here was unsettling—thick, heavy, like the ruins themselves were holding their breath.

He sighed, dropping his pack onto the floor and sitting against a half-broken wall. His body ached from walking, and the heat had already begun to take its toll. He pulled out a water bottle and took a slow sip, rationing it carefully. There was no telling when he'd find more.

His gaze wandered around the ruins as he rested. A farm in the middle of this place? It didn't make sense. There was no water, no soil rich enough to grow crops.

'Are dungeons just fragments of other worlds sucked into a portal?'

The author of the novel never explained where dungeons came from—just that they existed. Self-contained worlds, filled with monsters, waiting to be cleared.

'Interesting theory…'

His thoughts were interrupted by the rhythmic crunch of footsteps against the sand. Multiple. Close.

Max's body tensed as he instinctively pressed himself against the broken wooden wall. Slowly, he peeked through the cracks of a shattered window.

A patrol of goblins marched past the ruins.

Max counted. 'Nine… ten… ten total.' 

They were armed with crude weapons—rusted blades, wooden clubs with jagged stones tied to them. Their shrill chatter and sharp laughter carried through the still air.

He wasn't sure what they were talking about, but it didn't matter. If they found him, they wouldn't bother asking questions.

Max adjusted his grip on his daggers, their cool weight reassuring in his hands. He waited, controlling his breathing, until the last goblin passed. Then, like a shadow slipping between cracks of light, he moved.

The first goblin never saw it coming.

A flicker of steel—silent and precise—slid across its throat. It collapsed without a sound.

Max's speed was overwhelming. By the time the second goblin turned in confusion, its vision was already darkening from a dagger buried in its neck.

The third and fourth barely had time to register the attack before they too fell, their bodies crumpling to the ground.

By the time the fifth goblin's lifeless body hit the sand, the others had realized something was wrong. But it was too late.

From their perspective, all they saw was a blurred shadow weaving between them, moving too fast to follow. A sudden breeze, a flash of silver—then darkness.

The last goblin let out a shriek, trying to raise its weapon, but Max was already there. One last step, a downward slash, and silence returned to the desert.

The bodies lay still, their weapons discarded in the sand.

Max's dagger struck one in the neck and he did it again for 4 more goblins.

After the fifth one the goblins realized what was going on but it was too late. Their reflects were too slow to react to Max.

'Jesus…' Max thought, the heat of the desert sand pressing into his legs as he sat there. 'That made me dizzy...'

He glanced down at his clothes, now drenched in the goblins' blood. The vibrant red stained his shirt, pants, and gloves. The sight almost made him sick, but he couldn't afford to dwell on it.

'This is gonna be a bitch to clean,' Max thought, exhaling a frustrated sigh. His hands, slick with blood, wiped across his forehead in a futile attempt to clear his thoughts.

After a few minutes of sitting still, trying to regain his composure, Max rose to his feet, shaking off the weight of the moment. His legs felt unsteady beneath him, but the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and he could feel the weight of his exhaustion creeping in.

Pulling out his storage cube, Max poured a little mana into it, watching as the small object expanded. With a slight hum, the lid popped open, revealing the vast, empty interior that seemed to stretch beyond its size.

He took a deep breath and began placing the goblin corpses inside one by one. The blood had already started to seep into the sand, leaving dark stains in its wake. Max frowned as he carefully cut open each body, searching for anything of value—a core, maybe something that could be sold. But there was nothing. No precious treasure, no loot worth the effort.

Frustrated, he tossed the last goblin's body into the cube, sealing it shut with a soft click. The lack of any useful find gnawed at him, but he couldn't let it stop him now. He'd have to keep moving forward, especially if he wanted to make the money he'd promised.

Max wiped his hands off, trying to ignore the sticky feeling.

Max continued his trek through the desert, each step sinking slightly into the soft red sand. The sun beat down relentlessly, casting a shimmering heat haze over the barren land. Every so often, small, scuttling creatures would burst from the earth, their spindly legs moving in a flurry of motion. Max didn't hesitate, his dagger flicking out with practiced precision, slicing through the creatures and retrieving their cores, all while maintaining a steady pace.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking, or how many monsters he'd slain at this point. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, the air thick with the dust kicked up by the wind. A subtle shift in the ground's vibrations caught his attention. He froze, every muscle tensing as he carefully scanned his surroundings.

Something's coming.

A rumble vibrated underfoot, the sand cracking and shifting. Max's hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his dagger. Then, from beneath the sand, a massive figure erupted into the open—a bone beast.

The creature was a towering figure of skeletal remains, its body about 12 feet long, and its skeletal arms gripping a jagged bone sword that looked far too large for any normal creature. Its bones were chipped and stained, but its movements were fluid, like an ancient predator reawakened from its slumber. The bone beast let out an eerie, guttural screech as it loomed over Max, its hollow eyes locking onto him. The stench of old death filled the air, and Max felt his pulse quicken.

'A bone beast here? I guess it's a weaker one,' Max thought, analyzing the creature's form. 'But it's still a problem.'

The bone beast let out another screech before charging, its bone sword raised high, its footsteps sending tremors through the ground. Max's body reacted before his mind did. He took a single step back, then pushed forward, his muscles exploding with energy. The sand kicked up beneath his boots as he launched himself at the beast.

With a swift motion, Max's dagger flashed through the air, slicing clean through the beast's leg. The bone shattered under the force of the strike, sending a spray of debris and dust into the air. The beast let out a howl of pain, stumbling on one leg, but it wasn't done. It swung its massive bone sword down toward Max, who, in the split second it took the beast to wind up, spun on his heel, turning mid-motion.

In one fluid motion, Max brought his dagger down on the beast's exposed skull. The blade cut through the bone with ease, the sound of cracking echoing through the desert air. The beast collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, its body shaking as it fell into the sand.

Max stood over the lifeless creature, watching as the last tremors of its movements ceased. His breath was steady, though his heart pounded in his chest from the adrenaline.

'Good thing these things still need a brain,' Max thought, wiping the sweat from his brow as he examined the creature's remains. The skull, cracked and shattered, was a telltale sign that the bone beast had no chance.

Max bent down, his dagger still in hand, and retrieved the bone sword the creature had been wielding. It was heavy, but well-crafted, and despite the damage it had taken, it might still be useful. 

He crouched, reaching into his storage cube, and with a flick of his wrist, both the beast and the sword vanished into the dimensional space.

The cube hummed faintly in his hand, the monsters and their spoils safely sealed away for later examination. Max stood up, taking a long, steadying breath. A sandstorm had begun to pick up, the winds blowing harder, causing the dry, hot air to bite at his exposed skin.