The Weight of Blood

The cart rattled and jolted as we raced through the forest, following the trail of destruction left by the goblins. The air was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin crawl and your stomach twist into knots. Every so often, we'd pass something that made my heart sink—a child's torn dress, a broken doll, or worse, the remains of a meal the goblins had left behind. The sight of half-eaten limbs and gnawed bones was enough to make even Tharok, the orc berserker, grimace.

"This makes no sense," Tharok growled, his deep voice cutting through the silence. He gripped the handle of his massive axe, his knuckles white. "No matter how big the horde, the villagers should've been able to defend themselves. These aren't normal goblins. Something's off."

Eldrin, the elven wizard, adjusted his robes and shook his head, his silver hair catching the dim light filtering through the trees. "Nah, they probably just underestimated them or were caught by surprise. Goblins are sneaky little bastards. No need to complicate it."

Tharok grunted, his tusks jutting out as he scowled. "You're probably right."

But I wasn't so sure. Something about this felt wrong. Goblins were pests, sure, but they weren't usually this organized or this brutal. Before I could voice my thoughts, the cart came to a sudden stop. We stepped out one by one, and the sight that greeted us was enough to make even the most hardened among us pause.

The entrance to a massive cave loomed before us, its jagged mouth like the maw of some ancient beast. The cave was set into the side of a rocky hill, its walls slick with moisture and covered in patches of moss. The air around it was humid, clinging to our skin and making our clothes stick uncomfortably. The faint sound of dripping water echoed from within, a steady *plink-plink* that only added to the eerie atmosphere.

But what truly horrified us was what lay at its feet—scattered remains of women and children, their bodies torn apart and left to rot. The stench of death hit me like a physical blow, a nauseating mix of blood, decay, and something else I couldn't quite place. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let the others see me weak, but the bile rose in my throat nonetheless.

Eldrin raised his staff, and a soft glow emanated from the crystal at its tip, casting eerie shadows on the cave walls. Arthur, the hero, stepped forward, his golden armor gleaming even in the dim light. He raised his hand, and a warm, golden light enveloped us—a blessing to protect us from whatever lay ahead.

"Stay close," Arthur said, his voice calm but firm. "We don't know what's waiting for us in there."

We moved slowly, the dim light from Eldrin's staff barely piercing the darkness. The cave was damp and cold, the air thick with the smell of mildew and blood. The walls were rough and uneven, with jagged rocks jutting out at odd angles. The floor was slick with moisture, making every step treacherous. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of our footsteps and the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. We were hoping to find someone—anyone—alive. But with every step, that hope dwindled.

Then it happened. Eldrin let out a blood-curdling scream. A goblin had leaped onto his back, its jagged teeth sinking into his neck. Blood gushed from the wound, and Eldrin stumbled, the light from his staff flickering and dimming until the cave was plunged into darkness.

Panic set in. I could hear the others shouting, but I couldn't see anything. Then, a flash of light—Arthur's sword, glowing with divine energy, sliced through the darkness. The blade struck true, decapitating the goblin in one clean strike. Its head hit the ground with a sickening thud, and its body crumpled beside Eldrin.

We lit torches and rushed to Eldrin's side. He was alive, but the wound was deep, blood pouring down his neck and staining his robes. He fumbled with a healing potion, his hands shaking as he poured the glowing liquid over the bite. The wound sizzled and hissed, and within moments, it was as if nothing had happened. Eldrin took a deep breath, his color returning.

"Thanks," he muttered, though his pride clearly stung more than the wound had.

After making sure he was okay, we pressed on. The cave seemed to stretch on forever, the walls closing in around us. Finally, we reached the end, and what we found there made my blood run cold.

A horde of goblins—fifty or more—stood ready to fight, their beady eyes glinting in the torchlight. But these weren't normal goblins. They were larger, their bodies more muscular and their movements more coordinated. Their green skin was mottled with patches of black, and their eyes glowed with an unnatural light. Their weapons were more advanced, with jagged blades that seemed to pulse with dark energy.

Arthur's voice was grim. "We should've known. This is the Demon King's army."

I frowned, my heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

Lira, the rogue, stepped forward, her daggers glinting in the light. "Those robes were worn by the Demon King's troops and worshippers. This isn't just a goblin horde. This is something worse."

The man in the center of the goblins laughed, a sound that sent chills down my spine. He was tall and lean, dressed in dark robes adorned with strange symbols. His face was pale, almost sickly, and his lips curled into a cruel smile as he laughed. "You got me. But you're not going to leave this place alive." With that, he raised his hand, and the goblins surged forward.

They swarmed us from all sides, their screeches echoing through the cave. Eldrin raised his staff, and a fireball erupted from the crystal, incinerating a group of goblins. The flames lit up the cave, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The heat was intense, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Tharok roared, swinging his massive axe with such force that the ground shook, collapsing part of the cave wall and crushing several goblins beneath the rubble. His movements were brutal and efficient, each swing of his axe sending goblins flying. Blood splattered across his face and armor, but he didn't seem to care. He was in his element, a whirlwind of destruction.

Lira moved like a shadow, her blades slicing through goblins with deadly precision. Her movements were fluid and graceful, each strike calculated and precise. The goblins didn't even realize they'd been cut until they fell apart, their bodies hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Elyra commanded her beast, a massive wolf-like creature, and drew her sword, fighting with a ferocity that was almost terrifying. Her movements were fluid and precise, her blade cutting through goblins like butter. Her dog, a massive beast with sharp teeth and glowing eyes, tore into the goblins with savage ferocity, its growls echoing through the cave.

Garrick, the vanguard, was a force to be reckoned with. His shield deflected blows with ease, and his sword struck true, cutting down goblins with precision. He fought with a calm determination, his movements deliberate and calculated. A group of goblins surrounded him, their weapons flashing in the torchlight. Garrick swung his shield, knocking one goblin back, but another lunged at him from behind. He spun around, his sword slicing through the goblin's neck in one fluid motion. The creature's head hit the ground with a wet thud, its body crumpling beside it.

Garrick didn't stop. He moved like a well-oiled machine, his shield and sword working in perfect harmony. He bashed a goblin with his shield, sending it flying into the cave wall, and then thrust his sword into the chest of another. His movements were precise and efficient, each strike calculated to maximize damage while conserving energy. He was the party's protector, and he took that role seriously.

I, on the other hand, was frozen in place. My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands trembled as I gripped my staff. I tried to use my illusions, to create distractions, but the goblins were too fast, too focused. They cornered me, their jagged teeth bared and their eyes glowing with malice. I could feel their breath on my skin, hot and rancid, as they closed in.

I was scared. Terrified. I couldn't move, couldn't think. My mind was a whirlwind of panic and fear. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I tried to fight, but my body wouldn't obey. I was helpless, completely and utterly helpless.

And then, everything went black.

When I came to, the goblins that had surrounded me were all dead. Every single one of them. Their bodies lay at my feet, their blood pooling on the cave floor. I didn't remember what I'd done, but the others were staring at me in shock.

"We did not expect that," Tharok said, his voice filled with awe.

I was met with praise, but I didn't understand why. What had I done? I couldn't remember. Before I could process it, the man in robes threw a smoke bomb, knocking Arthur down. He dropped his sword, and the man lunged at him with a spear.

I acted on instinct. I grabbed Arthur's sword and impaled the man, his blood splattering all over me. I froze, staring at the lifeless body. I had just taken a human life. My hands trembled, and I felt sick. I sat there like a statue, yelling at myself in my head. *What have I done?*

Garrick came to my aid, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Kid, what you did was all right. You saved the hero. He would've died if not for you. What you did was right. There was nothing else you could've done."

I clung to his words, desperate for reassurance. "Yeah… you're right."

Arthur, now back on his feet, looked at me with a mix of gratitude and curiosity. "How were you able to pick up my sword? Only a hero chosen by the gods can wield it."

I hesitated, unsure how to answer. "I… I don't know."

Arthur smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "You're in the right place, Kael. Garrick, you made the right choice. This boy belongs here."

The others nodded in agreement, but I couldn't shake the weight of what I'd done. I had taken a life. I had wielded a hero's sword. And now, I was being praised for it. But deep down, I wasn't sure I deserved any of it.

As we looked further in the cave, separate from each other, searching for any survivors or any more goblins, the shadow appeared again, its voice a whisper in my mind. *You're becoming what you were meant to be. A player in the game. A killer.

I clenched my fists, trying to push the thought away. But the blood on my hands told a different story. I had crossed a line, and there was no going back.