16: From Caves to Cages (Seriously, Forest?)

Location: Still the Damn Forest

Time: Five Regrets Past Spider Fight

Mood: Mortified. Carrying a Girl. Trying Not to Think About It Too Hard.

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Carl trudged through the underbrush, Ayla slung across his back like an awkward backpack full of sass, sarcasm, and maybe a few cracked ribs.

"You sure you're okay back there?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Physically? No. Emotionally? Less than that," Ayla replied cheerily. "But at least I'm getting a piggyback ride, so that's, like, a win."

"Glad you're enjoying it," Carl muttered, stepping over a root and nearly slipping on a suspiciously slimy rock. Bouncy wobbled behind him in full guardian mode, occasionally changing color like a sentient disco ball having a mood swing.

They'd been walking—well, Carl had been walking—for half an hour. The forest seemed less "murder-death" and more "damp and mildly unsettling" in this area. Still, his every sense stayed alert. His grip on the jagged Gek Spear hadn't loosened since they left the clearing.

Carl glanced at the fading light above. "We need to find shelter before it gets dark. Again."

"Wait, again?" Ayla blinked. "How long have you been here?"

"…A while," he said vaguely, sticking to his mysterious act. Not that he had a choice. He still didn't fully trust her, not yet. Cute fencing student or not.

She hummed in mock suspicion. "Wow. So secretive. What are you, a lone wolf? A tortured soul wandering the monster wilderness in search of redemption?"

Carl didn't answer.

"…You are doing the brooding loner thing," she grinned against his shoulder. "This is prime tortured backstory behavior. You're not gonna turn around and say something like, 'I don't do partners,' are you?"

Carl exhaled slowly. "I don't."

"Called it."

He rolled his eyes. "Do you always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm in pain, hungry, cold, or being carried like a sack of potatoes by a stranger with murder in his eyes."

"…Fair."

The silence that followed wasn't exactly awkward, but it teetered on the edge.

Ayla broke it first, of course. "So… what country are you from?"

Carl hesitated.

Do I lie? Keep the mystery going? Say 'somewhere boring' and change the subject?

"…Philippines," he said at last, cautious.

"Whoa. Cool. I'm from London. Tea, trains, overpriced flats—very exciting," she said with exaggerated flair. "So, two Earthlings from opposite ends of the globe just so happen to end up in the same monster-infested hellforest. What are the odds?"

Carl chuckled softly. "Low, probably. Unless the universe is matchmaking based on shared trauma."

"Well, that's one way to meet someone."

She's being funny. She's being friendly. Don't be weird.

"…Hey," Carl said, a little too quietly. "Do you… um…"

Ayla perked up. "Yeah?"

He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling more embarrassed than when he accidentally called his high school teacher 'mom.' "You wouldn't happen to… have a system, too? Like, something that talks to you? Gives you stats and quests?"

Ayla tilted her head curiously. "Yeah… kind of. Mine's more like an onboard tutorial-slash-voice assistant. Feels pre-programmed, not… alive."

Carl blinked. "Oh."

"Why?"

Before he could answer, his system interrupted like a nosy neighbor with no doors.

[Are you asking about me, Carl? How flattering.]

Carl winced.

No. No no no not now—

[Are we comparing notes? Because if hers isn't sarcastic and passive-aggressive, then I clearly win Best Personality. Do I get a badge? No? Rude.]

Carl muttered under his breath, "Shut up."

"Excuse me?" Ayla asked, lifting her head.

"Nothing. Talking to… someone else."

Her eyes narrowed, half amused, half suspicious. "So yours is alive?"

"You could say that."

[Alive, witty, and vastly underappreciated. Oh, and I remember to issue kill credits. Unlike some people's tutorial bots.]

Carl cleared his throat. "Mine's more… interactive. And a pain in the ass."

[Oh no. I'm blushing. Wait—no I'm not. I'm code. But still. Rude.]

Ayla giggled. "Yours talks back? Now that's unfair. Mine just gives bland tutorials and calls me 'User.' Like a toaster manual."

"Sounds peaceful."

"I thought yours was just in your head?"

"It is. You can't hear it, right?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Just watching you mutter angrily at nothing like a weirdo."

"…Great."

Carl felt heat crawl up his neck. Not a blush. Definitely not a blush. Just forest humidity. Or shame.

"Your system's jealous of mine, huh?" Ayla teased.

"Jealous? Mine's too arrogant to be jealous."

[Lies. I am perfect. Her system is probably running on tutorial.exe. Barely sapient. No humor module.]

Carl groaned aloud. "For the love of—just shut up for once."

[No.]

"Still nothing?" Ayla asked.

"Nope. Just… me. Being weird."

"Good weird," she said softly.

Carl stopped.

In front of them, nestled between two crooked trees, was a narrow cave mouth. Moss-draped and shadowed, but dry-looking. There were no tracks, no strange smells, no ominous bones.

"Looks safe," he said cautiously.

Bouncy bounced ahead, scouted for three seconds, and glowed green.

Carl nodded. "Safe enough."

He crouched, letting Ayla slide gently off his back.

She winced but gave him a thumbs up. "Thanks, mysterious forest boy. You're not as bad as you look."

"…I look bad?"

"Depends on the lighting," she grinned. "You've got the 'I fought a spider with my face' aesthetic going."

Carl sat beside her, both of them inside the cave now, the entrance shielded by leafy vines. His heart was finally slowing. He could still feel the weight of the night pressing in, but with her here—talkative, funny, real—it didn't feel quite so crushing.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. "If you snore, I'm chucking Bouncy at your head."

Carl chuckled softly.

Then muttered, "Same goes for you."

"Deal."

As Ayla drifted off, Carl stared at the cave wall.

Another Earthling. Another survivor. And she has a system. Which means I'm not totally alone in this.

Still mysterious. Still guarded. But maybe—just maybe—he didn't have to be forever.

[Also, quick note.]

What now?

[You're 63% less insufferable when you're being nice to girls. Keep it up.]

…I hate you.

[You love me. Admit it.]

Carl didn't answer.

But his lips twitched. Just a little.

The night ended without fanfare. No dramatic ambushes. No sudden, growling horrors in the dark. Just the occasional hoot of some oversized owl-thing, the rustle of leaves, and the sound of Bouncy snoring like a squishy balloon leaking air beside Carl's head.

Carl had taken the first watch. Ayla insisted on the second. Whether it was from guilt, pride, or both, he didn't argue. And somehow, despite everything—the monsters, the constant fear of dying horribly, the looming question of whether this world wanted them to survive or just suffer first—he drifted off under a tattered tree canopy with the stars blinking down like distant spectators.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Morning didn't arrive with sunlight.

It arrived with the snap of a twig.

Carl's eyes blinked open. At first, it didn't register. His brain, still foggy with sleep, tried to rationalize the sound as Ayla moving or maybe Bouncy being a gremlin. But then a low, rattling hiss broke through the stillness. Not human. Not friendly.

He sat up, pulse spiking.

They were surrounded.

Half a dozen green-skinned creatures stood around the camp, blocking every route of escape. They were barely two feet tall, but their eyes gleamed with animal cunning, and their mouths curled into wide, fang-filled grins.

Goblins.

Yellow teeth. Jagged, rust-covered weapons. Scrappy leather armor that looked like it was stitched from old sacks and regrets.

Two of them held crude, sharp-tipped bows, already drawn. The rest carried knives, cleavers, and one that wielded a miniature mace like it was born to bash knees.

And then there was the one that made Carl's stomach drop.

It stood taller than the rest—maybe three and a half feet, which didn't sound like much until you saw the thick muscles, the stone-like skin tone that leaned darker green, and the iron spike helmet jammed over its head. This one had eyes that glowed a faint orange. Its armor was still piecemeal, but noticeably better. Still trash, but cleaner trash.

An evolved goblin?

Carl's system didn't ping—either out of spite or because it wasn't threatened yet.

Ayla stirred just in time for one of the goblins to screech something in its high-pitched, barking tongue. Before either of them could make a move, the archers loosed. Not to kill. Just warnings.

The arrows thudded into the ground near their feet.

Bouncy yelped and jiggled behind Carl, puffing up like a spooked marshmallow.

"Okay," Carl muttered, hands slowly raising, "we're awake. And not suicidal."

Ayla did the same. The evolved goblin barked a harsh command, and the smaller ones moved fast. Rope. Dirty cloth. Shackles made from twisted vines and bone. It wasn't elegant, but it worked.

They were tied up and forced to march. Weapons stripped. Bags gone. Dignity low.

Carl could hear his system trying very hard not to say "I told you so."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The goblins' "nest" was more than just a camp—it was a whole warren, dug into the side of a hill like a rat's den on steroids. A narrow tunnel mouth led them down, deeper and deeper until the dirt turned to stone and the flicker of fungus torches lit the way.

Carl counted at least twenty more goblins. Mostly small. A few medium-sized. But two more "evolved" types loomed near the back—one with a staff made of bone and feathers, the other dragging a rusted chain.

The air was damp. Rank. The smell of goblin sweat, mold, and something worse hit him like a slap.

And then, they were shoved into a cell.

A makeshift cage. Iron bars? No—bones, Carl realized. Long, thick bones tied together with sinew and held in place with jagged rock pegs.

Inside the cell?

Humans.

Four of them.

Two men. One middle-aged, with short graying hair and a limp. The other younger, maybe late twenties, bleeding from a head wound and barely conscious. A woman, maybe in her thirties, crouched next to him, cradling his head.

And the last—a boy. No older than sixteen. Dirty, shaking, but alert. His wide eyes locked on Carl and Ayla like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"More of us?" he whispered, voice cracking. "From Earth?"

Carl didn't answer immediately. His eyes flicked to Ayla. She looked back, jaw tight.

The goblins laughed and jeered behind them as the bars slammed shut.

And somewhere deeper in the warren, something growled.

Not a goblin.

Something worse.

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TO BE CONTINUED…