Swallowing hard, Travis pressed his back against the trunk of the tree, doing his best to stay perfectly still. He held his breath, every nerve in his body screaming at him not to make a sound.


    Unbeknownst to him, at the farthest end of the village stood a hut far larger and sturdier than the rest. Its walls were reinforced with thick branches and bones, the entrance adorned with crude carvings. Inside, seated on a throne of twisted roots and skulls, was a figure that would have frozen the blood in Travis’s veins.


    The Goblin King.


    It was a monstrous creature, towering even while seated. Its sinewy frame was draped in a cloak of rough, brown animal skin, and a crown of beads and bones sat crookedly atop its misshapen head. Its beady eyes were closed, but even in slumber, its presence exuded raw menace. Massive fangs jutted from its jaw—jagged and yellowed, capable of biting through stone without hesitation.


    The Goblin King stirred, its nose twitching slightly as its eyes snapped open. A glint of intelligence flashed in its gaze, and it sniffed the air with suspicion.


    "Mana…" the creature muttered in a low, guttural voice, its sharp ears perking up. For a brief moment, it scanned the room, a ripple of tension radiating from its hulking form.


    It leaned forward slightly, its claws curling around the arms of its throne.


    "Must’ve been the wind," it growled after a pause, settling back into its seat. Yet the lingering sense of unease didn’t fade completely.


    Far above, oblivious to the danger lurking below, Travis remained hidden in the branches, still as death.


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in hues of deep orange and purple, the goblin village grew quieter. Most of its inhabitants had succumbed to exhaustion, their guttural snores echoing through the night. Only a few goblins remained awake, scattered around the perimeter as guards, their crude weapons held lazily at their sides.


    Travis, still perched in the tree, studied their movements with sharp eyes. The cover of night was his best chance to act—or escape. Deciding to risk it, he began his descent. Each branch he grabbed creaked faintly under his weight, but he moved slowly and deliberately, ensuring he didn’t attract attention. When his boots finally touched the ground, he released a quiet breath of relief.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    But as he turned, his heart stopped.


    A goblin stood just a few feet away, its wide eyes locked onto him. It opened its mouth, ready to sound the alarm, but before it could make a noise, Travis lunged. His hands moved faster than he thought possible, twisting the creature’s neck with a sickening crack. The goblin crumpled to the ground, lifeless.


    For a moment, Travis stared at his hands, both stunned and impressed by his speed. His breathing steadied as a thought crept into his mind.


    "Maybe I can kill them," he mused, gripping the hilt of his sword. "If I move quietly, pick them off one by one… Assassin’s Creed style."


    The idea fueled his adrenaline, and he crouched low, blending into the shadows as he approached the next lone guard. The goblin didn’t even have time to react before Travis’s blade slid cleanly across its throat.


    He moved methodically, transitioning from one guard to the next, ensuring each kill was swift and silent. Blood soaked the ground where they fell, but he didn’t let himself think about it. Minutes passed, and when the last guard collapsed, he wiped his blade clean with a torn piece of cloth, his chest rising and falling with exertion.


    "That’s all the guards," he whispered to himself. "Now… the others."


    With grim determination, Travis moved toward the first hut. The stench hit him immediately—a rancid combination of sweat, filth, and rotting food. He gagged but pushed through, stepping into the darkened shelter. Inside, a group of goblins lay sprawled across the ground, completely unaware of his presence.


    Gritting his teeth, Travis raised his sword. The sharp blade flashed in the moonlight as he struck, over and over, until every goblin in the hut lay dead. Blood soaked the dirt floor, pooling around his boots, but he didn’t stop to dwell on the carnage.


    One hut after another, the scene repeated itself. The stench, the blood, the lifeless bodies. Travis’s expression remained hard, his focus singular.


    But as he finished with one hut and stepped out into the cool night air, he froze.


    A loud clang echoed through the village. His eyes darted toward the sound and widened in horror. One of the goblins had spotted him during his slaughter and had run to a makeshift bell in the center of the village. Now, the alarm rang out, cutting through the silence like a blade.


    Travis ducked back into the hut, his heart pounding—not in fear, but in frustration.


    "Fuck," he thought, gripping his sword tightly. "I need to get ready to run."


    He slipped out through the back of the hut, trying to make his escape, but as soon as he emerged, he realized it was too late.


    Dozens of goblins surrounded him, their glowing yellow eyes glaring in the darkness. They hissed and growled, some clutching crude weapons, others baring their sharp teeth. Travis’s grip on his sword tightened as he scanned for an opening, but there was none.


    Travis clenched his jaw, as he readied himself for the inevitable fight. "This is bad," he muttered under his breath. "Really bad."


    The goblins charged, their guttural cries echoing through the night as a rain of crude arrows sliced through the air toward him. Travis stood in the center of the chaos, his sharp eyes tracking every projectile. As the arrows closed in, he hurtled into the air, his leap graceful and precise, the projectiles sailing harmlessly beneath him.


    Time seemed to slow as he reached the apex of his jump, the moonlight illuminating his silhouette against the dark sky. He twisted in midair, his sword gleaming as he prepared for impact.


    As he descended, his blade arced downward, slashing through the goblins directly below him with brutal efficiency. Their bodies crumpled before they could react, and Travis hit the ground running, his boots kicking up dirt as he barreled forward.


    The horde swarmed him, a writhing sea of grotesque forms armed with clubs, daggers, and claws. They leaped and lunged from all directions, their shrieks growing louder, but Travis didn’t falter.


    With fluid movements, he carved through the onslaught, his sword a blur of silver light in the dim clearing. Each strike was precise and lethal, his focus unwavering. Goblins fell like wheat before a scythe, their green blood splattering across the dirt and onto his clothes.


    TO BE CONTINUED