Ash froze. His mind went blank, every tactical thought he'd ever had evaporating in the face of those predatory eyes. The goblin was already moving, the other two flanking it with practised ease.
He ran.
There was no strategy, no plan—just pure animal panic driving his legs. Behind him, the goblins roared, and the sound sent ice through his veins. They weren't just hunting calls. They were communicating. Calling for backup.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. These weren't the dumb creatures from the stories. They were organised.
His bare feet slipped on the moss-covered ground as he crashed through the underbrush. Branches whipped at his face and chest, the makeshift leaf covering around his waist already shredding. He could hear them behind him, their pursuit steady and relentless.
A sound cut through the air—a whistling that his enhanced hearing picked up a split second before his body reacted. He didn't even think, just threw himself sideways as something sharp sliced through the air where his head had been.
The spear caught him in the shoulder instead.
"Ahhhh!" The scream tore from his throat as pain exploded through his shoulder.
He stumbled, panic flooding his system as the weapon's shaft protruded from his back. The ground rushed up to meet him, and he tumbled down the rocky slope toward the stream, the spear jarring against stones and roots with each bounce.
He hit the water hard, the cold shock momentarily overwhelming even the pain in his shoulder. The current was stronger than it looked, immediately pulling him downstream. He tried to find his footing, but the streambed was deceptive—shallow in some places, suddenly deep in others. His feet touched bottom for a moment, then the ground dropped away, and he was underwater, the current tumbling him like a rag doll.
He surfaced, gasping, just as the goblins reached the bank. One of them started down toward him, but the others grabbed its arms, speaking in harsh, guttural sounds. They were arguing about something. After a moment, they backed away from the stream's edge, though their eyes never left him.
Ash heard what they were waiting for—more voices in the distance, getting closer. Reinforcements.
The water carried him for what felt like miles, but was probably only a few hundred yards. He managed to grab hold of a fallen log and pull himself toward the bank, his shoulder screaming with every movement. When he finally dragged himself onto the muddy shore, he was shaking from cold and shock.
The goblin spear was still embedded in his shoulder, the bone tip protruding from both sides. Blood ran down his arm in steady rivulets, mixing with the stream water. He gripped the shaft with his good hand and pulled.
The pain was indescribable. His vision went white at the edges, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. But the spear came free with a wet, sucking sound that made his stomach turn.
At least he had a weapon now. A real one.
But something was wrong. The wound was throbbing, and as he looked down at it, he saw dark veins spreading outward from the puncture site like black ink under his skin. The edges of the wound were already turning an ugly purple-black colour.
Of course it's poisoned.
Dizziness washed over him in waves. His vision blurred, and he could feel his strength ebbing away like water through his fingers. The goblin spear hadn't just wounded him—it had been coated with something. Something that was now spreading through his system.
He didn't know what else to do. He reopened the wound, digging into the puncture site and letting the blood flow freely. The pain was agonizing, but he had to get as much of the poisoned blood out as possible.
The filthy mixture of blood and whatever toxin the goblins used pooled on the ground beside him. He kept pressing, squeezing,until the blood ran red instead of that sickly dark color. The wound was deeper now, but the poison seemed to be mostly out of his system.
The bleeding was heavy at first, but as he watched, something impossible happened. The flow began to slow, then stop entirely. The edges of the wound were closing, the torn muscle knitting itself back together with visible speed.
What the hell?
He stared at his shoulder in amazement. The healing was fast—not instantaneous, but far beyond anything human. Within minutes, what should have been a serious injury was reduced to a tender scar.
But the poison had done its work. Despite the healing, he felt weak and dizzy, his legs shaking with exhaustion. The voices of the goblins were getting closer, and he could hear them spreading out, searching the stream banks.
He needed shelter. Rest. Somewhere, the goblins couldn't find him.
Dragging himself along the stream bank, he searched for anything that might serve as a hiding place. His vision was tunnelling, and he could barely keep his eyes open. Finally, he spotted something that might work—a gap between the massive roots of one of the giant trees, partially hidden by an overhang of rock.
It took the last of his strength to crawl inside. The space was cramped, barely large enough for his body, but it was hidden from view. He pulled leaves and small rocks over the entrance, covering it as best he could.
Then he collapsed, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion. His eyes closed, and darkness claimed him.