บท 4: Done
The goblin tears its spear free from the fat man's neck with a wet, sucking sound. Blood gushes from the wound in a slow, sticky rhythm as the body crumples fully to the ground.
It laughs. A harsh, grating sound that echoes across the clearing. The goblin raises its gaze to the scattered humans, baring jagged teeth in triumph.
I hurl a fistful of dirt into its face.
The goblin shrieks, clawing at its eyes, waving its spear wildly like a club. One of those wild swings connects, smashing into my shoulder. Pain flares, sharp and immediate, but I barely feel it.
I step in close and drive my fist into its throat.
The goblin gags, its spear slipping from its grip as it stumbles backward. It flails, claws swiping weakly at me, but I don't stop. I don't let it breathe.
I slam my fist into one of its bulbous eyes, the soft tissue collapsing under the force. The goblin hits the ground, writhing, its claws scrabbling at nothing.
Dirt. I hurl the second handful straight into its open mouth. It chokes, retching and gagging, hacking up wet, desperate noises as its body spasms.
Before it can recover, I grab the fallen spear. The wood feels rough and sticky in my hands, but I don't hesitate.
I drive the tip into its neck, pinning it to the ground. Blood bubbles from the wound, spilling down its chest, and the goblin's flailing slows, then stops entirely.
It's done.
I stay crouched there, my hands still on the spear. My breath comes in sharp bursts, but I feel alive in the way I always feel when I win. Alas, this time the feeling is even stronger than usual.
My tongue stings—blood drips from my mouth where I bit it, hard enough to stop myself from laughing. The adrenaline thrums through me, veins singing, muscles trembling.
Was this why people loved contact sports so much? The voice of madness was even disappointed the little guy died so easily, but its clear as day there will be more to come, so the internal grumbling stops.
[You have defeated a Goblin - lvl 1]
[Lvl 0 > Lvl 1]
The text appears in my vision, but I barely notice. My attention shifts to the people around me, some holding wooden planks taken from the Half-Bar, their wide eyes locked on me like I'm some kind of monster.
I let the spear drop from my hands, the wooden shaft landing lightly on the grass. I force my grin to soften, pulling it into something more controlled, more human.
"My friends!" I call, my voice clear and calm. "The monster is dead! Please, come, and let us help this man who was stabbed!"
I kneel next to the fat man's corpse, pressing my hands against his chest as if starting CPR. His body is still warm, but his glassy eyes and slack expression tell me all I need to know. He's long gone.
The others don't move. They're frozen, murmuring to each other, but too scared to get any closer. That's fine. If another goblin shows up, they'll scream.
I keep my head bowed, my hands pressing rhythmically against the fat man's chest as I ignore the smell of blood and the way his skin feels under my palms.
I also ignore the fact that he might still be alive if I didn't judge him to be more useful as a distraction for the goblin. It's not that hard, I didn't even know the guy, and the deed was done. No use wallowing around for a fact that's set in stone.
My eyes drift to the mist rising from his body, a faint, curling vapor that swirls lazily upward. I try grabbing it with my fingers but they phase through it. So I grab it with imaginary hands, willing the mist...the soul to move. Now it barely seems to stirr.
How? I have not the slightest fucking idea, the smallest thrice-damned clue, but I have a vague feeling that I'm on the right path.
Why? Well, let's just say that the voice of Madness made compelling arguments, backed up by Reason, unexpectedly.
What could this mist be but the fat man's soul?
Didn't I have a skill called Soul Well?
Wasn't touching corpses frowned upon?
...Wasn't this a perfect opportunity?
The clearing feels quiet now, or maybe my ears are just too tired to pick up anything else.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to focus.
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