Chapter 8: Echoes of Survival

  The darkness was absolute.

  There was no ground. No sky. No sound. Only a dense, heavy void that pressed against Steve’s mind like an invisible sea. He felt no body. No pain. No cold. It was as if he had been reduced to pure thought… and fear.

  Then, something shifted.

  In the midst of that utter nothingness, a soft light appeared.

  Steve opened his eyes—not physically, but within his own mind—and saw her.

  A woman.

  She looked barely over twenty. Her skin was too white, like untouched snow. Her long hair, equally white, floated gently, as if unbound by gravity. Her blue eyes shone with an impossible calm, deep, almost ancient.

  She was smiling.

  Not a wide smile. It was delicate. Reassuring.

  “Hold on just a little longer,” she said, her voice soft, echoing directly inside him.

  Steve felt something tighten in his chest.

  Relief.

  Without thinking, he raised his arm, reaching for her.

  “Wait…” his voice came out weak. “Who are you?”

  His fingers almost touched her hand.

  Almost.

  The woman began to unravel.

  It wasn’t like vanishing. It was as if something were pulling her behind the world. Her body was sucked away by an invisible force, her hair stretching in the air, her smile lingering until the very last moment.

  “No!” Steve shouted.

  She was gone.

  The void stirred again.

  Steve began to run.

  He ran without legs, without ground, driven only by desperation. He surged toward the spot where she had been torn away, screaming with a throat he didn’t have:

  “Who are you?! Where am I?! Get me out of here!”

  Nothing answered.

  Until he stopped.

  Before him, something new emerged in the void.

  A child.

  She sat on the nonexistent floor, back to him, hugging her own knees. The small body trembled. The sound of crying echoed low, broken, fragile.

  Steve felt his heart clench.

  He approached slowly, glancing around, wary. The void seemed to watch him.

  “Hello…” he said carefully. “Little girl… are you okay?”

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  The crying continued.

  “I want my mom…” the child murmured, voice trembling. “I want to go home…”

  Steve swallowed hard.

  He crouched behind her and lightly touched her shoulder.

  “Easy… I’m here. I’ll help you.”

  The child’s body stopped shaking.

  Very slowly, she began to turn her head.

  Steve sensed something wrong before he saw it.

  The movement wasn’t human.

  When the face turned fully—too fast—the world seemed to shatter.

  It wasn’t a girl.

  It was the goblin.

  Its yellowish, empty eyes stared at him. Its mouth opened in a deep, thick scream impossible for a child.

  “I WANT MY MOM!”

  Steve fell backward, panic exploding like fire.

  The void shattered.

  ---

  He woke up screaming.

  His entire body was drenched in sweat. His chest heaved uncontrollably, air rushing in short, desperate gasps. His heart felt like it wanted to tear through his ribs.

  “No… no…” he muttered, eyes wide.

  The room was small, made of rough wood. The smell of herbs, blood, and something medicinal filled the air. Two women stood beside the bed, their hands glowing softly as they healed wounds on his body.

  Seeing him wake like that, both women flinched.

  “Ah!” one of them cried out.

  They backed away, huddling together in a corner of the room, eyes wide with fear.

  Steve breathed with difficulty. He was shirtless. His entire body was wrapped in bandages. The pain returned all at once, along with the smell of his own blood.

  “Where…” his voice came out hoarse. “Where am I…?”

  The women didn’t answer. They trembled.

  Then his body began to react.

  His hands started shaking on their own. Involuntary spasms. The smell of blood seemed stronger, more intense. The memory of the goblin flashed through his mind like lightning.

  The sound of the healers’ screams broke something inside him.

  Irrational fear.

  Pure.

  Steve tried to get out of bed, panic overwhelming everything.

  “Let me go… let me go!” he shouted, even though no one was holding him yet.

  The door burst open.

  Two men rushed in. They wore cloaks that covered their entire bodies, from head to toe, revealing only their eyes. Before Steve could react, they grabbed his arms and forced him back onto the bed.

  “Let me go! Now!” he yelled, struggling uselessly.

  Then another man entered.

  Tall. Middle-aged. Dark hair. He wore a similar cloak, but his face was partially visible—from the nose up. His eyes were too calm. His smile, too serene.

  “Release the young man,” he said, voice steady.

  The two obeyed immediately.

  Steve leapt up in a desperate surge and ran, brushing past the man and out of the room.

  The light outside blinded him for a moment.

  When his vision cleared, he stopped.

  Before him lay a simple village. Thatched and wooden houses. People walking calmly. Children running, laughing, playing. Nearly everyone wore cloaks that covered their entire bodies—except the children, whose faces were uncovered.

  The idea of fleeing died there.

  The man approached from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “We mean you no harm, young one.”

  In that instant, something flashed before Steve’s eyes.

  [SURVIVAL INSTINCT — ACTIVATED]

  [CONDITION: NEAR DEATH]

  [WARNING: BODY INCOMPATIBLE]

  The world spun.

  His legs gave out.

  Steve collapsed.

  Darkness swallowed him again.

  Steve woke to silence.

  It wasn’t normal silence. It wasn’t peace. It was absence. As if the entire village had held its breath at once. The faint flame of the lamp in the room had gone out. Darkness devoured everything.

  He sat up slowly in bed.

  His body still ached. Every movement made muscles protest, wounds burn beneath the bandages. His chest rose and fell too fast. His heart had never truly slowed since the forest.

  Something was wrong.

  He couldn’t say what. He just felt it.

  Steve swung his feet onto the cold wooden floor and stood. His head still felt heavy, as if he had slept too deeply… or been forced to. He walked to the door. Opened it.

  The village slept.

  Simple thatched and wooden houses lined neatly. No fires burning. No voices. No laughter. Only the distant sound of the forest, alive, breathing around them.

  The children slept.

  Some lay on mats outside the houses, faces exposed, expressions peaceful. Steve frowned. It was strange. The adults covered themselves completely, even during the day. The children did not.

  He took a few steps.

  Each step seemed too loud. The ground creaked under his weight. He paused, waiting for someone to appear. No one did.

  The smell came before the sound.

  Strong. Raw. Metallic.

  Steve stopped.

  His stomach churned.

  It wasn’t the smell of the forest. Not earth. Not wood. It was… flesh. Fresh blood. Something chewed. Something violated.

  Then he heard it.

  A wet sound.

  Chewing.

  Slow. Violent. Unhurried.

  Steve felt his scalp prickle. His survival instinct screamed at him to turn back. Now. But something inside—perhaps trauma, perhaps curiosity—pushed his feet forward.

  An open tent.

  The fabric swayed gently in the night breeze.

  The sound came from there.

  Steve approached, each step heavier than the last. His breathing grew shallow. His heart began pounding erratically again, as if it recognized danger before his mind did.

  He reached out.

  Parted the canvas.

  The world broke.

  On the ground, atop bloodstained hides, lay the goblin’s head.

  Its eyes gouged out. Its mouth frozen in an eternal rictus. Its greenish skin now pale, lifeless.

  Steve tasted bile rising in his throat.

  Beside the head… a man.

  He wore the same cloak as the other villagers. Covered from head to toe. Kneeling. His hands held a chunk of raw flesh that he brought to his mouth with ravenous hunger.

  Crunch.

  The sound of teeth tearing muscle echoed inside Steve’s skull.

  Blood dripped from the man’s chin. Fell to the ground in thick drops. He chewed slowly. Savoring.

  Steve stepped back without realizing it.

  The floor creaked.

  A small sound.

  But enough.

  The chewing stopped.

  Silence fell like a blade.

  Steve froze. His lungs locked. His entire body went into maximum alert. Every nerve screamed.

  Very slowly… the man began to turn his head.

  Not his body.

  Just his head.

  The movements were unnatural. Agonizingly slow. As if he wanted to prolong the moment. As if he wanted Steve to feel every second.

  Steve’s legs weakened.

  The smell grew stronger. Unbearable. The blood seemed more alive now, almost pulsing in the air.

  The head kept turning.

  The cloak fabric rustled faintly.

  Steve wanted to run.

  He couldn’t.

  He wanted to scream.

  No sound came.

  The man finally stopped.

  Even with his face covered, Steve felt it.

  The gaze was on him.

  Fixed.

  Assessing.

  The man tilted his head slightly, still kneeling beside the goblin’s head, as if before a sacred offering.

  The silence stretched.

  Then, in a low voice, too calm, almost affectionate, he spoke:

  “…You shouldn’t be awake.”

  A shiver ran through Steve’s entire body.

  The man placed his bloodstained hand on the ground and began to rise.

  Very slowly.