As the moonlight covers the sky, the cold air of the night creeps in through the cracks of the floors.
Hayle is once again tuck into the corner of the room on the floor, I think that she may not even like sleeping in the bed. Still, she manages to sleep quietly like nothing's wrong.
Standing up from the bed I grab a sheet and lay it over her at least I hope that... I hope that she can accept this much. I have to get stronger to be able to stand behind my words, I wont let these people be hurt from my confrontation.
"Insight"
The room doesn't respond. Not right away.
But then—
[PATHTOSTRENGTH]
A cool blue text appears before my eyes.
[Insight Activated]
Analyzing Proximity for Viable Strength Routes...
Analyzing Proximity for Viable Strength Routes...
Analyzing Proximity for Viable Strength Routes...
Processing...Processing...Processing...
Pause. A cold hum. Then:
Quest Available: "Cull the Feral Shadows"
Objective: Eliminate the goblin raiding pack nesting near the eastern ridge of Whispering Pines.
Estimated threat: Low-Tier
Reward: Potential adaptive skill acquisition upon encounter with hostile traits.
Recommended: Proceed alone. Avoid witness interference.
This is exactly the kind of edge that I need to prepare myself with. With no real other option I will not fail.
Walking along the edge of the village alone, the quite sounds of the leaves shaking in the trees fills the air. The coldness in the air is almost refreshingly sweet.
As I take in a deep breath the menu appears pointed into the darkness of the forest like it was leading me. I begrudgingly trekked forward the ground beneath me shifting with each step.
I wonder what it will feel like obtaining a skill in this new world, could I even learn magic here? The thought lingers in my mind as I hear sounds of crying not too far Infront of me now.
Approaching quietly, I sneak my way forward hiding behind a tree as I take in the situation. A group of goblins are dancing around a fire in what looks like a celebration.
In the back I can see a cage of some kind with what looks like a captured animal. It shivers in the dark, looking around and not seeing anything else that might be what the goblins are celebrating about.
Reaching for the hilt of my sword these goblins look like nothing but savages so there's no reason to hesitate. I will try to get rid of as many as I can before they rally up together.
Bracing myself I lean forward ready to rush forward the first step pushing me out from behind the tree. Only one goblin has noticed me, as the closest he's the first target bringing my sword out I push it forward.
The tip of my sword pushes right into the goblins neck I can hear bones crunching as I pull the sword out splashing blood all around.
The dark purple blood spills out from the goblins neck while on the ground. Their blood really is different than humans, and now I've gathered the attention of the rest of the group.
Scanning around quickly I can count that theirs only 15 more goblins.
The fire crackles louder now, disturbed by the wet thud of the goblin's body collapsing to the dirt. Its dying gurgle silences the rest for a moment. Only a moment.
Then, shrieks—sharp and raw, the kind that grate against bone. They screech not out of fear but fury. Frenzied. The smell of blood seems to excite them.
They don't even seem to be fazed by the loss of one of their own.
Fifteen of them. Short, twisted things—bodies warped like nightmares left to rot.
Their green-gray skin is mottled with sores and tribal burns, teeth yellow and filed to jagged edges. No armor. Just patches of stolen hide and bone trinkets. Tools of violence in their hands: chipped axes, cracked blades, and clubs still stained with dry blood.
I can see the excitement in their eyes as they stand ready shaking.
They charge. All at once.
I meet them.
The first swings high—a clumsy, overhead chop. I pivot low and drive my sword through its gut, the steel punching through to the back. It stares down at the blade dumbly, its mouth frothing purple as I twist and rip the sword sideways, carving it open. Entrails spill to the ground like wet ropes.
Another lunges. I shoulder into it, shattering ribs with the force. It falls gasping, trying to crawl away. I don't let it. One boot to its neck—it snaps underfoot like dry wood. The sound echoing in my mind as I turn.
A third one tries to flank me. Too slow.
I swing upward, the edge of the blade catching its jaw and tearing through. The top half of its skull tumbles back, severed clean. Its body falls twitching, making a sound like a choking dog before going limp.
They're fast. But I'm faster. Clearer. Sharper. This will be a slaughter.
More come—four now, trying to swarm.
I drop low and sweep my blade in a wide arc. Two fall immediately, legs severed below the knee. They scream and writhe, hands clawing at the dirt. The others back off just a step too late. I'm already inside their guard.
My gauntlet catches one by the throat—my sword drives through its belly, and with a violent jerk, I lift it. It squirms, howling, until I bring it crashing down onto another goblin. Bones crunch beneath the weight. Both stop moving.
A screech cuts through the chaos. One of them has fire—crude torch, black smoke trailing. It throws it toward me. A desperate move.
I don't flinch.
The flame licks my shoulder bouncing of the metal of my armor, I'm already on it. My blade swings horizontally and takes off its head. It rolls twice before resting face-down in the mud, tongue hanging out like a dog.
More blood. The firelight reflects in the puddles. My armor is soaked now—slick with goblin filth. But I feel no weight. Only clarity.
They try to flee.
I won't allow it.
One turns its back—I hurl my sword, watching it spin through the air before it drives into the goblin's spine. It collapses mid-run, twitching.
Another claws at the cage, trying to pry it open for... escape? Or perhaps one last cruelty.
I reach it in seconds. Grab it by the back of the head.
And slam its face against the bars.
Once.
Twice.
On the third, the skull caves in. The bars are painted with its remains.
Silence falls.
Thirteen dead. Two still alive, barely—crawling, moaning. I walk to one, press a boot to its chest, and look into its beady eyes. No language. No comprehension. Just fear. Animal fear. Theres no reason to feel bad its just nature I tell myself.
I raise my sword—and bring it down.
The last tries to beg. A high-pitched whine, gurgling through a crushed throat. But it's not a person. It's never been.
Just meat.
Just feral shadow.
I grab its jaw. Pull hard. The snap echoes into the trees.
Then, stillness.
The fire crackles on. The air smells of ash, blood, and rot. The cage behind me trembles—whatever's inside too scared to even breathe.
I don't look back yet.
I stand in the middle of the carnage, sword in hand, body shaking—not from pain or fear.
From silence.
From the overwhelming stillness left behind when you end lives that never deserved names.
[INSIGHT UPDATED]
[You have acquired the skill: Predator's Gait]
[Hostile biological traits adapted: Enhanced reaction time (minor), tracking instinct (latent)]
[You are growing.]
[You have contracted a condition]
[Bloodlust]