The air deep underground had gone from stinky to a heavy, humid mix of blood and something else. Edward Vistro was never some kid in a dungeon, he was a force of nature, a blade cutting through weak flesh. The horde’s noise was gone, replaced by a grim sound: the wet slap of steel hitting flesh and bones cracking.
He moved calmly, almost scary. Each step was planned, putting him where the goblins were weakest. No wasted big moves. He used the tunnel’s tight space to his benefit. A nudge of his shoulder let a sharp rock knife miss him, as his hand, holding the now-blackened blade, moved in a quick arc that ended a life.
The slaughter was almost mesmerizing.
Edward walked into a group of twenty, spinning like a top. The rusty blade flashed, a blur that left bodies falling. He didn’t even look. As they dropped, his left hand twitched, extraction spells grabbing their marrow before they died.
The essence flowed into him, a constant stream. His body was getting strong, his mana channels growing thick enough to handle a flood. The pain was just background noise, something Edward ignored like a pro.
He kept going into the dark.
The goblins tried to fight back, climbing over dead bodies like walls. They jumped at him in groups, but it didn’t matter. Edward met them with cold precision. He used the flat of his blade to break a jaw, then the edge to slice a throat. Elbow to the chest, heel to the neck.
400.
450.
500.
The numbers went up in his head. Each dead goblin was an extraction to temper his body.
The cave then narrowed, forcing the horde into a bottleneck where their numbers became their curse. Edward stepped into the press of bodies, his movements tightening into a lethal, rhythmic dance. A goblin lunged, its jagged dagger aimed for his ribs; Edward didn’t parry. He simply shifted an inch, letting the blade whistle past his tunic as he slammed his palm into the creature’s chest. The impact shattered the goblin’s sternum, sending it flying back into the pack like a cannonball.
Swoosh!
The blackened blade sang through the air. In one fluid motion, Edward decapitated three goblins and transitioned into a low sweep, shattering the ankles of a fourth. As the creature fell, Edward’s left hand shot out, the violet glow of the extraction spell flaring. He didn’t wait for the body to hit the ground; the marrow was already being ripped from its bones, feeding into his veins.
The pressure was mounting. A group of five hobgoblins, larger and more desperate, tried to tackle him at once. Edward dropped low, using the momentum of their rush. He drove his elbow into a throat and, without looking, thrust his sword backward through the eye of another. His body was a machine of slaughter.
He moved through a hail of crude arrows, tilting his head just enough to let them pass. And By the time he reached the entrance of the stone bridge, the blood was a rising tide around his boots.
He ended up in a tight spot, a stone bridge over a dark drop. Goblins rushed across, a wave of claws and teeth. Edward stood firm becoming a wall. For every step they took, they lost ten. He moved his arm twice. First, a wave that took off the heads of the front ten. Then, a strike that got fifteen more as they tried to climb over the bodies.
The blade was wearing out. The edge was rough, the handle bloody, but in Edward’s hand, it was still deadly. He didn’t need sharp metal,he used his body’s power and sure strikes. He was a ghost in a slaughterhouse, untouched by the spraying blood, moving with a grace that didn’t fit the dark pits.
As he reached kill 600, the horde fell apart. The goblins weren’t attacking; they were just being pushed by the ones behind trying to leave. It was chaos. Edward stood at the tunnel and let them come to him.
The extraction spell glowed violet, a death light. The essence hit his skin, dissolving and feeding the fire in him. He felt close to his limit. He was ready to break through again, but he needed more—a full thousand.
He stepped over a pile of bodies, his boots sinking in blood. He didn’t look back or down. He stared at the darkness, where the rest of the horde hid.
700.
750.
The massacre went on in near silence. No battle cries, no cheers—just the sound of death working. Edward entered the last big cave before the Leader’s throne. It was filled with the last goblins, their eyes wide with fear. They looked at the boy, covered in ash and blood, and saw their end.
Edward didn’t wait. He went in the middle of them.
The blade moved fast. Heads rolled, limbs broke. He was a storm, death that couldn’t be stopped. Every move was a death. Every step was an ending.
As the last goblin fell, Edward stood alone in a sea he made. The silence was heavy. He looked at his map, breathing slowly.
800.
Eight hundred extractions. Eight hundred souls to build something big. Edward flicked the blood off, his eyes glowing gold. He looked toward the shadows at the end of the pit, where the Leader and the last hundreds were.
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A/N: Thanks for reading, your gift is my motivation and please drop some reviews and power stones as it truly helps me keep writing.