Chapter 3: Trial By Fire
Mike woke to screaming.
He bolted upright, momentarily disoriented in the absolute darkness of his shelter. The screams came again—high-pitched, inhuman, and alarmingly close.
Fumbling for his hammer, Mike pushed aside the entrance barrier and peered out. Dawn was just breaking, the forest still largely in shadow. The screams had stopped, replaced by guttural snarls and sounds of movement in the undergrowth.
Mike's hand closed around his hammer, knuckles whitening as he gripped the familiar tool. His heart pounded in his ears as he strained to locate the source of the disturbance.
A flash of movement caught his eye—something small and leathery darting between trees about thirty yards from his shelter. The creature paused, and in the dim morning light, Mike made out a hunched humanoid figure with grayish-green skin. A goblin, with pointed ears and yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the half-light.
It carried a crude spear, the point glinting dully in the early dawn. The creature's head swiveled, scanning the area. It hadn't spotted Mike yet, but it was moving in a search pattern, clearly hunting for something—or someone.
"Great," Mike whispered to himself. "Just what I needed."
He had two choices: stay hidden and hope the goblin passed by, or confront it and eliminate the threat. If there was just one, he might be able to handle it.
The decision was made for him when the goblin's head snapped toward Mike's shelter, its yellow eyes narrowing. It had spotted him, or at least suspected his presence. The creature let out a chattering call and began advancing toward the shelter, spear leveled.
Mike stepped fully outside, hammer raised. No point hiding now. Better to face it in the open where he'd have room to maneuver.
The goblin paused, clearly surprised by Mike's willingness to confront it. Then its mouth split in what might have been a grin, revealing pointed teeth. It jabbed its spear in Mike's direction, making threatening gestures while chattering in its harsh language.
"Sorry, pal. Don't speak goblin," Mike said, spreading his stance and readying himself.
The creature charged suddenly, spear aimed at Mike's midsection. Mike sidestepped, swinging his hammer in a counter-attack. The goblin was quicker than he expected, twisting away from the hammer's arc and slashing back with a knife it had produced from somewhere in its ragged clothing.
Pain lanced across Mike's ribs as the blade connected, slicing through his shirt and into flesh. The cut wasn't deep, but it burned like fire. Mike stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the sudden injury.
The goblin pressed its advantage, lunging again with the spear. This time, Mike was ready. He knocked the spear aside with a forehand swing of his hammer, then brought the tool back in a devastating backhand that caught the goblin squarely in the temple.
The creature dropped instantly, skull crushed by the hammer's force. It twitched once on the ground, then lay still.
Mike stood over it, breathing heavily, his hand pressed against the bleeding gash on his side. "Dammit," he hissed through clenched teeth.
He looked at his hand, now slick with blood. The wound wasn't life-threatening, but it needed attention. Mike retreated to his shelter, where he'd stashed the small first aid kit from his pack. Inside was a packet of gauze, barely enough to cover the four-inch slash. He pressed it against the wound, then bound it in place using strips torn from the bottom of his shirt.
"That'll have to do," he muttered, tying off the makeshift bandage.
During his hasty first aid, translucent symbols floated before him, shifting and rearranging. A progress bar filled slightly, accompanied by pulsing orange characters that almost spelled words before dissolving back into incomprehensibility.
Mike ignored the floating text, focusing instead on the dead goblin. He needed to check if it carried anything useful, and more urgently, determine if it was alone or part of a larger group.
The goblin's belongings were meager—a crude knife with a stone blade, a small pouch containing what looked like dried meat strips, and a necklace of animal teeth and a water skin. Mike took the meat and knife, tucking them into his pack. He was unsure if there were more goblins nearby, so he hurriedly dragged the body away from his shelter, hiding it under a pile of branches and leaves.
Back at his shelter, Mike drank deeply from the water skin, trying to calm his racing heart. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him shaky and more aware of the burning pain in his side. He checked the bandage—blood had already soaked through, but not at an alarming rate.
"Need to rest," he decided, crawling back into his shelter. The goblin encounter had left him drained, and the wound sapped his strength. He positioned himself so he could see the entrance, hammer within easy reach, and tried to get comfortable despite the pain.
Translucent symbols appeared before him again, hovering in the air like a hologram. They shifted constantly, never quite resolving into readable text. Mike stared at them until they faded, wishing he could understand what they were trying to tell him.
Sleep came in fits and starts, each movement sending fresh pain through his wounded side. Outside, the day advanced, but Mike remained in his shelter, conserving strength and listening for any sounds of additional threats.
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Morning light filtering through the woven branches of his shelter woke Mike. His side throbbed with dull, persistent pain, and the bandage had stuck to the wound, dried blood cementing it to his skin. Moving carefully, he checked the injury—red and angry-looking at the edges, but not actively bleeding.
"Could be worse," he muttered, rebinding it with his dwindling supply of makeshift bandages.
His first task was water. Mike emerged cautiously from his shelter, scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger before making his way to the stream. The cool water soothed his parched throat, and he took the opportunity to refill his new water skin and clean his wound more thoroughly.
As he knelt by the water's edge, translucent symbols appeared above the surface, shifting and flowing like the stream itself. A small icon resembling a water droplet pulsed briefly before the entire message faded.
Mike was contemplating his next move when he heard them—voices speaking in harsh, guttural tones, coming from downstream. He froze, listening intently. Multiple voices, getting closer.
Crouching low, Mike moved to cover behind a fallen tree, peering carefully over the trunk. Three goblins came into view, moving along the stream bank in his direction. They carried spears and clubs, clearly hunting rather than just wandering.
"Shit," Mike whispered, ducking lower. They were heading directly toward where he was hiding.
The decision was made for him when one of the goblins pointed toward his hiding spot and let out an excited chatter. They'd spotted him. All three rushed forward, spreading out in a practiced formation that suggested they weren't new to fighting.
Mike knew he couldn't retreat to his shelter—it was too far away, and they'd catch him in the open. Taking a deep breath, he gripped his hammer and prepared to fight.
The first goblin spotted him when he was about twenty yards away. It barked a warning to its companions, and all three turned to face the crouching human. They conferred briefly, then spread out again, clearly intending to surround him.
Mike kept his back to the stream, preventing them from completely encircling him. The goblins approached cautiously, now aware that their prey was armed and ready. Two carried spears, while the third brandished a wicked-looking club studded with what appeared to be teeth or bone fragments.
"Come on then," Mike growled, hammer raised.
The first attack came from his left—a goblin lunging with its spear aimed at his thigh. Mike knocked the weapon aside and countered with a hammer strike that caught the creature's shoulder. The goblin yelped in pain but didn't fall, scuttling back out of reach.
The second attacked immediately, using the distraction to dart in from Mike's right. Its spear grazed his already wounded side, tearing the bandage and reopening the cut. Pain lanced through Mike, nearly causing him to drop to one knee.
With a roar that was equal parts pain and rage, Mike swung his hammer in a wide arc, forcing the goblins back momentarily. The brief respite allowed him to adjust his stance, placing the stream more firmly at his back.
The goblin with the club approached directly, swinging its weapon in a short, vicious arc. Mike parried with the handle of his hammer, then counter-attacked with the head, connecting solidly with the goblin's chest. There was a cracking sound as ribs gave way, and the creature stumbled back, wheezing.
Taking advantage of the opening, Mike pressed forward, bringing his hammer down on the injured goblin's skull. It dropped without a sound, the club falling from its lifeless hands.
The remaining two attacked simultaneously, coordinating with unexpected sophistication. One jabbed high while the other went low, forcing Mike to defend in two directions at once. He managed to deflect the high thrust, but the low attack slipped past, the spear point slicing across his calf.
Mike kicked out, catching one goblin in the face with his boot. It reeled back, yellow eyes unfocused. The other continued its assault, jabbing repeatedly with its spear, keeping Mike on the defensive.
His leg throbbing from the new wound, Mike felt his strength beginning to wane. He needed to end this quickly. When the goblin lunged again, Mike didn't dodge—instead, he grabbed the spear shaft with his left hand, pulling the surprised creature toward him while swinging his hammer with his right.
The goblin's head virtually exploded under the hammer's impact, spraying black-green blood across the forest floor. Mike wrenched the spear from its lifeless hands and turned to face the final adversary.
The last goblin, seeing its companions defeated, hesitated. For a moment, Mike thought it might flee. Then its face contorted in what looked like rage, and it charged, spear leveled at Mike's heart.
Mike sidestepped at the last moment, bringing his hammer down on the goblin's extended arm. Bone snapped audibly, and the creature shrieked, dropping its weapon. Before it could recover, Mike delivered a finishing blow to the back of its skull.
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by Mike's ragged breathing. He stood among the three goblin corpses, blood—both his and theirs—soaking into the forest floor. His side and leg throbbed in painful synchronization, and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.
Translucent symbols appeared, pulsing more urgently than before. A progress bar filled completely, and what might have been a number flickered briefly before the entire notification faded away.
Suddenly, a warm sensation spread throughout Mike's body, starting at his core and flowing outward to his limbs. The pain in his side and leg diminished rapidly, the wounds knitting together before his eyes. Strength returned to his tired muscles, and the fog of exhaustion lifted from his mind.
"What the hell?" Mike muttered, touching his side where the knife wound had been. The skin was tender but closed, a pink line the only evidence of the injury that had been bleeding freely moments before.
He had no time to marvel at this mysterious healing. He needed to gather what supplies he could from the dead goblins and return to his shelter before any other threats appeared. The fight had occurred dangerously far from his secure base, leaving him exposed and vulnerable despite his newly restored health.
Mike searched the goblin bodies quickly, recovering another waterskin, more dried meat, and a pouch with rough cut gem stones that might prove useful. He left the bodies where they had fallen by the river, too exhausted to deal with them properly.
He made his way back to his shelter, constantly scanning for additional dangers. Once inside, Mike collapsed onto his bed of leaves, the adrenaline crash hitting him hard despite his healed wounds. The mysterious healing had restored his physical injuries but couldn't erase the mental and emotional toll of the violent confrontation.
"Need to leave," Mike said to the darkness of his shelter. This area was clearly becoming too dangerous. The goblin attacks would likely continue, and he needed somewhere more defensible, preferably higher ground with better visibility.
Tomorrow, he decided. He would pack his essential supplies, reinforce his pack for a longer journey, and move downstream, away from the increasing goblin activity. For now, though, he needed rest.
Sleep claimed him quickly, his body demanding recovery time despite the magical healing. Hours passed in dreamless slumber until a sound jerked him awake—a deep, resonant roar that echoed through the night forest.
Mike froze, instantly alert. That wasn't a goblin. It wasn't like anything he'd heard since arriving in this world.
Moving with extreme caution, Mike edged toward the entrance of his shelter, peering through a small gap in the woven branches. In the moonlight, he could make out a massive shape moving along the streambank where he'd fought the goblins earlier.
The creature was enormous—a writhing mass of limbs and glinting eyes, moving with a fluid grace that belied its size. As Mike watched in horror, it reached the goblin corpses and began to feed, tearing the bodies apart with methodical precision. The sound of crunching bones carried clearly through the night air.
The Void Ripper. The same creature that had killed the elf and dwarf on his first day in this world.
Mike shrank back from the opening, pressing himself against the far wall of his shelter. Cold sweat broke out across his skin as he realized how close he'd come to encountering the monster directly. If he hadn't returned to his shelter when he did...
For what felt like hours, Mike remained motionless, barely daring to breathe as the sounds of feeding continued. Eventually, another roar announced the creature's departure, fading into the distance as it moved away from the stream.
Only then did Mike allow himself to relax slightly, though sleep was now impossible. His decision to leave was now cemented—with absolute certainty. At first light, he would abandon this shelter and seek safer territory, away from both the goblins and the roaming horror that hunted them.
As the first gray light of dawn filtered through his shelter walls, Mike began packing his meager belongings, mind already mapping the journey ahead.