"Dobroslav, what's all this?" his father asked, eyeing the blood-smeared corridor and the dry husks beyond the shattered door.
Dobroslav met his steady gaze. "Nothing much, Father. Just keeping us safe."
His father nodded, unflinching.
Soon the others woke—mother, Ania, Marek, Kasia—and gathered, faces paling at the carnage.
"Everyone, listen," Dobroslav said.
He explained: the rift, the facility, the goblins, the soldiers who came calling people abominations. He left Bhalzar out entirely.
"That's how we got here."
His mother crossed to him, arms tight around his taller frame. "It must have been hard, Dobciu."
Only she still used the old pet name.
"I'm fine, Mother," he said calmly. "All for the clan."
His father spoke up. "What's the plan? We can't stay in the city."
"We head to our lands in Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski," Dobroslav replied. "We'll base ourselves there."
He paused, a grim smile curling his lips.
"But first, I have unfinished business here."
He threw on a hoodie to hide his long ears and left the building.
After walking a few dozen meters, Dobroslav felt the difference.
'Ancestor, what is this refreshing feeling? The air… it's filling me with vigour.'
Bhalzar laughed. 'This is nothing, my boy. This measly ambient Qi isn't even 1% of what those bastards enjoyed in the Holy Domain.' His voice turned angry at the end.
'Holy Domain? Ambient Qi?' Dobroslav asked, confused.
'Simply put, ambient Qi is magical air. It makes you stronger over time—or weaker if you stay in low-concentration areas too long.' Bhalzar sighed. 'The Holy Domain is what lies beyond that rift.'
As their inner talk ended, Dobroslav reached the building. He punched the PIN, went upstairs.
Knock knock.
"Pajoslav! Open the door!" he shouted.
"Arghh!"
A roar answered. Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. A pack charged toward him.
Dobroslav readied his knives.
"Fucking goblins," he sneered.
The lead goblin lunged, claws slashing for his throat.
Dobroslav stepped in with a sneer. Right knife whistled through air—whip—punching straight into sternum with a meaty crunch, blade grating bone, shredding heart in hot gushes of black blood. The goblin's cry ripped out, a high, gurgling wail of agony. He left the knife buried, twisted it once for fun, feeling flesh tear.
Dobroslav laughed low, evil delight bubbling up.
Second goblin swung wild, roar turning to pain-scream as left knife sliced air—swish—thrusting deep under ribs, popping lungs like balloons, organs bursting in wet, sticky bursts. It howled, black foam bubbling from mouth. He left that blade too, watching it quiver in the wound.
The dying second staggered back, crashing into the last two. All three tumbled down the stairs, cries echoing in desperate yelps and thuds.
Dobroslav descended, chuckling darkly.
One goblin scrambled up, snarling in terror-pain. Dobroslav exploded forward—rapid straight punches hammering like hammers: first fist caved nose in a wet pop, cartilage exploding, blood spraying; second shattered jaw with a sharp crack, teeth scattering like dice; third dented ribs, splintering bone with crunches, puncturing lungs. The goblin screamed raggedly, collapsing in choking spasms, eyes bulging in horror.
Dobroslav's laugh deepened, cold and triumphant.
Last one flailed up, whimpering cries. He deflected the claw with a slap, yanked the arm until shoulder dislocated with a fibrous tear—scream piercing—then unleashed centerline fists: storm hammering skull until it dented with dull thumps, neck snapping sideways in a final crack, chest collapsing inward with splintering bones, sternum caving like rotten wood. It dropped in a broken, gurgling heap, cries fading to wet rattles.
Dobroslav grinned wickedly, savoring the brutality.
He crouched over. Hellfire bloomed black-red across his palms—warm, euphoric.
"Infernal Battle Law!"
Green essence erupted from pores, mouths, eyes—screaming rivers ripping free. Bodies convulsed; skin cracked like dry earth, muscles deflated, veins blackened, eyes burst in wet pops. Shrieks faded to rattles.
Streams flooded into him—hot, intoxicating rush. Black flames danced in his veins. Strength surged, pleasure addictive. Eyes glowed brighter.
He stood, savoring the power.
Stepped over the withered husks and opened Pajoslav's door with a lockpick.