The gap

Golbin stood at the cavern's edge, his stance relaxed, as if he were harmless. A casual posture, deceptive—because no goblin wielding steel was ever harmless. 

Then, he moved. Everything blurred. His steel flashed, meeting the enemy's weapons with a clash that echoed through the cave. Sparks burst in the darkness as he ducked low, his body weaving through the thrusts aimed his way, every movement calculated chaos.

A spear lunged out like a serpent, its tip a blur. Golbin twisted just in time, feeling the sting of wind as the weapon hissed past, close enough to blister his skin. The heat of its passage seared him, but he endured.

He'd seen a spear before, felt its bite, and learned their rhythm. He darted in, faster than the weapon could retract, closing the gap.

 But it wasn't just the spear. Two more humans, their eyes sharp and lethal, moved in tandem with the spear-wielder. The one wielding a sword—no, the most beautiful sword he'd ever seen—stepped forward, her blade cutting through the air like a whisper of death. Its thin, glittering edge promised finality. Golbin's eyes followed it, mesmerized for an instant before instinct kicked in.

He leapt back, a practiced motion, as the spear followed, its edge slicing through the space where his throat had been. Mid-air, Golbin twisted, using the momentum to bring his dagger up. The flat edge caught the spear's shaft, but the force shattered his weapon, sending shards slicing into his arm. He landed hard, the shock of it rippling through his bones, and barely managed to roll aside as a bolt shot past, grazing his cheek.

The blood dripped warm, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he wiped it off with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing as he studied his opponents. Three humans—each of them a threat. The big one with the spear nursed a gash on his arm; Golbin had managed that much earlier. 

Two daggers emerged from the leather sack at his back—gifts from the Man. They were new, unfamiliar, but they would serve.

The sword-wielder, her purple eyes cold and focused, watched him like a predator sizing up prey. The smallest of the trio kept firing those damned bolts, the twang of her weapon constant. Golbin ducked, dodging each shot as three more bolts zipped through the air, their steel-ladden tips hissing past his ears.

The humans advanced, spear and sword closing in, the pole shooter supporting them from behind.

Golbin's chest tightened as the familiar fear clawed up his spine. Memories of other hunters flashed before him—two humans, charging with weapons drawn, their eyes promising death. His body trembled, a familiar fear clawing at his mind. His instincts screamed to flee, even though he knew the wooden bolts would find him if he turned his back.

But his hands remained steady, his grip firm. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, defying the panic thrumming through him. He wanted to scream, to beg, to run, but something else stirred within him, something that kept him rooted. 

The beautiful sword whistled past his neck, drawing a thin line of blood. He was already moving, his body twisting as his mind registered the thrill. He wanted more, he wanted to be more! The scar on his chest burned and glowed but he didn't care.

He all but forced himself to laugh, a high-pitched cackle that echoed off the stone, defying the fear. His eyes gleamed with a mix of madness and thrill. If they wanted to claim his second life, he'd make it hard. Make them bleed for it, just like the ones before.

He moved with the fluidity of water, darting left as the spear-wielder lunged, his spear tip a blur. The sword-wielder followed close, her eyes locked on him, determined and precise. Her blade came down in an arc—a clean, swift motion meant to slice through him. Golbin dropped, feeling the wind from her attack as he rolled under her swing, his daggers glinting in the dim light. 

He came up swinging, aiming for her exposed side, but the spear-wielder was already there, intercepting with a thrust that forced Golbin back. He twisted, evading the spear's deadly reach, then pivoted as the sword-wielder came at him again, her weapon like a silver streak. She slashed horizontally, and he ducked, feeling the sharpness graze the top of his ear.

Arrows hissed, and he moved, weaving through the chaos. The cavern walls echoed with the clash of steel and the snap of bowstrings. He leapt off a boulder, propelling himself into the air, his eyes locking onto the sword-wielder as she closed the distance. She struck upward, predicting his move, and Golbin barely twisted in time, catching the flat of her blade on now shattered dagger. The force knocked him off balance, and he hit the ground hard, rolling to dodge the spear that followed.

Golbin sprang to his feet, daggers raised, circling his opponents. He watched the sword-wielder, studying her movements. Her steps were measured, confident—too confident. He feigned an opening, letting his left side appear vulnerable. She took the bait, lunging forward, but Golbin was quicker. He sidestepped, slashing at her wrist. She pulled back just in time, the tip of his blade grazing her skin.

Her eyes narrowed, and she attacked again, faster this time. Her blade sang through the air, a swift and precise thrust aimed at his chest. Golbin twisted, narrowly evading the strike, and countered with a low swipe aimed at her knee. She danced back, light on her feet, avoiding his blade with practiced ease. An arrow whistled past, and Golbin ducked, feeling it skim his shoulder.

The sword-wielder pressed the attack, driving him back with a flurry of strikes. Golbin parried one, then another, his arms burning with the effort. She moved like a shadow, relentless. He blocked high, catching her blade again on the jagged remains of his dagger, and used the momentum to spin away, dodging an arrow that struck the ground where he had stood.

He lunged, aiming low, his dagger slicing for her thigh. She sidestepped, her blade flashing down, and Golbin rolled aside, feeling the blade kiss his back as he barely evaded. He grinned, the thrill coursing through him, but the fight was far from over.

 The spear-wielder charged, forcing him back, and Golbin found himself pinned between the two. He dodged left, ducked right, his movements frantic yet precise. He watched the sword-wielder's eyes, waiting for the telltale twitch, the moment before she moved. 

Her eyes locked onto his, her focus sharpening into something lethal. She lunged, and this time her blade came down like a guillotine, its edge a streak of silver light slicing through the dark. 

Golbin's breath caught—he could feel the raw power in her swing, a strike so precise it felt like death itself. He barely twisted, the tip of the blade shearing past his fingers, severing them like fragile twigs.

The pain was a bolt of lightning up his arm, but Golbin's eyes remained fixed on his opening. His feet moved instinctively, pushing off the ground with all the strength he had left. He slipped past the sword's edge, his movements quick as a serpent. He lunged, dagger poised.

There was a heartbeat of silence, an empty void where nothing existed but the stillness between them. Her eyes widened, shock flooding her face as his blade found her throat. The sound was nothing—just the soft whisper of steel through flesh. She froze, the deadly light in her eyes dimming as the cavern's echoes swallowed the final breath she would never take.

But no time to savor the victory. The spear-wielder roared, a bellow of rage that echoed off the cavern walls. He charged, spear aimed straight for Golbin's heart. Golbin leaned back, eyes fixed on the spear's bloody tip, watching as it reflected his grinning face. It whistled past, and he twisted, his body a blur as he dodged.

The man's attacks came faster, fueled by fury. Golbin danced around him, darting in and out, baiting swings and ducking under thrusts. The human's movements grew sloppy, rage blinding him to the openings Golbin left. He kept his pace light, his laughter echoing as he bounced off the cavern walls, using them to launch himself back into the fray. His daggers shattered against the spear's shaft, and he used the jagged edges to slash at the man's arms.

Golbin felt the thrill, the electric rush of combat. The humans were bigger, stronger, more skilled...but he already faced death once. It was someone else's turn.

He feinted, drawing the spear-wielder in, and when the man overextended, Golbin struck. The spear sailed past, and Golbin darted in.

The tall human's eyes widened, the realization of his mistake dawning too late. Golbin's dagger found its mark, driving into the man's neck. Blood spurted, hot and thick, as the human fell, clutching at the wound. 

Golbin watched him crumble, a sense of satisfaction blooming despite the ache in his mutilated arm. Two down.

He turned to the last human, the smallest one, her bow still raised. Water streamed down her face, and her body trembled. She made a sound—high-pitched, cracking. Golbin paused, head tilting. Was this some kind of new attack? A sound weapon like the flying things on the 10th floor?

Confusion flickered across his features, but he didn't wait to find out. He lunged, closing the distance before she could react. His blade met her flesh, cutting clean. Her head fell, and the cavern fell silent.

Golbin stood amidst the carnage, chest heaving. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling at his feet. His heart raced, the thrill of the fight still thrumming through him. He looked down at his blade, now stained red, then at his own arm—mutilated but functional.

The silence pressed in, and his gaze shifted to the corpses. He felt a swell of pride. Despite the pain, despite everything, he had won. He was alive...he was stronger than before...

Then his eyes fell on the crushed remains of the purple moth. He frowned, the thrill fading as the memory of his mission returned. The Man had sent him here for a reason. 

The humans' purple robes, now stained with blood, caught his eye.

Maybe they would serve as a substitute?