The taste of blood lingered in her mouth, thick and metallic, as Eliana—no, the Orc—stood victorious over the Goblin Lord. Her transformation had been complete, her muscles now forged with iron strength, her tusks gleaming under the dim bioluminescent glow of the cavern. The air was thick with the scent of charred flesh and spilled entrails, the aftermath of her final battle, yet the silence that followed was more suffocating than the fight itself.
She had done it. The once-mythical ruler of the goblins, a monstrous force whispered about in terror, now lay lifeless at her feet. His body, larger than any creature she had faced, had been torn asunder—his chest cavity split open by her claws, his skull crushed beneath her final, merciless strike. His dark blood pooled around her feet, seeping into the stone like ink, staining the cavern with the mark of her victory.
But the thrill of triumph did not come.
Instead, a hollow emptiness gnawed at her, a void that no amount of carnage or conquest could seem to fill. The Goblin Lord was dead. His power, once thought insurmountable, had been nothing more than a stepping stone on her path to evolution. And yet, as she stood over his corpse, she felt… nothing.
She had expected satisfaction, the intoxicating rush of vengeance. She had expected to feel stronger, to feel whole. But the cold truth settled in her bones like a parasite—this wasn’t enough. The fight had been brutal, yes, but it had also been predictable. She had clawed, she had bled, she had triumphed. And now, she was alone.
Eliana lifted her gaze from the broken body, her golden, beast-like eyes scanning the cavern around her. The tunnels stretched on, a twisting, gaping mouth of stone leading deeper into the unknown. She had spent what felt like a lifetime in these suffocating tunnels, enduring, adapting, evolving. But had she truly lived? Had she truly become anything more than a beast clawing its way toward something it could never quite grasp?
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A sharp wind howled through the tunnels, an unnatural breeze that sent a shiver racing down her spine. The goblin city was silent. Not with the reverence of a people witnessing their new ruler, but with the eerie hush of something lurking just beyond sight. The goblins had scattered, hiding in the dark, unwilling to challenge the monster that had taken the throne.
The throne.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. A throne of dirt and blood. A kingdom of filth and cowards. Was this what she had fought for? Was this the height of her ambition? She clenched her fists, her claws digging into her palm until thick, black-red blood dripped between her fingers.
She had been born human, once. A noble. A daughter of power. A girl with dreams of a life far different from this. Had she been foolish to think she could return to that world? That she could carve her vengeance into the bones of those who betrayed her and reclaim what was stolen? She had long abandoned the softness of humanity, trading it for the hardened instincts of a predator, but in this moment, she felt something close to fear.
Not fear of the tunnels. Not fear of the things that lurked in the depths. But fear of herself.
She turned away from the Goblin Lord’s corpse, her breath steady despite the chaos in her mind. Her body had evolved. She was no longer the frail creature who had awoken in this hellscape. She was something greater, something monstrous. But if she had lost the ability to feel anything beyond the hunger for more—more blood, more power, more destruction—then what was she?
She exhaled sharply and took a step forward. Then another. She did not look back at the fallen tyrant, nor the empty tunnels that had been her battlefield. Let the goblins rot in their filth. Let them fear her name. She had no need for them anymore.
There was more to this world than the darkness of the underground.
She would find it.
And if the surface had forgotten her name, she would carve it into history with blood.
