Chapter 11: Death at Every Corner

A faint shimmer appeared before his eyes, a notification blooming into being as if the Tower itself wished to remind him of its cruel efficiency.

[Automatic Looting]

[You have obtained X3 Soul Orbs.]

Kael let out a low breath, his lips parting in weary astonishment. “Oh, that’s pretty convenient,” he muttered under his breath, watching the orbs shimmer faintly where the goblin corpses had fallen before they dissolved entirely into nothing. Their glow lingered for only a heartbeat before they joined his inventory, a silent transaction of death into currency. Even as the words left him, he could not escape the hollowness of it, three orbs to balance against three lives snuffed out in grotesque fashion.

The reprieve lasted only seconds. The bridge beneath his boots groaned, stone grinding against stone, then shook violently. Dust showered from above as cracks raced across the fractured wall that connected the buildings. The entire structure trembled, threatening collapse at any moment. Kael’s stomach clenched as instinct shoved him backward, boots scraping against loose rubble.

That noise however was a catalyst to call the rest of the goblins on the building upward and some more from the streets into the building he just came from.

He looked at the dilapidated bridge and came with a plan. He lifted the hammer with both hands, the weight straining his shoulders, and spun in a circular motion, muscles burning as he put his full weight behind the swing. The hammer slammed down at the base of the makeshift bridge with a bone-jarring impact.

The wall gave way in an instant. With a deafening crash, stone and broken brick plummeted into the street below, a cascade of ruin that echoed through the hollow cityscape. The sound rolled outward like thunder, carrying far into the Tower’s imitation of night. Kael winced at the sheer volume, knowing it would stir every goblin in earshot, yet the collapse severed the path behind him. No one could follow now. Those precious seconds were worth the noise.

He exhaled, long and sharp, lungs heaving against the cage of his ribs. Wiping sweat from his brow with a trembling hand, he turned away from the ruins and walked deeper into the building. The air inside was cooler, carrying the faint smell of plaster dust and old wood. His boots thudded against broken steps as he began to climb, each movement heavy but purposeful.

The goblins were cunning, but not clever. They followed sound, not strategy. The thunder of collapse still echoed in the building he had left, and Kael knew the swarm would gather there, shrieking and tearing at the rubble. That was his window, his narrow slice of time to escape.

He moved swiftly through the stairwell, the sledgehammer tight in his grip, every step rattling against loose debris. By the time he reached the lowest floor, he did not hesitate. Instead of rushing toward the obvious entrance, where eyes and ears would be waiting, he turned sharply toward the back. His instincts rewarded him with the sight of an emergency door, its paint chipped but intact, the word “EXIT” barely visible above it. He shoved against the bar, and the metal screeched in protest before swinging outward.

Cold air slapped against his face. He stepped into the alleyway, the narrow alleyway damp with old moisture, shadows clinging to the walls like stains. He froze for a moment, scanning every angle. No figures stirred. No eyes gleamed in the dark. Empty. For the first time since the bridge, Kael allowed his lungs a full breath.

Still, he did not trust it. He stepped further into the alley, each pace measured, making certain no sound betrayed him. His ears, however, betrayed themselves. From the streets beyond, the chorus of goblins was rising. Their shrieks scraped at his nerves, grating like metal dragged against stone, tightening his chest until each sound felt like claws dragging across his heart.

Kael had not made it more than a dozen feet before his body locked up. He dropped low, his knees bending instinctively as danger pressed closer. His eyes darted forward. There, in the middle of the alley, a massive waste container lay overturned, its metal bulk forming a crude barricade. Without thought, Kael dove beneath it, the stench of rust and rot filling his nostrils as his back pressed against the grimy underside. The space was cramped, his hammer awkward against the ground, but the bin shielded him from sight.

The sound arrived almost instantly. Footsteps, fast and uneven, claws clattering against stone. Weapons grated against the walls as they scraped past, crude blades dragging sparks against the alley’s narrow confines. The shrill muttering of goblins carried above him, guttural words he could not decipher, though the hunger in their tone needed no translation.

There were many. More than a dozen, perhaps twice that. Their shadows flickered past the gap of light beneath the bin, their movements casting jagged silhouettes across the alley floor. They had not seen him yet.

Panic coiled in Kael’s gut, a hot pressure that threatened to choke him. His fingers flexed around the haft of his hammer, his legs quivering with the urge to sprint back the way he came, into the building’s shelter. He was seconds from bolting when his foot nudged against something hard and cold.

He looked down. A manhole cover.

Hope flared, sharp and sudden. His hand darted to his bag, pulling free the crowbar stolen from the construction site. He slid the iron bar into one of the manhole’s slots and levered with desperate strength. The cover popped with a metallic clang that rang too loud in the alley, each reverberation stabbing into his ears. His heart lurched. Above him, the goblins cried out, their shrieks rising in confusion.

But the waste container shielded him from their gaze. They did not see him, only heard the noise.

Without a breath to waste, Kael shoved the crowbar aside and pried the manhole open just enough to slip through. He slid into the gap, lowering himself fast onto the ladder. The metal was slick with condensation, cold biting against his palms. As he descended, he reached up with shaking arms and dragged the cover shut. The grating squeal of iron on iron was agony, every scrape magnified in his ears. He clenched his teeth, forcing it down until the hole sealed above him.

The goblins howled louder now, their voices a storm of rage that rattled through the alley. But when they rounded the waste bin, they found nothing but an alley and a sealed manhole, as unremarkable as any other.

Kael clung to the ladder below them, every muscle trembling, sweat streaking his brow as he pressed his forehead against the cold rung. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, each breath fighting to remain silent. His heart pounded, then slowed, unnaturally, until once again his vision sharpened. The world came into focus, the darkness itself edged with clarity.

Above him, the goblins snarled and cursed in their harsh tongue. One, in a burst of frustration, heaved the overturned container, sending it crashing against the manhole cover. The heavy weight landed with a thud that reverberated down the shaft, rattling the ladder beneath Kael’s boots. He bit down on a curse, but the word still hissed out between his teeth. “Son of a bitch.”

There would be no going back that way.

He looked down. The ladder descended into shadow, but faint light shimmered far below, enough to outline the passage. It was not a sewer, not quite. He could see the sheen of cables lining the walls, thick bundles stretching into the dark like veins. A powerline system. These tunnels were usually kept clear, free of debris, their surfaces brushed by the faint hum of current.

Kael’s hair prickled along his arms. It was not fear, not entirely, but the raw awareness of power. The air vibrated faintly with it, the static hum of hundreds of cables thrumming with energy. It raised gooseflesh along his skin, the invisible touch of lightning waiting just beneath.

He lowered himself carefully, boots clanging softly against each rung, until at last he reached the bottom. The faint glow of lamps reflected off slick walls. He turned slowly, taking in the rows of cables stretching into both directions, each one marked with panels etched in an alien script he could not decipher.

The city had looked like New York, its shape familiar enough, but here was the truth, only imitation. The words meant nothing to him, just as the Tower’s design mocked the reality he remembered. He was far from home, trapped in a world that wore a mask of his own.

He exhaled, steadying his nerves. With deliberate care, he slid the crowbar back into his bag, making certain it lay flush and hidden. Metal against thick cables would be his death faster than any goblin blade. The hammer, though crude, offered comfort. Its wooden haft was an insulator, its weight a shield. He gripped it tightly, knuckles white.

“Well,” Kael muttered, voice low, the sound swallowed quickly by the tunnel’s hum. “Let’s just see where this leads to.”

And with no sense of direction, no marker to guide him, he picked a path at random. Forward or backward, it made no difference when the Tower always decided the rules.

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