Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 30: Horror Show

Bel stood at the mouth of the cave, his golden eyes narrowing as he listened.

Faint echoes of noises reached his ears, too muffled to make sense of, yet unmistakably unnatural. He exhaled slowly, scanning the entrance.

"This is definitely the place." He murmured.

And yet, something felt... off. The guild's report had classified this as an easy mission, just a small goblin nest lurking in the forest outskirts. A cleanup job. But this cave...

His nose twitched. The stench rolling out from within was overwhelming, thick with decay, blood, and something fouler beneath it all. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, his brows furrowing.

"If my senses are right, and I am a dragon... this isn't just a simple nest." He muttered to himself, eyes narrowing. "Too many presences inside. A place like this, deep, so far, a perfect trap... and yet the guild calls it low-risk? That doesn't make sense."

Something was wrong.

Still, he had no time to hesitate. He was here to test something. Whatever lurked in the dark, he would deal with it.

He stepped forward, his boots silent against the damp ground as he entered the cavern. Instantly, the air grew heavier. The deeper he went, the worse the stench became, wrapping around him like something alive.

It wasn't just rot, it was the odor of death. Death clung to the walls, seeped into the dirt, filled every breath he took.

His enhanced senses made it unbearable. He could pick apart the layers of decay, distinguish between flesh long rotted and flesh still fresh.

Corpses. Some older, reduced to bones, others... disturbingly recent.

He moved forward, scanning every shadow, every crevice. The path split ahead, tunnels branching in different directions. He took the one providing the strongest scent, stepping lightly, listening carefully.

Then...

Blood.

The scent was sharp, coppery, cutting through the filth in the air. He followed it instinctively, his footsteps slowing as he turned the corner.

A body.

A goblin, freshly slain, with a large mark on its torso. The wound was deep, a clean cut, its purple blood pooling beneath it.

Bel crouched down, studying it. This wasn't old. This had to be recent. Very recent.

His fingers covered his nose as the scent filled his lungs, not just blood, but sweat, the scent of exertion, of adrenaline.

"A fight..." he muttered under his breath, his gaze sharpening.

His eyes flickered upward, scanning the surroundings, piecing it together. The disturbance in the dust, the scuff marks in the dirt, signs of struggle.

His mind worked fast, and realization crept up his spine like a cold chill.

"Someone else was here," he whispered, rising to his feet. His grip tightened.

He exhaled slowly.

"Not long ago."

The noises in the cave had changed. No longer just the sickening laughs and howls of goblins, now they were layered, rhythmic, haunting. A grotesque chorus of pain, grunts, and something else, something unholy.

The cavern walls trembled with the echoes of Ilya's torment, her voice hoarse, breaking, lost beneath the guttural, laughing snarls of the creatures above her.

Lena sat curled behind the jagged rocks, knees pressed to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She rocked slightly, head buried between her knees, trying to block it all out.

But the sound seeped through the stone, clawing into her mind. Her breath was shallow, erratic. Her fingers dug into her arms, nails cutting skin. She wanted to disappear. She wanted her mind to shut down. But she couldn't.

She had already seen too much.

Next to her, something stared vacantly at her. Taron's severed head lay beside her foot, his lifeless eyes wide open, mouth twisted in an agonized scream. A jagged stump where his neck used to be.

His blood had long since pooled beneath him, the dark liquid soaking into the dirt. He wasn't a person anymore, just a piece of meat left behind in the aftermath.

Lena observed him with no facial expression, then, a though crossed her mind.

Lucky.

Her mind curled in on itself. Everything was blank. Empty.

Why had she come here?

She had wanted to be strong. She had wanted to prove herself. She had wanted to believe in adventure. That had been so foolish.

The noises of Ilya's suffering grew louder. Her screams had stopped now, only gasping grunts and choked, hopeless whimpers showed she was alive. It had been going on for so long.

How long would it last?

Lena squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted it to stop. She wanted to die. But death wouldn't come for her. Not yet.

Then she noticed something. More goblins. Some were waiting, watching, their grins stretching impossibly wide. Their hungry eyes flickered between Ilya and the others in the horde.

Poor Ilya.

Lena felt a sick shudder crawl up her spine.

Would she be lucky enough to be killed? If they grew tired of Ilya, would they move on to her next? Would they be satisfied enough to just end her quickly?

A sad, twisted smile spread across her lips. No. She knew better. Goblins didn't kill women. Not if they were still breathing after capture.

She let out a quiet, broken laugh and turned to Taron's severed head, staring into his glassy, empty eyes.

"I wish I was a boy," she whispered.

Then, a noise, close, too close.

Her body stiffened. She turned her head slowly, mechanically, like a rusted puppet forced into movement.

A goblin stood just beyond the rocks, yellow eyes gleaming, its jagged teeth spread into a grin. It had found her.

Lena's breath stopped. Her smile faded. Her body refused to move, frozen between terror and the last remnants of her broken mind. The goblin tilted its head, as if savoring her expression, then it chuckled. Low, amused, then, it screeched.

The others would come now. They would see her. They would take her.

Her body jolted. Her mind snapped back into place. The madness washed away in an instant, replaced by something raw and primal, pure, unyielding fear.

She screamed.

The goblin lunged, clawed fingers stretching toward her.

And then, a splatter.

Purple blood painted the cavern walls and Lena's face. The goblin shrieked, stumbling back as something heavy thudded onto the dirt beside it.

Its hand.

The goblin howled, clutching the bleeding stump where its wrist used to be, its severed fingers twitching on the ground.

Visit freewёbnoνel.com for the best novel reading experience.

Lena's wide, teary eyes lifted, looking behind where a shadow was standing. Golden eyes, cold and sharp, gleaming in the dark.

Bel was there.

He stood behind Lena, his golden eyes wide. The scene before him spoke louder than any words ever could.

A trembling girl, curled in on herself, too broken to cry. A severed head, its lifeless eyes staring blankly at the cavern ceiling. A mangled arm, with a blood belonging to another person. And beyond them, the swarm, the horde, the writhing filth piled over the last person.

His mind stilled. No immediate thoughts. Just sight. Just sound.

A low screech echoed. The goblins had noticed the shift in the air. Their guttural noises grew frantic, sharp, their beady eyes darting toward him.

One of them, glared at him, grinning wide, jagged teeth glistening with fresh blood.

Bel's body tensed. A loud heartbeat crashed against his ribs, the force sending a shiver through his limbs, his fingers twitching.

Monsters. Pests. Disease.

They couldn't be allowed to exist. Something like should be exterminated.

One of the goblins screeched and lunged, but a flash struck it.

Bel moved like lightning, his seizing the creature by the throat. There was no hesitation, no wasted effort. He slammed it against the stone wall with great force. The goblin's body spasmed, then stilled.

Another leapt at him. His sword flashed, the air hissing as steel met flesh. The goblin split in half mid-air, its body collapsing to the ground with a wet thud.

A third. A fourth. They swarmed, shrieking, blades flashing in the dim light.

Bel swung, his movements fast, lethal. One goblin's head twisted unnaturally as his grip crushed its skull like rotten fruit. Another lunged from behind, only for him to sidestep, grab its arm, and wrench it from its socket with a sickening pop.

But there were too many.

They piled onto him, clawing, biting, shrieking with glee. The cave filled with their screeches, their laughter, the sound of tearing flesh. Lena shook where she sat, watching the same horror unfold again.

Then, a sharp crack.

Three goblins flew across the cavern, their bodies shredded mid-air.

The swarm froze, their heads snapping toward the disturbance.

Then came the screams.

It was them this time.

The pile shifted, jerking unnaturally. A goblin shrieked as something crushed it from within. Then another. A ripple of movement surged through the horde before suddenly, Bel emerged.

His arm shot upward, his hand clenched around a writhing mass of goblins. They squirmed, shrieking, as his fingers tightened, crushing ribs, snapping bones.

Others scrambled over his back, trying to pin him down, only to be launched skyward as his body surged forward.

His upper torso broke free of the swarm. His fists rose, then slammed downward like hammers.

Crack.

The goblins beneath him collapsed, their skulls reduced to mush beneath his fists.

A goblin leapt from above, dagger raised high. Bel caught it mid-air by the throat. It let out a choked yelp, limbs flailing, but he didn't stop there. His other hand gripped its leg.

Then he pulled.

A sickening rip echoed through the cave as the goblin was torn in two, its purple blood pouring over him like rain.

He stood there, soaked, dripping, his gaze turning toward the remaining goblins. His golden eyes gleamed with an unnatural, terrifying light. His teeth, bared in a snarl, looked almost... sharp.

The goblins, previously eager and laughing, now shuddered.

They realized, too late. This boy wasn't a boy, but a thing.