he spiral continued for what felt like forever. Ember's legs burned, his shoulder throbbed, and his throat felt like sandpaper. The injured ankle screamed, but the alternative, going back down, wasn't an option. The air grew warmer with each step, thick and humid. Then the smell hit him.

  Ember moved slowly now, body tense. His hand gripped the sword enough to cause pain. The only sounds were his own footsteps and the crackle of the torches. He hugged the wall, the temperature growing warmer and smelling like decaying flesh. It didn’t take long for him to understand why.

  Bodies lay rotting on the floor. Not human bodies, but something similar to goblins. The arms went to their knees, and the faces were elongated, with green skin peeling off the muscles. Ember puked. The smell was overpowering. Dozens lined the walls, and most of them seemed to have starved, their bones jutting out and stomachs almost non-existent. A few seemed to have been eaten on.

  The isekai and fantasy stories always talked about war and how brutal it was, the disgusting things that happened within. But they never talked about the smell.

  And it was something Ember was really starting to regret not knowing about. He gagged as he stepped around the myriad of dead, decaying bodies that littered the floor. When he finally passed the pile of corpses a few minutes later, he leaned against the wall, light-headed. The smell overpowered every single thought he had.

  There weren’t words to describe it. Maybe that was why it was never included.

  Quickly, he left, heading higher eager to get away from that haunting sight. The higher he climbed, the warmer the air became. But the more sounds he started to hear.

  It began with a simple tick, like a pin dropping. The higher he climbed, the louder it became, until he realized it was metal on metal. Then came the screams. Not human screams,odd, creature-like screams. Shouts. Then more clashing metal. The sounds of fighting. And it was more than two.

  Ember paused, his heart hammering in his chest and sweat pouring down his body.

  “I really, really didn’t want to go any farther,” he murmured to himself.

  He clutched the wall for support. His entire body screamed at him to go back, but he knew all that waited below was death. He couldn’t beat those skeleton-knight things, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go back through the pit of dead bodies.

  So he closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise for a few seconds. He took several deep breaths, and when he finally felt like he had regained some of his bearings, he opened his eyes and kept going.

  He moved slow and quiet, keeping low to the ground. There wasn’t anywhere to hide, but crouching made him feel safer. His ankle strongly disagreed with the move, but with effort, Ember kept his voice silent, only hissing slightly.

  Several agonizing minutes passed before the creatures came into view around the curve. They were the same ones he had seen before—the ones with long limbs, short legs, and strange proportions. They looked like what you’d imagine as stereotypical goblins, but they were far more terrifying in real life than animated.

  Their skin was covered in tags and bumps that made Ember’s own skin crawl. They had no lips; their teeth just jutted out, giving them an unnerving, feral look. Their noses and ears were long like those of typical goblins, but their eyes were completely black, soulless.

  It made Ember want to turn and run back down the hallway, dead bodies be damned.

  He watched as the two creatures fought each other, each wielding crude-looking swords. They clashed, their movements sluggish and weak. They were obviously malnourished, slightly faster than the skeletons, but not by much. As they fought, they barely seemed capable of killing one another. Their bodies jerked in unnatural moves, and both were drooling at the mouths.

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  Ember watched this grotesque dance for several minutes. They didn’t seem like they were fighting to kill, more like they were doing something to ease their boredom.

  He glanced past them. The path continued forward. He was going to have to go around them, whether he wanted to or not. But how?

  Maybe they’d get tired after a while, he thought. Then he shook his head. No, I can’t bank on that.

  Maybe they’d kill each other first. He shook his head again. I doubt it. They don’t even look like they’re trying to kill each other.

  Ember shifted his weight, trying to ease the ache in his legs. The sword tip dipped, he tried to catch it and over corrected.

  Tap.

  The sound was nothing. A pen dropping. A stone settling. But in the echoing corridor, it might as well have been a gunshot. The goblins, even through their screeching and clashing, froze mid-swing. Their crude blades stopped inches from each other. Then, as one, their heads turned toward him.

  Their eyes, if those black pits could even be called eyes, stared into him, darkness showing nothing.

  Ember froze, any word or scream caught in his throat.

  What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

  Fuck. This isn’t good.

  He tried to think of something, but the grotesque faces and bodies of the creatures were so revolting that any plan vanished from his mind.

  The goblins screamed and charged. Ember took a shaky step back, but the thought of the cold room and the pile of bodies behind him made him stop.

  I have to fight. I have to fight, he told himself over and over again.

  He brought the sword in front of him.

  As the first goblin approached, it stumbled, and the goblin behind it struck, driving its crude sword straight through its companion’s chest before they reached him.

  Ember gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth as thick, black blood streamed down the dying creature’s body. The goblin turned its head toward its attacker. Ember couldn’t tell what its expression was, it barely had one, but if it did, he imagined it would have been shock. Or betrayal.

  With a sickening shlick, the sword slid free of the corpse. The last goblin turned its gaze to Ember.

  He shook, his entire body trembling, the sword clattering in his hands. After several long seconds, the goblin looked back at the dead one, and then, horrified, Ember watched as it began to eat it. It ripped the arm off and tore into it, blood painting its exposed teeth.

  He didn’t stop to think. He just ran.

  The creature paid him no mind.

  What kind of fucked-up world have I been put into? he almost screamed to himself.

  He ran for several minutes up the incline before finally collapsing against the wall, gasping for breath.

  The image of the dead monster and its companion devouring it burned in his mind.

  What now? Am I going to die down here?

  He buried his face in his hands. Has my whole life led up to me dying in some forgotten fantasy realm? A place I didn’t even know, with a weapon I couldn’t use, and a body that wouldn’t stop being afraid?

  A few tears slid down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them away, but more came. His chest tightened.

  “I’m crying,” he chuckled weakly. “I can’t believe I’m crying. This is the last thing I need to be doing.”

  Despite saying that, he clutched his knees to his chest as sobs wracked his body.

  I’m pathetic, he thought. I was taken to this fantasy world. Aren’t I supposed to be some brave hero who faced monsters without a care in the world? But I was just a sniveling, snotting mess.

  What’s going to happen back home? I’ll go missing, my parents will do everything to find me, and I’ll never be found. They’ll be heartbroken. Mom will call the park rangers. Dad will organize search parties. They'll find my bike at that impossible cathedral. if it even still exists. They'll never know what happened.

  The thought made his chest tighten worse than the dehydration. Stop. You can't think about that now. Survive first. Grieve later.

  He forced himself to breathe slowly, to push the thoughts away. There would be time to think about his parents later. If he survived.

  He finally started to calm down a little. His throat was dry, and his tongue was like sandpaper. He knew he couldn’t last much longer without water. It had probably been eight or nine hours since he had last drunk, and he had sweated a lot since then. But frankly, his thirst was the least of his worries.

  More importantly, how the hell was he going to get out?

  He glanced up. Will this just go on forever? Will I be stuck in this death-ridden tunnel until I die of thirst? Surely not.

  He shook his head. I can’t be that unlucky, can I?

  Then he thought back to the frozen bodies, where he had found the sword and Michael Chen. On second thought… maybe I was the lucky one.

  Shakily, he stood, using the wall for support, and continued his climb. I have to keep going. I can’t die here. I don’t want to die.

  With that single thought echoing in his mind, using the wall as a crutch and his sword as a makeshift cane, he slowly trekked up the hall. Toward a future he couldn’t see.