The sound of hundreds of desperate goblins echoed through the stone passages, growing fainter as they reached whatever barrier stood between them and escape. But underneath their panicked voices, Aeon could hear something else—a rhythmic pounding, like massive fists striking stone.
They were trying to break through the dungeon gates.
The realization sent a jolt of urgency through his smoke-addled mind. If the goblins were trapped at the entrance, fighting to escape, then his window of opportunity was rapidly closing. The fire behind him continued to consume the cavern's oxygen, and he could already feel the effects.
His breathing had become labored, each breath providing less relief than the last. His head was beginning to pound, and dark spots danced at the edges of his vision. The smoke wasn't just choking him—the very air was becoming too thin to sustain life.
Move. Now. Before it's too late.
Aeon forced himself to leave the concealment of the boulders and stumble toward the passage the goblins had used. Each step felt like walking through thick mud, his legs heavy and unresponsive. The broken bones in his hand sent spikes of agony up his arm, but the pain seemed distant now, overshadowed by his body's desperate need for oxygen.
The passage was filled with the acrid smell of goblin panic—sweat, fear, and the lingering scent of smoke from the burning village. The walls seemed to close in around him as he forced himself forward, one agonizing step at a time.
The pounding sounds grew louder as he approached the dungeon entrance. Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, he could see the massive crowd of goblins pressed against what appeared to be a stone barrier. Their claws and weapons scraped against the rock in a frenzy of desperation, but the ancient stonework held firm.
The portal must be sealed from this side. Emergency lockdown to prevent dungeon breaks.
But even as that thought formed, a new sound joined the cacophony—the deep crack of stone beginning to fail. The goblins' combined assault was overwhelming the barrier's structural integrity.
Aeon's legs gave out, sending him to his hands and knees on the cold stone floor. His vision was narrowing to a tunnel, the edges of his sight going black as his brain struggled to function on the diminishing oxygen supply. Each breath was a conscious effort now, his lungs working desperately to extract what little air remained.
Can't stop. Portal is freedom. Must reach portal.
He began to crawl, his broken hand leaving bloody smears on the stone as he dragged himself forward. The world seemed to tilt and spin around him, reality becoming fluid as his oxygen-starved mind began to fail.
The sound of breaking stone echoed through the passage like thunder.
The barrier had given way.
A massive cheer went up from the goblin horde as they surged forward through the breach, flowing like water through the broken portal. Their desperate exodus created a wind that carried the blessed scent of fresh air from whatever lay beyond.
Aeon crawled faster, driven by the animal instinct for survival that overrode his body's protests. His knees scraped against rough stone, and his vision continued to narrow until he could barely see more than a few feet ahead.
The goblins were disappearing through the breach in waves, their forms becoming indistinct shadows in his failing sight. But he could feel the air current they were following—cool, clean wind that promised life beyond this suffocating tomb.
Almost there. Just a little further.
His left arm collapsed, sending him flat against the floor. For a moment, he couldn't remember why he was moving or where he was trying to go. The world had become a hazy collection of sounds and sensations that no longer made coherent sense.
But his right hand, broken and bloodied as it was, continued to claw at the stone. Some deeper part of his mind that existed below conscious thought kept his body moving forward, inch by agonizing inch.
The rush of clean air hit him like a revelation.
He had reached the breach in the portal barrier. Beyond lay the swirling energy of the dungeon gateway, and through it, the blessed relief of breathable atmosphere. The last of the goblins were disappearing through the portal, leaving him alone with his desperate struggle for survival.
Aeon dragged himself through the broken stone, his body scraping against the rough edges of the breach. Blood from new cuts mixed with the older stains on his torn clothing, but he barely felt the pain. His entire existence had narrowed to a single, overwhelming need: air.
The portal's energy enveloped him as he collapsed through the threshold, and suddenly he was falling through swirling light and displaced reality. The transition was mercifully brief—one moment he was dying of suffocation in a stone passage, and the next he was tumbling onto hard stone under flickering torchlight.
Cool air filled his lungs like a drug, each breath a miracle of sensation. His vision began to clear as oxygen flooded back into his brain, and the crushing weight on his chest started to lift.
He lay on his back, gasping like a landed fish, staring up at the familiar stone ceiling of the cave where this nightmare had begun. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the sound of goblins scattering through the bandit camp, their voices mixing with shouts of alarm from human voices.
But he was alive. Against all odds, through desperate planning and sheer stubborn refusal to die, he had escaped the dungeon's death trap.
The portal behind him flickered but remained active—he had fulfilled its requirements, brought back the crystals that proved his worth. He was no longer trapped in the underground maze.
But for the first time since awakening in the corpse pit, Aeon allowed himself to feel something resembling hope.
He had survived the dungeon. The crystals in his pockets were proof of his accomplishment.
Now he just had to survive whatever chaos the goblin exodus had brought to the bandit camp above.
Broken, bleeding, and barely conscious, but no longer helpless prey.
It was a start.