I delve into the depths of the cavern, anticipating the onslaught of shrieking goblins thirsty for my blood.

A smile creeps onto my face as I see my expectations were right, as before me appears the vanguard of a green tide of punches, kicks, claws, teeth, knives, clubs, axes, and above all, unrestrained hatred.

My smile turns into the manic laughter of a madman.

I charge into the whirlwind of primal aggression, leaving my sanity far behind. There is no place for it in this darkness.

Let the dance of death begin.

I can’t evade every attack, so I don’t even try. Instead, I maneuver as best I can to avoid slashes and stabs, which I classify as the greatest threats, while taking kicks, bites, and club strikes in stride. In return, I land my blows, severing limbs, gutting bellies, spilling out blood and for one particularly bold goblin who traded the power of hugs for a tight grip of my leg and painfull bite, I reward him by crushing his eyeball with my thumb driven deep into his skull.

His blood-curdling screams quickly teach the rest to keep their distance.

Even the most stubborn can be educated, it just takes the right methods and a clear, vivid example.

I should have been a teacher; clearly, I have a gift.

Fueled by adrenaline, I push forward, painting the cavern walls with the blood of my enemies. Yes, I surely have the soul of an artist. Perhaps the path of a painter wouldn’t have been such a bad idea, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

The world of art will never know what it has lost.

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My thoughts are interrupted by the realization that I am standing over the corpse of the last goblin. I must admit, looking into his fading eyes as life leaves his cleaved body brings me a certain joy. But unfortunately, reality is no fairytale.

My old companions, exhaustion and pain, make themselves known.

I have paid dearly for this fleeting moment of joy. My entire body aches, I’m riddled with minor wounds, and to make matters worse, my right leg is limping. In short, I’m in quite a pitiful state. And even so, the remnants of adrenaline coursing through my veins mask the true extent of my injuries.

It’s at this moment I realize I am no longer in a tunnel but at the entrance to a cavern chamber lit by torches.

And, to make matters worse, I am not alone.

Opposite me, in the center of the chamber, stands a warrior. That is the only word fitting to describe this goblin. He is taller, more muscular, and exudes absolute confidence. Clad in proper leather armor and wielding a fine, long sword, which rests unsheathed in his right hand he is a picture of what warrior should be.

Behind him, I spot a cage with a child inside; maybe 11 years old?

Why is that child looking at me so strangely? Not as though I’m his only hope and savior, but as if I’m another, perhaps even worse monster.

Hmm. Strange.

I don’t have time for more observations.

I must focus on the first true warrior I will face.

In a display of composure and confidence, the goblin tilts his head slightly to the side and smiles. It’s a genuine, cheerful, almost friendly smile.

This worries me greatly.

The goblin begins walking toward me with slow, deliberate steps.

I calculate my chances as fifty-fifty.

Either I kill him, or he kills me. Fifty-fifty. There’s also the possibility that we will kill each other, but that’s such a slim chance it’s not worth considering, and I prefer to think positively.

Because positive thinking is half the battle.

Which means my odds rise to 100%, and victory is mine for the taking.

With this thought in my mind, I return his smile and move toward him.

Time for the boss fight.