29 Wounded and Forgotten

Azrael clenched his jaw, suppressing his anger. He couldn't believe it. This revelation meant that these monsters had been keeping humans and goblins as slaves for a long time, perhaps even generations. And yet, nobody outside knew about it.

Time... or the perception of time was warped in this place. It was just as Azrael had suspected— the people living above ground had no idea of the truth lurking beneath.

The old man gasped, his eyes widening in shock. "Wha-what do you mean it went extinct a century ago?"

"Exactly what it means," Azrael replied with a heavy sigh.

"No, it can't be. You must be mistaken, young man."

"Trust me, old man," Azrael said, his voice tinged with a mix of sadness and frustration. "I've seen its fossilized bones. There's no doubt about it."

"But that can't be..." the old man muttered, his voice filled with disbelief. "You must've thought all of them went extinct, but the truth must be that a few remained in hiding. Yes, that must be it. That has to be it."

"Old man..." Azrael said, hesitating.

"No, don't you old man me. It can't be possible. It's not possible."

"I'm telling the truth."

"No, you're not. I don't believe you, young man. I'm just 38. My family is waiting for me up there. They're not dead. They're not!" the old man screamed, attracting the attention of nearby goblins.

Azrael pulled the man close, covering his mouth. He didn't want to cause a scene, not yet. The weight of the truth bore down on both of them, and Azrael could see the desperation in the old man's eyes, clinging to a glimmer of hope that Azrael knew was long extinguished.

"Shhh, keep your voice down. Don't attract attention to us. I'll explain everything to you later. For now, trust me. We will get out of here. I promise you," Azrael whispered, trying to calm the man.

The old man struggled, but Azrael's grip was too strong. Eventually, the man gave up, slumping to the ground.

"My wife and daughter... are they truly gone?" the old man's voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and anguish, barely audible above a whisper.

"I cannot say for certain," Azrael responded softly, his heart heavy with empathy. "But please, tell me, what year is it?"

"What?"

"The year, dear sir. What year is it?" Azrael repeated, urgency creeping into his voice like tendrils of apprehension.

"It's, um, 867."

"W-what?" This time, Azrael gasped in disbelief.

"Young man? You look pale, are you alright?"

"867," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah," the old man looked at Azrael, concern etched on his face. "What now? What year is it?"

Azrael gulped, his throat suddenly feeling dry. "The year is 1106."

"W-what do you mean?" the old man stammered.

"Old man, it has been over 239 years."

"No, no. That's not true," the old man vehemently shook his head, his eyes wide. "That can't be true. You must be wrong, young man. I'm 38, and I've been here for a couple of months. No more than a year at max." His voice carried a mix of denial and confusion, desperately clinging to a reality that seemed to slip away.

"Trust me, I'm telling the truth. This is not a mine, old man. This is a dungeon. Long and forgotten. That beast behind that door is the boss monster," Azrael insisted, his voice tinged with urgency.

The old man looked at Azrael in disbelief. Then, he let out a laugh, a bitter, hollow laugh. "This must be one of her jokes, right? My wife's. We're rescued and she's just waiting outside, right? With my daughter and her newborn." His words held onto a fragile hope.

"I'm sorry," Azrael said, his heart breaking for the old man. "But that's not the case. Your family is... they're gone. And you've been here for over two centuries."

The old man looked down, his eyes filling with tears. "My family... they're gone. How... how am I supposed to live without them? What... what will I do now?" His voice quivered, barely a whisper, carrying the weight of a lifetime's grief.

"Don't lose hope. You've survived this long, and now, I'm going to get you out of here," Azrael said, trying to reassure the old man.

"What's your name, old man?"

"Erik," the man replied, his voice still tinged with sorrow. "My name is Erik."

"Alright, Erik, we're getting out of here," Azrael declared, his eyes filled with determination.

The old man, no, the ancient man, was weeping, and Azrael felt a pang of sorrow for him. He was just a regular human being, someone who had no business being in this desolate place. A person snatched from a perfectly normal life, only to be tossed into this unimaginable hellhole.

"I'm sorry," Azrael muttered, his heart heavy with sorrow. The pain in Erik's tears fueled his determination.

He vowed to exact revenge on those vile Goblins and their loathsome Chief.

"We need a plan, Erik. How do you think I could sneak past them and get inside?"

"I... I don't know. I don't know."

Azrael sighed, his mind racing. He needed a way to breach the fortress, and the small door leading to the Goblin Chief's chamber seemed to be his best bet.

"Look at me, old man. Look at me, Erik," Azrael's voice was resolute, yet tinged with empathy. "We're getting out of here. All of us. Do you understand?"

Erik lifted his gaze, his eyes a swirling vortex of despair and resignation.

"But there's nothing for me out there. No one's waiting anymore. Nothing left," he whispered, his voice echoing the cavern's desolation. "My wife, my daughter... they're gone. And they're not coming back."

"Listen to me, Erik," Azrael said, his voice firm and unwavering. "You're not alone. There are hundreds of others just like you. Hundreds who have been trapped here, just like you. It's time to end their suffering. It's time to give them hope, a chance at a future where they're not shackled to this nightmarish existence, forced to toil for these monsters."

"Young man..."

"And it's up to us to make that happen. It's up to us to save them. And we're going to do it. Together."

The old man looked at Azrael, his eyes brimming with emotion. "I'll try, young man. I'll try."

"That's all I ask. Now, tell me, Erik. Do you know anything about the food supply? How does it work?"

"At regular intervals, those big goblins drag the humans or the goblins, mostly the ones who are too weak and injured, and take them inside that door. I don't know what they do to them, but they never return. The large goblins do come back, though, with the unmistakable scent of blood."

"Then that's our way in."

"How?"

"Simple," he chuckled, "I'll be their dinner."