Chapter 40

The stench was the first thing I noticed. Something akin to sulfur and rotting flesh filled my nostrils so thickly I could taste it. It was worse than the Centimane's cave and the worms combined. It was a battle to not gag from the smell alone.

Next I acknowledged the constant rattling sound and the squeeze of hands around each of my limbs, paired with the sensation of floating, as I was carried deeper into the jungle. The fingers were stubby and short like a child's, but the greasy hair, large straight horns, and thick beards poking out of my captors' black cloaks didn't leave me to believe they were anything that innocent.

The men carrying me—my third point of acknowledgement—were small people. Goblin sized, with long, lanky arms, but short fingers. Some hobbled, and others supported me on their shoulders instead of using both hands to carry my weight. The rattling noise seemed to come from the small, mesh sack of various bones they all had tied to their belts. There were eight of them. I'd counted once my brain caught that far up. Eight cloaked goblins with varying gaits hauling me through the forest, and not a single Minotaur, devil, or fox in sight.

My mind was apparently calm and collected enough to be observant, mostly because none of this had sunk in yet. No one had been kind enough to give me a hint as to what lived in this section of the maze, so why would I fear it at this point? What were they going to do? Stab me? Molest me? Nail me to a board? Get in line, assholes.

I groaned internally, not trying to alert the gross things to my consciousness, while still orienting myself to my new surroundings. Apparently the sun in Tartarus did, indeed, set at some point. This space within the trees was spaced well enough that I could see the dark purple night sky. If not for the barely there moonlight reflecting off the obnoxiously bright orange leaves, I wouldn't be able to see anything at all.

I rationalized away a total melt down long enough to be thrown into a pile of bones. Skulls, femurs, ribs—nothing new for me. Just another day in Labyrinth life. Who didn't just keep the bones of everything they killed, after all. It was just like how humans kept piles of chicken legs and pork ribs in the corner of their rooms after a good barbeque.

Oh wait! We don't do that at all. Because we aren't fucking disgusting.

But, regardless of my unfair judgment of this foreign culture of… uh… What are these things? I peeped the camp from my space on the floor, only opening one eye, and only enough to not draw attention. I was treated to the image of a whole goblin arm, tiny fingers and all, spit roasting over a fire, while the former owner was having their amputated shoulder cauterized with a hot coal. The little bastard took that burn like a champ. The doctor goblin had only half a leg, while the goblin rotating the severed arm was missing his nose and cheeks.

Off on the far side of camp, another pair of goblins were cleaning their plates of fresh roasted goblin feet, and stuffing the tiny bones into their mesh bag. Considering each of them was missing a foot, I was going to guess the bone collection was personal.

Right, unfair judgment on this poor, misunderstood camp of cannibals. Lovely. I wondered if I could heal faster than they could butcher me. Wouldn't that be a sight. At least this meant I wasn't going to get gored by Rai after all. Who would choose death by a hot, pierced, psychotic monster with piercings, tattoos, and leather over death by rank smelling trolls? At least this way I'd be able to feed a family. I'd much rather my body be useful to sustaining the people of the Labyrinth, than have a man with horns getting off on me while I bled. This was the circle of life. That was a kink I didn't have.

Well, maybe I had it a little bit.

Holy fuck, why is this my life?

I inhaled deeply, then instantly regretted it when that smell hit again. Keeping my eyes closed only made my other senses stronger, so I gave up on my pursuit of feigning unconsciousness for my own sake.

No one seemed concerned with me as I sat up in the pile of bones and took a moment to survey my surroundings more thoroughly. The maze like mud path had opened into a clearing, and a small, primitive village of palm frond huts created a circle. The goblins were muttering something in a language I didn't understand, and I hoped they were talking about the weather, and not who was going to get my wishbone.

Did humans have wishbones? I'd have to look into that. I clearly hadn't eaten enough of them.

Aw, dark humor. I was almost impressed with how well I was currently handling my second kidnapping in the span of a few hours. Trauma was funny like that. Eventually you just don't fucking care anymore. How could you? You cared about this, you cared about that, you cared about your life, your friends, your pussy getting wet. But then you got pounded full of nails, fucked by a man with cat ears, and kidnapped by the son of a woman who made babies with a literal bull. You think you can hurt me, bitch? By eating grandma's liver?

Nah.

The shock value of the maze died with my heart and soul, and now I was just numbly living my worst life.

Deep breath.

No, fuck, goddamn this place seriously smelled like ten day old death in a sulfur pit.

I choked on the bile in my throat, garnering the full attention of my new captors.

I swallowed back down my regret, wishing I had some more lackadaisical thoughts to hide the real, honest terror pumping through my every muscle.

"S-so what's for dinner, guys?"