Eliana’s transformation did not stop at her physical evolution—it bled into her very psyche. Each passing day in the cold, suffocating tunnels saw her growing more ruthless, more dangerous. The magic that had once flickered uncertainty was now a roaring inferno, a force of nature pulsing through her veins. It was no longer just an expression of rage—it was part of her, a weapon forged in the fires of her suffering and the bloodshed she had endured.

  She was no longer just a goblin; she was something far more terrifying.

  Her name became a whispered terror. Goblins spoke it in hushed tones, afraid that uttering it too loudly might summon her wrath. They had seen what she could do, how effortlessly she could tear through their ranks. Her presence in the city’s labyrinthine corridors was like the creeping chill of death. Shadows became her allies, her hunting ground. The crude torches that barely illuminated the tunnels only made her presence more haunting, the flickering light catching the ember-like glow in her eyes.

  She had gone from prey to predator, from a pitiful weakling who had barely survived to a deadly force capable of crushing her enemies.

  Her body had undergone a monstrous change. No longer was she the sickly, frail creature that had once cowered in the dark. Her skin, once rough and thin, had hardened into a natural armor, resembling the hide of an apex predator. The jagged, broken teeth of her former life had been replaced by monstrous tusks, gleaming white daggers jutting from her lower jaw, marking her as something greater than a goblin. Her claws—once little more than crude tools—had lengthened into weapons, capable of slicing through flesh and bone as if they were parchment. Her form had grown taller, her posture straighter, her presence commanding. Even among the brutish goblin warriors, she was something to be feared.

  But it wasn’t just her appearance that had changed. The magic within her had evolved alongside her, growing stronger with each kill. She no longer had to rely on instinct to summon it. Now, she could call upon its power at will. A mere flick of her wrist could send arcs of crackling energy surging through the air, reducing enemies to smoldering husks. She could feel the raw, destructive force coiling inside her, ready to be unleashed. It was intoxicating.

  With every battle, every kill, her strength swelled. She had experimented, tested her limits, honed her craft. She could manipulate her magic to fortify her body, enhancing her speed and resilience. She had learned to channel it into her limbs, striking with the force of a battering ram. Even goblins who had once boasted of their brute strength now shrank away from her.

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  Eliana had become something new.

  And yet, even as she ascended in power, something gnawed at her. A deep, insatiable hunger that no amount of slaughter could satisfy. The goblins—those wretched, twisted creatures—were no longer enough. They had been her tormentors, yes, but they were merely the first stepping stones. Her true enemies, the ones who had betrayed her, were still out there. The humans. The kingdom that had forsaken her, discarded her like a broken tool.

  She remembered the name that had once been hers. The name she had been born with, not the one she had been cursed with in this wretched underground world. Valerius. A name that had once commanded respect, now lost in the annals of history. Forgotten.

  She would make them remember. She would make them fear.

  A plan began to take shape in her mind. The goblins, despite their cowardice, had one thing she needed: numbers. If she could rise to the top, if she could command them, she would not have to fight alone. She would carve her way to power, dominate the strongest, and then use them as her army. The goblin city was a cesspool of violence and hierarchy, where strength ruled above all. If she could prove herself the mightiest, they would have no choice but to follow her.

  But that meant she had to keep evolving. A goblin, even one as powerful as she had become, would never be enough to strike terror into the hearts of kings. No, she had to become more.

  She had already felt the first stirrings of change, the shifting of her body as she shed the last remnants of her old, weak form. She had become a hobgoblin—a superior breed, larger, stronger, smarter. But it was not enough. She could feel it, the potential clawing at the edges of her being, demanding more.

  She needed to transcend again.

  An orc.

  The thought sent a thrill through her veins. Orcs were monstrous, war-driven creatures, the peak of savagery and dominance. They commanded respect, fear. They were the nightmare of human soldiers, the monsters that raided villages and burned castles to the ground. If she could become an orc, if she could reach that next stage of evolution, she would be unstoppable.

  But to evolve, she needed to push her limits. To feed the transformation with battle, with blood.

  A deep growl rumbled from her throat as she rose from the cavern floor, her claws flexing. The goblin city had not seen true terror yet. But it would.

  She would tear her way to the top. She would make them kneel.

  And then, when she was ready, she would rise from the darkness and reclaim what was rightfully hers.

  Eliana Valerius would return. Not as a lost princess.

  But as a beast of vengeance.