The path to becoming an orc was one of bloodshed. To evolve, one had to prove their dominance—not just over the weak, but over the strongest among the goblins. The underground city was rife with challengers, warriors who had clawed their way to power through violence and cunning. They had fought for dominance in the tunnels, spilled blood to carve their place in the brutal hierarchy. But none of them had seen a creature like Eliana before.

  The whispers spread like fire. The lower goblins trembled at her name, scurrying into the shadows when she passed. But the hobgoblins—the true rulers of the city—were not so easily cowed. They had survived too long in the endless war of dominance to be frightened by stories of a single upstart. They thought her rise was a fluke, a brief anomaly that needed to be crushed before it festered into something uncontrollable.

  They underestimated her.

  The first to challenge her was Korgath, a hulking brute whose name had been etched into goblin history with blood and bone. He was massive, even for a hobgoblin, his muscle-bound frame thick with scars that told of countless battles. He had killed his way to power, slaughtering rivals until none remained to oppose him. Now, he saw Eliana as nothing more than another obstacle in his path—one he would enjoy tearing apart.

  Their battle was anything but a simple duel. It was a collision of two forces, a clash that sent tremors through the cavernous city. Korgath fought like an avalanche, swinging his massive axe with all the force of a battering ram, aiming to crush her in a single blow. The blade of his weapon whistled through the air, carving deep gashes into the stone walls whenever she dodged. Each missed strike sent shockwaves through the tunnels, shaking the ground beneath their feet.

  Eliana, however, did not fight with brute strength. She fought with precision, with cold efficiency that sent shivers down the spines of those who watched. She moved like a phantom, dodging just beyond the reach of Korgath’s swings before striking with terrifying speed. Her claws, now razor-sharp weapons, slashed through his thick hide, leaving deep, crimson wounds in their wake. When he roared in fury and lunged, she did not retreat—she countered.

  A burst of raw magic erupted from her palm, slamming into his chest and sending him stumbling backward. The force of it cracked the stone beneath his feet. Before he could recover, she was on him, her claws tearing into his throat. Blood splattered across her face as she twisted her grip, ripping his windpipe free. Korgath’s eyes widened in disbelief as his body fell limp, crumpling to the floor like a discarded rag.

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  Silence fell over the city. The goblins who had gathered to watch held their breath, their eyes darting between the corpse of their former ruler and the monstrous figure who now stood above him. The torchlight flickered, casting Eliana’s shadow over the walls like a demon looming over the damned.

  And then, as if awakened by the bloodshed, the other hobgoblins began to move.

  She had expected it. The moment Korgath fell, the balance of power had shifted. The rulers of the city would never allow such an upset to go unchallenged. They would come for her, each hoping to claim her death as their triumph.

  And they did.

  The second challenger was Mogrin, a strategist known for his cunning. He did not charge blindly—he stalked her, luring her into narrow tunnels where his archers could rain death from above. But Eliana had evolved past such simple tactics. She felt them before they attacked, sensed the tremors of their movement through the ground. The moment the first arrow was loosed, she shattered the ceiling with a surge of magic, burying the ambushers under a cascade of rock.

  Mogrin tried to run. She caught him by the leg, dragging him into the darkness where his screams echoed through the tunnels before they were silenced.

  Then came Vryz, a dual-wielding demon of speed and precision. He danced around her, his twin daggers flashing in the dim light. He was faster than the others, striking with near-invisible slashes meant to bleed her dry before she could retaliate. But Eliana was faster. She caught one of his wrists mid-strike, twisting until the bones snapped. His second dagger came for her throat, but she met it with her own claws, driving them through his chest before he could complete the motion.

  One by one, they fell. Some fought with honor, others with treachery. It did not matter. She picked them off in bloody duels, her magic and claws tearing through them as if they were made of paper. She burned them, crushed them, broke them apart piece by piece until their corpses paved the tunnels in a gruesome testament to her strength.

  With every kill, she felt herself evolving. The energy within her pulsed like a living entity, a force that demanded more. Her body grew stronger, her muscles thickening, her skin hardening like the carapace of a beast. The transformation was not only physical—it was primal, an ascension into something beyond goblin, beyond hobgoblin. Her magic was no longer an unpredictable force—it was an extension of her very will, bending to her desires like a loyal servant.

  The goblin city was no longer a kingdom of its own. It was her hunting ground.

  And she was not done yet.

  Eliana stood atop the mountain of corpses, her form bathed in blood, her eyes glowing with the embers of an unquenchable hunger. The goblins who remained did not dare to challenge her. They knew what she had become. They had seen the evolution of her magic, the sheer brutality of her attacks.

  They understood that Eliana was no longer just a hobgoblin. She was something far worse.

  She was a force of nature.

  A monster.

  And soon, she would become something greater.

  An orc.