Chapter 13 The Weight of our Failure

The cries of the trapped grew more sporadic until finally, an eerie silence settled over the cave. We had done everything we could, but it wasn't enough. The weight of our failure pressed down on us, as heavy as the rubble that had claimed our friends.

We sat in the dirt, our bodies broken and our spirits crushed. The cave-in had taken so much from us, and the memory of our comrades' desperate cries would haunt us forever. At that moment, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of those we had failed to save, we felt more like slaves than ever.

We stumbled from the cave, dragging out those who had survived the horrific cave-in. Our faces were pale and drawn, etched with lines of exhaustion and fear. Some limped, their legs bruised and swollen from falling debris, while others cradled their arms, broken and twisted from the weight of collapsing rocks.

Every goblin bore the scars, their bodies a canvas of pain and suffering. Some had deep gashes across their foreheads, blood trickling down their faces like bloody tears. Others had bruises the size of fists, mottling their skin with shades of purple and black.

Several goblins limped or crawled, their legs and feet mangled from falling rocks. One goblin had a broken toe, his foot swollen and purple from the trauma. He hobbled on one leg, his face contorted in agony with every step. Another had a split open head, the wound oozing blood as he staggered forward, dazed and disoriented. His eyes were glazed, a sign of concussion.

Most of the goblins displayed extensive bruising and swelling across their bodies. Their limbs were tender to the touch, each movement accompanied by a grimace of pain.

Some goblins coughed and wheezed, struggling to breathe as dust and debris from the cave-in still lingered in the air. Their throats were raw from inhaling dust, their chests tight with each breath. They rubbed their eyes, which stung from the fine dust that had settled into their sockets.

The air outside was a cruel contrast to the dust-choked chaos we had just escaped. We laid the injured on the ground. The sight of our fallen comrades weighed heavily on our hearts, but our horror was far from over.

Beyond the physical injuries, the goblins bore the weight of psychological trauma. The screams of their trapped comrades still echoed in their ears, haunting their minds. They jumped at sudden movements, their nerves frayed from the constant fear of another collapse or punishment from the goblin master.

As our eyes adjusted to the light, we saw the sinister silhouettes of the evil goblins and the master, Rakrak, waiting for us. Their faces were twisted with malice and impatience. They had gathered to investigate the disruption, but their intentions were clear: they were more interested in punishing us for the delay than in understanding the tragedy that had just unfolded.

Rakrak's eyes gleamed with cold disdain as he looked over the scene. The elite guards flanked him, their whips and clubs ready. There was no sympathy in their eyes, only an eagerness to inflict pain. My heart sank as I realized that pleading with them might be our only chance to avoid immediate punishment.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt and responsibility for the cave-in and the loss of our fellow goblins, I gathered what little courage I had left and scuttled toward Rakrak. My legs felt like lead, my body trembling with fear. As I approached, the goblin master sneered down at me, his expression one of utter contempt.

"Master Rakrak. Please, I beg you, forgiveness."

"Slave! What happened?! Talk!" Rakrak growled. 

"Master, the cave... it collapsed. We were working on removing the rock that gave us trouble these past few days, but when we did, the cave collapsed. I am sorry, master, we lost many of our brothers. It was an accident! It was! I swear! I do! Please, forgive us. We did everything we could to save the others, but the earth... it betrayed us. It did. Please, we are hurting and injured. Please, do not punish us, not hurt us further. Master, please, mercy."

Rakrak's eyes showed no hint of compassion or concern as he looked down at me, his expression one of cold indifference. He stepped closer, his presence imposing and menacing. The weight of his authority pressed down on me, making it difficult to meet his gaze.

"But you managed to move the rock that you were having so much trouble with for these past few days, right? The cave can proceed to be dug, right?" As he asked, Rakrak's voice was calm, almost casual, as if discussing a minor inconvenience rather than the loss of lives.

I muttered, "Y-yes, master," my mind still reeling from the shock.

His words hit me like a blow. He didn't care about the goblins buried under the rubble or the injured lying at his feet. All that mattered to him was the continuation of the work. Our lives were nothing to him, just expendable resources to be used up and discarded.

"Good! Excellent, if that is the case, then gather another group of slaves and get back to digging the cave. Do not waste time, slave! Get back to work!"

The cruel reality of our situation sank in deeper. Our pain, our loss, meant nothing to Rakrak. We were just slaves, our worth measured only by our ability to labor. As he turned his back on us, the guards moved in to enforce his orders, their expressions equally devoid of pity.

We were given no time to rest or mourn. The most injured who could not move were dragged to Butcher and left to be gutted and cooked. The rest of us were forced to form new groups, the stronger ones paired with those barely able to stand. The message was clear: we were expected to continue working, no matter the cost.

With a heavy heart, I joined the new group, my body aching and my spirit nearly broken. The memories of the cave-in haunted me, the cries of my fellow goblins still echoing in my mind. As we trudged back to the cave, I knew we had to do something different this time. Despite my fears and exhaustion, I took it upon myself to instruct my fellow slaves on how to reinforce the cave, determined to prevent another tragedy.

We gathered sturdy sticks and vines from the forest, knowing we had to reinforce the cave to prevent another collapse. Each step was a painful reminder of our previous failure, but we pressed on, determined to make the cave safe.

As we reached the cave entrance, I instructed the other slaves on how to proceed.

“Use the strongest sticks you can find. We’ll make support beams to hold up the ceiling. Wrap the vines tightly around them, like this.”

We worked methodically, creating a framework of sticks that crisscrossed the cave walls and ceiling. The thicker sticks served as main supports, while the thinner ones were used for cross-bracing. We secured them with the vines, wrapping and tying them in tough knots to ensure they held firm.

One of the goblins, who had some experience with building from his time on the outskirts of the breeding farm, suggested using flat stones to further support the structure.

We scavenged the nearby area for flat stones, using them as a foundation for our makeshift beams. With every stick we placed and every vine we tied, a sense of hope began to flicker among us. We were creating something that might keep us safe, however primitive it was.

 Our hands were blistered and bleeding, and our bodies were exhausted, but we didn't stop. The guards occasionally checked on us, their expressions impatient and hostile, but they didn't interfere. They wanted the cave dug, and if our methods meant fewer accidents, they were willing to tolerate the delay.

We lined the walls with sticks, creating a lattice that provided additional support. The ceiling, once a source of dread, now held firm under the network of beams we had constructed. Vines intertwined with the sticks, creating a web of support that seemed to hold the cave together.

The hours passed in a blur of exertion and tension. Sweat soaked our dirt-streaked bodies, mingling with the grime and dust that clung to our skin. With each passing moment, the cave took on a semblance of order and stability. The walls were reinforced, and the ceiling braced as best we could manage.

As we worked, we shared what little food we had, our bonds strengthening in the face of adversity. We became more than just fellow slaves; we became a team, united in our struggle for survival.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, we stepped back to survey our work. The cave no longer felt like a death trap waiting to collapse. Our bodies trembling with exhaustion but our hearts were a little lighter. We had done it. 

I looked at the other goblins, their faces dirty and drawn but filled with a glimmer of hope.

 “This will hold,” I said, my voice stronger than it had been in days.

 “We’ll keep digging, but we’ll do it safely. No more lives lost.”

As we resumed our work, the fear that had gripped us intensified.