John grabbed his stomach, his hands clamping around the spear shaft, his body convulsing. The pain was immense, a white-hot fire spreading from the wound through his entire abdomen. He looked down at the blood gushing between his fingers, felt the warm wetness soaking through his torn leather armor, and made a decision.
He was going to pretend this hurt way more than it actually did.
"AAAAAAAGH! OH GOD! OH FUCK!" John screamed, his voice cracking, his body doubling over. He staggered backward, tripping over a root, and collapsed against a tree. His face was twisted in agony, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "IT HURTS! IT HURTS SO BAD! NONONONO—"
Aaris stepped forward, her clawed gauntlets gleaming, her slitted eyes gleaming with triumph. She placed one foot on a fallen log and struck a pose, her wild red hair blowing in the breeze.
"Look at you," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Bleeding. Broken. Begging. And you had so much promise, little goblin. You dodged my attacks. You matched my strength. You even managed to get a thread around my neck." She touched her throat, where faint red lines still marked her skin. "I'll admit, that was impressive. No one's gotten that close to killing me in years."
She crouched down in front of him, her face inches from his, her sharp teeth bared in a grin.
"But close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, little goblin. And this?" She tapped the spear shaft protruding from his stomach, and John let out another pained groan. "This is not close. This is done. This is over. You fought well. Better than most. But now it's time for you to die."
John whimpered, his head lolling to the side. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow. "P-please... I'll do anything... just don't..."
Aaris laughed, a rich, mocking sound. "Anything? What could you possibly offer me, goblin? Gold? I have more gold than I can spend. Land? I have land. Power? I have power." She stood, stretching her arms above her head. "No, little goblin. The only thing you have to offer me is your death. And I'm going to enjoy every second of it."
She raised her clawed gauntlet, the blades gleaming in the dim forest light.
"Any last words?"
John opened his eyes. He looked at her, at the spear in his stomach, at the blood pooling beneath him. And then he grinned.
He raised his hand, extended his middle finger, and said, "Nuh uh."
He teleported.
The world folded around him, the forest and the warriors and the pain all vanishing in a blur of blue light. When the world reassembled, John was standing in the middle of his mansion, in his goblin form, with no spear in his stomach and no blood on his hands.
He patted his chest, his stomach, his arms. Nothing. No wounds. No pain. No nothing. The teleportation had healed him completely, like it always did when he returned to his base.
"Nice," John said.
He walked through the halls, his boots clicking on the black marble, his silver-gray curls bouncing. He passed the library, the game room, the grand staircase, and headed straight for Marrianetta's torture room. The door was open, and he could hear her humming inside, that same cheerful tune she always hummed when she was working.
John stepped through the doorway.
Marrianetta looked up from her workbench, her blood-red eyes widening. She was wearing her usual crimson silk dress, the one that clung to every curve, that showed off her massive K-cup breasts and her inhumanly wide hips. Her black bobcut swayed as she tilted her head.
"Master?" she said, her voice uncertain. "Is that really you? You look... different. Green."
"Yeah, yeah, it's me," John said, waving his hand. "Goblin avatar. Long story. There's no time. I need you to give me a strength potion. Something that'll make me hit harder, move faster, the works."
Marrianetta's eyes lit up. She clapped her hands together, her massive breasts bouncing with the motion. "Oh, master, you've come to the right place! I have so many wonderful things that could help you. Let me show you!"
She turned to her workbench and started pulling out bottles, vials, and pouches, lining them up on the table. Her long nails clicked against the glass as she worked.
"This one," she said, holding up a vial of bright blue liquid, "is a stamina rejuvenator. One sip and you'll feel like you've slept for a week. No more fatigue, no more exhaustion. Perfect for long "battles"."
She set it down and picked up another, this one filled with a thick red liquid that seemed to glow from within.
"And this one is a vitality booster. It won't heal wounds, but it will keep you from bleeding out. Your heart will keep beating even if it's been pierced. Your lungs will keep breathing even if they've been collapsed."
She kept going, pulling out more vials, more bottles, more pouches.
"This one enhances your senses. You'll hear a mouse fart from a mile away. This one makes your skin as hard as stone. This one—"
"Marrianetta," John interrupted. "These are all stamina and rejuvenation things. I need strength. Like, punch-through-a-wall strength. Throw-a-tree strength."
Marrianetta paused, her cheeks flushing. "Oh. Oh, I see. I misunderstood." She looked down at the collection of vials, then back up at John. "I'm afraid I don't have any strength potions on hand. I've been focusing more on... other areas. Poisons, aphrodisiacs, things that make the body more... receptive."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"I could whip something up for you. It would take about three hours. Maybe less if I rush. But the quality might suffer, and I would hate to give you something subpar."
John groaned. "Three hours? I don't have three hours. There are five elite warriors tearing through my goblin village right now. I need something immediate."
Marrianetta's face fell. "I'm sorry, master. I've failed you."
"No, no, you haven't failed me." John waved his hand. "You just don't have what I need right now. That's fine. I'll figure something else out."
He paused, thinking. His mind wandered to the throne room, to the creature standing motionless in the corner, its eight arms hanging, its painted smile gleaming.
"Actually," John said, "I'm just going to borrow Malice for a bit. That should even the odds."
Marrianetta's eyes sparkled. "Of course, master! Malice is yours to command. Just bring him back when you're done. I've grown rather fond of him."
John nodded, turned, and teleported away.
He appeared in the throne room, where Malice was still standing in the corner, still motionless, still waiting. The creature's painted smile gleamed in the torchlight, and its empty eyeholes seemed to stare right through him.
"Malice," John said. "We're going on a field trip."
He grabbed one of the creature's eight arms and teleported again, this time back to the goblin villages.
He waited, his arms crossed, Malice looming behind him like a silent statue.
---
Back in the forest, the five hands stood in a loose circle, their eyes scanning the trees, their weapons ready.
Sir Albert Armstrong adjusted his glasses, the black robe draped over his tall, muscular frame shifting with the movement. He was calm, composed, his face unreadable. His eyes, magnified by the lenses, swept across the clearing where the goblin had disappeared.
"Where did he go?" Albert asked, his voice soft but carrying an edge of authority.
Aaris shrugged, her clawed gauntlets gleaming. "I don't know. One moment he was bleeding out on the ground, the next he was gone. Some kind of teleportation magic, maybe. Or a spell."
"A spell?" A new voice, sharp and mocking, cut through the air. Dyros stepped out of the shadows, his body crackling with electricity, tiny arcs of lightning jumping between his fingers. His hair was wild, his eyes bright with barely contained energy. "Since when do goblins use teleportation magic? They can barely use clubs."
Aaris's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying I'm lying, Dyros?"
"I'm saying you let him get away. Big difference."
Aaris took a step toward him, her claws flexing. "You want to say that again? To my face?"
Dyros grinned, and his body dissolved into lightning, a crackling, buzzing form that flickered and sparked. He reformed a few feet away, his arms crossed, his grin still in place.
"Say what again? That you're incompetent? That you let a goblin escape because you were too busy grandstanding? That you—"
"I'll kill you," Aaris snarled. "I'll rip your tongue out and feed it to the wolves."
"You can try."
The tension crackled between them, as sharp and dangerous as Dyros's lightning. The other three hands watched in silence, neither intervening nor backing away.
Luis, the Man of Steel, stepped forward. He was broad, solid, his skin gleaming with a metallic sheen. His voice was low, rumbling, like stones grinding together.
"Less fighting," Luis said. "More monster clearing. We have orders. Kill anything that moves in this forest. The goblin was just the start."
Albert nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Luis is correct. Our mission is to clear the forest, not to bicker amongst ourselves. The goblin escaped, but there will be others. Many others. We should spread out and—"
"Spread out?" Dyros laughed. "So the goblin can pick us off one by one? No thank you. I say we stick together. Find his village. Burn it to the ground. And if he shows his face again..." He cracked his knuckles, electricity dancing across his knuckles. "I'll fry him myself."
Aaris snorted. "You couldn't fry an egg, lightning boy."
"Want to test that theory?"
"Enough," Albert said, his voice sharp. "We move together. We find the village. We eliminate every goblin we see. And if that particular goblin shows up, we kill him. Again. And again. Until he stays dead."
The five hands fell silent, their gazes turning toward the forest, toward the direction the goblin had fled.
"Let's move," Albert said.