Before Malice's massive maw could close around Armstrong's head, a dark shape erupted from the ground. A shadow portal ripped open beneath the creature, and Sir Draven emerged like a nightmare given flesh. His lean, muscular frame moved with terrifying speed, his dark straight hair whipping behind him. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Malice by the skull and slammed it into the dirt.
The impact shook the clearing. Malice's body went limp for a moment, its eight arms splaying out, its maw snapping shut on nothing but air and dust. Draven planted a boot on the creature's neck and drew his longsword, holding the blade over its throat. The steel gleamed in the fading light, sharp enough to split a hair.
"Call off your beast," Draven said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of absolute authority. His eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto John's battered form. "Now."
John lay in the crater, his body broken, his vision swimming. The rebar was still stuck in his stomach. Blood was everywhere. He could barely breathe, let alone think. But he forced his mouth to move.
"You... you let me go first," John rasped, coughing up blood. "Then... then I'll call him off."
Draven's jaw tightened. He looked at Armstrong, then at Aaris, then back at John. "Stand down," he ordered.
Armstrong's eyes widened. "Sir Draven, this creature is dangerous. If we let the goblin go—"
"I said stand down."
Armstrong hesitated, then stepped back. Aaris rolled her eyes dramatically but followed suit, her clawed gauntlets falling to her sides. The other hands lowered their weapons, though their eyes never left John.
John crawled out of the crater, dragging himself across the dirt, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Each movement was agony, each breath a struggle. He reached Malice and pressed his hand against the creature's side.
"Malice," John whispered. "Home."
They teleported.
The world folded, and John found himself in his gaming room, gasping on the floor. The rebar clattered away as the wound sealed itself, his goblin form knitting back together. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath, then stood up.
He teleported back to the clearing.
Sir Draven was still there, his sword still drawn, his dark eyes watching the spot where John had disappeared. When John reappeared, whole and healthy, the knight's eyebrows rose slightly.
"Impressive," Draven said.
John dusted himself off. "Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises. Now what the fuck is going on? Your people attacked my village. Killed my goblins. Tried to kill me. Multiple times."
Draven sheathed his sword and placed a hand on his chest, bowing slightly. "On behalf of my men, I apologize. We were given orders to eliminate all goblin settlements in this area. To secure the land for Thornheim's expansion. We did not know that your village was... different."
"Different how?" John crossed his arms.
"Intelligent. Organized. Led by someone who can speak and negotiate." Draven's expression was earnest.
"The lesser goblins we encountered were feral. Mindless. They attacked on sight. Your people did not. That is why you are still alive."
Aaris stepped forward, her arms crossed, her slitted eyes narrowed. "Sir Draven, can I please just kill him already? This is wasting time. We have orders to clear the forest, not chat with the vermin."
Draven's head turned slowly. His dark eyes fixed on Aaris with an intensity that made her flinch. The temperature in the clearing seemed to drop.
"Aaris," Draven said, his voice soft but deadly. "Apologize."
"But—"
"Now."
Aaris's face twisted with indignation, but something in Draven's gaze made her swallow her protests. She looked at John, her lip curling, and muttered, "Sorry."
John raised an eyebrow. "Didn't catch that."
"I said sorry, you little—"
"Aaris." Draven's voice cracked like a whip.
Aaris took a deep breath, her claws flexing. "I apologize for my rudeness. There. Happy?"
John shrugged. "Getting there."
Draven turned back to John and, to the utter shock of everyone present, dropped to his knees. The knight's dark hair fell across his face as he bowed his head, his hands resting on his thighs.
"I beg your forgiveness," Draven said, his voice low and sincere. "My men acted on incomplete information. They killed your people. They tried to kill you. For that, I am deeply sorry."
Armstrong stared, his mouth hanging open. Luis's metallic jaw dropped. Dyros crackled with confused electricity. And Aaris looked like she had just been slapped.
"Sir Draven," Armstrong said, his voice strained. "Why are you apologizing to a lower lifeform? It's a goblin. It's not even human. It doesn't deserve—"
"It doesn't deserve what?" Draven cut him off, his head rising, his eyes blazing. "Respect? Dignity? An apology for wrongs committed against it?" He stood, his tall frame towering over Armstrong. "I would grovel before a bird if I had attacked its nest without cause. I would beg forgiveness from a squirrel if I had burned its home. Life is life, Armstrong. Intelligence is not the measure of worth."
Aaris scoffed. "It's a goblin."
"And you are a beastfolk," Draven said, turning to her. "Would you like it if humans called you an animal? If they decided you had no rights because your ears are pointed and your eyes are slitted?"
Aaris's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Draven turned back to John, his expression softening. "I have given my apology. I have begged for your forgiveness. Now I ask you this: will you accept it? Will you allow my men to leave your village in peace?"
John stared at the knight. This was not what he had expected. He had expected more fighting, more killing, more bloodshed. Instead, he got a warrior on his knees, asking for peace.
"Yeah," John said slowly. "I can accept that. But you're not going anywhere. We're talking on my land. And I'm not leaving my people unattended."
Draven nodded. "Fair enough."
He turned to his men. "You heard the goblin. Go home. All of you."
Aaris's face twisted with frustration. "But Sir Draven—"
"GO. HOME."
Dyros smacked Aaris on the back of her head, hard enough to make her stumble. "You heard the boss," he said, grinning. "Stop complaining and get in the shadow."
Fraudrian opened a shadow portal, the darkness spreading across the ground like spilled ink. Dyros grabbed Aaris by the arm and dragged her toward it, her protests echoing across the clearing. Luis followed silently, his metallic body clanking. Armstrong paused at the edge of the portal, looking back at John.
"This isn't over," Armstrong said quietly.
"It never is," John replied.
Armstrong stepped into the shadow and vanished. The portal closed behind them, leaving only Draven and John in the clearing.
John turned and walked back toward the village, his goblins peeking out from behind huts and trees, their yellow eyes wide with fear. He raised his voice so they could all hear.
"It's alright," John said. "They're leaving. We're safe."
A murmur of relief rippled through the crowd. Goblins emerged from hiding, hugging each other, crying, laughing. The femboy John had kissed earlier ran up to him and threw his arms around his waist, sobbing into his chest.
John patted his head and looked at the gathered goblins. "Someone get me a chair and a table. I need to have a conversation with our guest."
The goblins scrambled to obey, dragging a wooden table and two chairs into the center of the village. John sat down in one of them, gesturing for Draven to take the other.
The knight sat, his longsword resting across his knees, his dark eyes studying the goblins with quiet curiosity.
"So," John said, leaning back. "You wanted to talk. Talk."