After dispatching the lookout goblin, we instinctively turned to flee the way we had come. Fighting in a situation this lopsided is suicidal, and none of us needs to be told that retreat is the only viable option.
But just as we near the tunnel entrance, a high-pitched, bone-chilling voice rings out, piercing the very core of my being and sending an icy shiver down my spine.
"[Mork's Gate]"
In a flash, a shimmering purple barrier erupts from the cave walls, sealing the mouth of the tunnel. The glowing wall of energy is twice as tall and wide as the opening itself. It crackles with latent magic, and worse, with malice. Our escape route is gone.
I spin around just in time to see the goblins reacting. The thirty or so that had been shambling around the cavern are now unified in a single, deadly focus: us.
Standing among them is a taller goblin, easily a head above the rest. On its scalp rests a bulbous, glowing purple hat shaped like a mushroom cap, pulsing with arcane runes. Its eyes from a distance appear empty, however, I can perceive the truth; they shimmer with deep violet light, magic swirling behind those dark, intelligent pupils.
Bones of small animals hang from its shoulders, including a dog skull still adorned with some flesh, which turns my stomach. Unlike the others in filthy rags, this one is draped in patchwork pelts, stitched together like some grotesque trophy cloak. In its gnarled hand, it wields a crooked staff, carved with spiraling runes and topped with a crescent-shaped carving that glows with shifting colors. (Picture)
"Goblin Shaman," Miria mutters grimly.
Her instincts kick in. She casts "[Party Bulwark]", slamming her tower shield into the ground. A dome of shimmering blue light radiates outward, encasing us all in protective energy.
"We fight or we die. Hold nothing back."
She's right. Whatever deal I had with this party, it no longer matters. I cannot hold myself back here, I need to join the fight. It is now life or death.
The shaman raises its staff and screeches in that unholy, rattling tone.
"Bring them alive! The women are for breeding, the men for the altar! You may break them, but don't kill!"
The fact that the goblin can speak this clearly is disturbing in itself. I've dealt with goblins many times, but this level of coordination, of intelligence? This is no ordinary green horde.
With a feral roar, the goblins charge.
The noise is deafening. Screeches, howls, snarls. Thirty goblins rush toward us like a wave of filth and violence. The stench is unbearable, their shrill shrieks echoing off the stone.
I react first, launching and retrieving my spears using my skills. One. Two. Three goblins drop.
Miria steps forward, slamming her mace into the skulls of two others with brutal precision. Lexi vanishes into shadow, only to reappear moments later behind a cluster, her daggers silencing five more with surgical strikes.
Sylvia chants quickly, her staff glowing as she unleashes "[Wind Blade Storm]", slicing through ten goblins in an instant.
But it's not enough.
Behind us, I catch a glimpse of more goblins flooding in, passing through the purple barrier effortlessly. Reinforcements. Dozens more.
I switch tactics, gripping my spears like short swords and spinning through the crowd, cutting down goblins in a flurry. Red blood splashes the floor. Limbs are severed. My muscles burn with fatigue, but I don't stop.
Goblins are extremely weak individually, even as an F-rank they really pose no problem in a one on one. Still, the numbers are against us.
Sylvia tries another spell, but the shaman's staff glows, and I hear that voice again: "[Counterspell]." Her magic fizzles out mid-air.
I curse inwardly. 'Damn it. The shaman is shutting down our biggest damage dealer.'
We're barely holding the line, but I know it's only a matter of time before the barrier drops.
Then, the inevitable happens.
"[Gork's Hammer]"
The shaman slams his staff into the ground. A crack of thunder splits the air, and our barrier shatters into glittering shards. The magical backlash flattens us all to the floor like rag dolls.
Pain explodes through my limbs. My ribs are screaming. One leg won't move, and my arms feel like wet noodles. Something's broken, several things, actually.
I groan, struggling to move, but my body won't respond.
Around me, the others are in similar shape. Sylvia coughs up blood, Lexi twitches, her limbs spasming, and Miria's shield lies shattered beside her.
Goblins swarm us.
Rough hands grab my arms and legs, dragging me over the uneven cave floor. Each bump is agony, making my vision blur. My wrists are both broken. One leg is useless. I can't even hold a weapon.
Despite all the killing we did, there are still dozens of goblins in the chamber.
The girls are pulled in separate directions, toward crude wooden cages made of bent sticks and bone. I hear the disgusting chattering of the goblins around them.
"This gobbo gets the elf!"
"No! Armor girl is mine!"
A wave of bile rises in my throat.
The shaman hobbles toward the cages and snarls at his underlings, forbidding them from touching the women until after the "altar ceremony."
Me? I'm dragged toward a flat stone platform in the center of the cavern. It's covered in old stains of red and brown, and etched with intricate runes and grooves. Channels have been carved into the surface, likely to direct blood. A ritual altar.
I struggle, but it's pointless. I'm laid out on the stone, limp, staring up at the flickering ceiling. Around me, wooden stakes display banners with impossible, writhing symbols. Just looking at them makes my head pound. These are not meant for human eyes.
Terror seizes me. Not just fear of death, but true terror. Whatever ritual they intend to perform, it may not just kill me. It may erase me, body and soul.
The shaman appears over me, staff in one hand, rusted knife in the other. Its glowing purple eyes stare down at me, full of twisted joy.
Its voice grates against my brain like claws on stone.
"Rejoice, human. Your blood shall feed the spirit of our tribe. Your strength will become ours and live on for eternity."
My heart hammers against my ribs. My vision swims.