[Tsk.]
Half-hidden in a dark alley, I click my tongue in front of the wrecked hardware store.
["I guess we can't expect everything to be served on a platter,"] —Carla comments with a bitter smile at my side.
["This is a damn rip-off. The rat kid demands his protagonist halo,"] —I complain.
On the way here, not only did shitty monsters keep appearing that we had to dodge, but when we finally reached a hardware store, it was, of course, looted. Aren't all the key locations supposed to be in perfect condition, waiting for the great Me? For the protagonist? I demand a new scriptwriter.
["Though your aura is closer to that of the thug who dies at the beginning."]
["Blah blah blah, let's just go already."]
I say and move forward cautiously, followed by the girls' muffled laughter.
["Why are you being more and more cautious?"]
["Because there are fewer and fewer monsters."]
Carla answers Sophie in my place as I carefully enter the hardware store.
["Isn't that a good thing?"]
["Not necessarily. It could be a coincidence… or it could be that something has swept away everything else."]
[[[…]]]
Understanding the meaning of Carla's words, the other girls swallow hard. I don't have time to enjoy their sweet misery. The rat kid suffers.
["Shouldn't we split up to search faster?"]
["I've seen enough survival movies to know how that ends."]
["True that…"]
["Oh, over there."]
Ana points to a dilapidated area of the hardware store; some scattered ropes are visible. We quickly approach and begin to search.
["Found a good one,"] —Jennifer said.
["Not bad, vixen. You're finally good for something. Kekeke."]
["Humph. If you want a beating, just say so."]
Just as I was about to fight with the vixen…
"GRIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
A clearly inhuman shriek is heard in the distance.
[Tsk.]
I click my tongue as I hide among the ravaged shelves with the girls.
What's with these stores? One store, one monster?
There's a lack of originality here.
["Those are… goblins, right?"] —Ana whispers cautiously.
In the distance, five ugly, green dwarves are following two equally ugly dwarves, but with a slightly grayish tone.
["They're coming this way."]
["I can see that."]
The light green goblins, realizing they are slower than their pursuers, change direction and now head towards us.
["Don't they realize they'll be cornered?"]
["I think they're looking for weapons. There are some sharp pieces scattered around; they must have seen them."]
["Two against five is not a good fight."]
["Getting caught without weapons isn't either."]
[[[…]]]
With the others giving aseptic glances, Carla and I discuss the tactical ability of the ugly green ones.
As I assumed, the duo confronted the group of five after grabbing a pickaxe and a hoe from the ground.
["There are chainsaws further inside, you morons."]
[[[I don't think they know how to use them.]]]
The girls complain about my clearly superior strategic opinion.
["Anyway, let's go."]
The girls nod at my command and, in silence, we move between the shelves to ensure we pass through everyone's blind spot.
On the way, I don't forget to keep taking convenient things, like those beautiful carbon fiber one-handed axes.
While we were in the middle of our retreat-shopping, the ugly ones were still in what looked like a fight, though to me it was more like a group of gang members intimidating some nerds.
Although the duo had gotten improvised weapons, far from getting tense, the group of five surrounded them with mocking laughter while only one of them provoked them with his weapon. Forget two against five; that pair can't even handle a one-on-two. Not my problem.
Or it wouldn't have been, if not for the fact that, by chance, the ugly one trying to protect his partner made eye contact with me.
[[[[…]]]]
It was just an instant, but he definitely saw us.
I was thinking it was time to run, but the next instant, he looked back at his attackers without giving us away.
["…Astrad, he…"]
[Tsk.]
Ugly son of a bitch.
...............…
------------ Carla's Point of View ----------------
It was all quite sudden.
For the first time, we encountered the goblins we had only seen in videos and anime.
They were small, maybe four feet tall, but there was something about them that didn't allow you to take them lightly.
Greenish, raspy skin. Pasty yellow eyes with horizontal pupils. Calluses, wrinkles, and dirt all over their bodies, which emanated a nauseating stench that stabbed into your nose even from a distance. It was like a mixture of rotten meat and rusted metal, a sharp blow to the stomach even before they got close.
On them, clothing—or perhaps crude armor—made mainly of animal skins and bones. But also with objects of metal, plastic, and aluminum.
Additionally, they used things like machetes, axes, and one even had a bat as a weapon.
Everything about them was like a twisted combination of our two worlds.
But what caught my attention the most was their altercation. A fight between tribes? I didn't know, but five of them were chasing a separate duo.
And those two, though very similar, were somewhat… different. More delicate. Their tone was an ashen green, very different from the moldy green of the others. Their skin didn't look raspy.
They wore ridiculously simple garments, pieces of cloth tied around their bodies. And most importantly, their eyes lacked that vulgar, malicious glint.
Another species? Another clan? I don't know, but I must admit that seeing them being bullied made me feel quite sorry for them.
Still, I said nothing. What was I going to say? Help them? As far as I knew, even if we saved them, they could then attack other humans.
But just as we were about to leave… one of the ones being bullied saw us. In an instant, my whole body prickled. We were the perfect distraction. But the betrayal never came. The goblin turned his gaze back to his attackers and continued to growl as if we didn't exist.
["…Astrad, he…"]
My words came out before I could think. But I quickly let them die on my tongue. This isn't a game; our lives are in danger. I know, but… And then, I heard it.
[Tsk.]
A click of the tongue, one I knew perfectly well. Not with disdain or annoyance, no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise.
It was a click filled with the deepest resignation. The one I heard every time my own heart hesitated. The one that acts first and asks questions later.
Out of the corner of my eye, an object went flying.
"GRIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The goblin let out a heart-wrenching cry before falling dead, an axe embedded in the back of its head.
Instantly, the rest of the goblins went on alert and turned in our direction, only for another of them to die from a second axe that embedded itself in its forehead.
[[[[…]]]]
[Kekeke.]
In the hardware store, where sound seemed to have been vetoed, Astrad took a step forward with that illogical laugh.
["Well, well, look what the wind blew in."]
His voice, neither too loud nor too soft, but as always, loaded with sharp sarcasm as he dropped his coat and weapons. Before picking up a metal crowbar from the ground.
["Some ugly sons of bitches who are polluting the rat kid's precious air."]
He said as he raised the bar above his head, after getting close enough to one of the stunned goblins.
"GIAAAA!", they finally screamed, regaining their senses.
The one about to be attacked raised his machete to block, but even with the bar still raised, Astrad kicked his groin.
"GIAAAA!"
The goblin screamed again, and as soon as he doubled over in pain, the iron crowbar came down on his head, killing him instantly.
""GRIAAAAAAAAAAAA!""
The two remaining living goblins finally recovered completely and leaped at Astrad. Without a second thought, Astrad threw his crowbar, freshly pulled from the goblin's brains, towards one of his attackers.
The impact made the goblin whimper and get distracted, but its companion continued to advance, only to be met by its friend's machete, which had been thrown at it by Astrad.
"Clank!", the metal resounded.
The goblin blocked the machete, but the impact made it lose its balance. A fatal mistake. Astrad had already moved. With fluid movements, he pulled one of the harpoons he had tied to his thigh and stabbed it into its neck.
"Guak."
A disgusting gurgle echoed from the goblin's throat as blood bubbled out.
"GRIAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The last of the goblins, its eyes bloodshot, lunged at Astrad. But before it could bring its axe down…
"Pop."
With a dull sound, its body fell to the ground, a pickaxe embedded in the back of its head. And the one responsible, the goblin who led the duo, maintained a stunned look, his hands trembling.
It had all happened too fast; none of us had time to react.
Not even the goblin who had helped him seemed sure of what happened, while his companion didn't even dare to breathe.
Finally, Astrad broke the silence and spoke to the goblin with a laugh.
[Kekeke, not bad for a fag.]
…I couldn't help but sigh. Yes, that's Astrad.
A moron who could be quite gallant if he only learned to shut his damn mouth.
............….
JOURNAL ENTRY NO: 074
SCIENTIFIC NAME: Homo silvanus borealis
REGIONAL ALIASES:
Norse and Germanic Folklore: Goblin, The Scourge of the Forest
Inquisition Records: Daemonium silva (Demon of the forest)
The Network's Nickname: The Defilers
NICKNAME (ASTRAD): The Cancer of the Forest
📊 THREAT ASSESSMENT
CLASSIFICATION: VENATOR / TERRITORIALIS
Their conduct is that of a hunter that operates in hordes within its pestilent territory. But their hunt is not just for sustenance; it is to inflict suffering. They do not seek survival; they seek the eradication of everything that is not them, defiling and destroying with an almost religious fervor.
DANGER LEVEL: ORANGE (2 stars)
2 Orange stars. Individually, they are weak and cowardly, but their danger is never individual. A horde, operating with their savage cunning and with no rules of engagement, can dismantle a veteran squad. They don't fight to win; they fight to make your defeat as painful and humiliating as possible.
AGGRESSIVENESS LEVEL: RELENTLESS
Their aggressiveness is that of a plague. Once they have fixed on a target—a shelter, a caravan, a farm—their assault is incessant and cruel. They do not accept surrender; they do not take prisoners mercifully. Their attack only ends when the target has been wiped off the map and its memory desecrated.
🧬 COMBAT FILE (TL;DR)
TYPE: Humanoid
AFFINITY: Earth / Shadow
🎯 PRIMARY WEAKNESSES (Theoretical):
Bottleneck tactics (limit their numerical superiority), Fire (instinctive panic), Psychological warfare (they cannot stand organized and brutal resistance).
📌 KEY STRENGTHS:
Overwhelming numerical superiority, Barbaric cunning (sadistic traps), Guerrilla warfare, Superhuman tolerance to pain (uncertain).
📚 ORIGINS AND COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY
The Anthropological Debate: There are two main theories, and I lean towards the more terrifying one.
Theory 1 (The Optimistic): They were an isolated human subspecies, whose customs seemed savage to us, and we demonized them out of ignorance. An academic and, in my opinion, dangerously naive view.
Theory 2 (The Realistic): They are a genuinely monstrous and parasitic race. They do not build, only destroy. They do not create, only corrupt. Historical records, from the Norse sagas to the archives of the Inquisition, do not describe a misunderstood tribe, but a plague whose cruelty (torture, ritual desecration, forced breeding) was so extreme that it justified their hunt to near extinction. It wasn't a genocide; it was an act of pest control.
Gamer Culture: They are the definition of an "always hostile" faction. There are no side quests, no diplomacy. Their only dialogue is a guttural war cry just before they try to burn down your village.
Astrad's Analysis: Their total incompatibility with any other form of intelligent life suggests that Theory 2 is correct. You can't reason with a cancer; you can only cut it out.
My basis? There is not a single story, "NOT A SINGLE ONE," that relates them to anything other than a plague among the different cultures, races, kingdoms, and religions throughout history, at least not the known ones.
📝 DETAILED ANALYSIS
PHYSICAL AND SENSORY DESCRIPTION:
A humanoid of short stature and gaunt build, but with surprising strength and endurance. Its skin has a sallow tone, often hidden under layers of dirt, dried blood, and greenish camouflage pigments. They move hunched over, with an erratic, predatory agility. Their eyes are small, black, and shine with a malicious intelligence. Their most distinctive feature is their sound: a mixture of clicks, growls, and a sibilant, unpleasant laugh they emit during their assaults. They smell of damp earth, rancid meat, and a primordial fear.
BEHAVIOR AND ECOLOGY:
They are a horde species that infests cave systems, ruins, and deep forests, which they turn into death traps and slaughterhouses. Their society seems to be based on brute force and a shared cruelty. Their raids are not just for resources; they are acts of terrorism. They burn what they cannot carry, poison water sources, and enjoy desecrating the symbols and bodies of their victims. Historical reports and fragments of legends are consistent on one point: their treatment of prisoners is of an unimaginable brutality, designed to break the spirit of their enemies.
☣️ PROTOCOLS
RECOMMENDED ENCOUNTER PROTOCOL:
DO:
Maintain extreme distance.
Fortify any perimeter.
Use fire as the primary barrier.
If combat is unavoidable, total and rapid annihilation is the only viable strategy.
Leave no survivors who could alert the horde.
DON'T:
NEVER SHOW MERCY.
Do not attempt to negotiate or reason.
Do not underestimate their capacity for cruelty.
NEVER ALLOW ANYONE TO BE CAPTURED ALIVE.
FIELD REPORT (Translated fragment from a colonist's diary in Vinland, circa 1005 AD):
"...they didn't just take the grain. They burned the palisade. They poisoned the well with the remains of our dog. And Astrid... the screams... There are no words in any language for what they did to her before her life was extinguished. They are not men. They are not beasts. They are the wrath of a forgotten and cruel god. We will burn this forest to the ground. It is the only way."
🎤 ASTRAD'S NOTES (THE ONLY SHIT THAT MATTERS):
Forget all that politically correct shit about "points of view." There are some things in this universe that are, plain and simple, monsters. And these bastards won first prize. They are not the misunderstood version from video games. They are the 'Goblin Slayer' version: an intelligent plague whose only culture is violence and desecration.
People wonder why the humans of old hunted them until they were wiped off almost every map. It wasn't because of racism or ignorance. It was because after finding your village burned, your water poisoned, and your family turned into a fucking trophy, you realize that there's no room in the world for both of you. It's not a war; it's a disinfection.
There is no morality here. There is no dialogue. If you see one, there are more. And if you see a horde, you're not in a fantasy adventure. You're on the menu. And they won't even have the decency to kill you quickly.