The roar was a wet, acidic, ripping sound.
"GRIK! WAKE UP! IT'S TIME TO COOK!"
The sound, a grotesque parody of a voice, shattered the post-feast silence.
The thirty-two goblins, who had been sleeping off their first full meal in months, awoke not to the gentle crackle of the fire, but to the sound of their new god. And he sounded angry.
They scrambled to their feet, their 3-INT minds foggy with sleep and barbecued-cannibalism.
And then they saw it.
The fear that had just begun to recede, replaced by the warm, simple comfort of a full belly, came roaring back, ten-fold.
If Gruk was a bully, and the Grave-Hound was a nightmare, this... this was a mountain that moved.
The [Sulfuric Gastropod] had poured itself into their home. It was a pale, glistening, obscene thing, ten feet of translucent, veiny flesh, its back a pulsating, glowing-yellow landscape of boils. It ignored the goblins entirely, its 2 AGI carrying it in a slow, inevitable ooze, its great, eyeless head tasting the air.
It was moving towards the Grave-Hound's corpse, the biggest meal.
It left a hissing, smoking trail of slime in its wake.
The goblins screamed.
It was a high-pitched, collective shriek of pure, absolute, "we-are-all-going-to-die" terror. The [Cowardice] passive hit them like a physical wave, and the entire tribe, as one, broke. They scrambled, they clawed over each other, they ran for the farthest possible corner of the cavern, forming a single, quivering, weeping pile of green-skinned misery.
"IDIOTS!" Klik roared, his voice cracking with the effort.
His chest was a furnace. The [Crude Cauterization] debuff was a living, burning thing. His 13 Agility felt like he was walking through knee-deep ndolé. His 11 Strength could barely hold the [Nail-Studded Club] he used as a crutch.
He was crippled. He was in agony. And his army had just routed.
"You cannot ask a man with no shoes to run a marathon," his 29 Intelligence spat, "and you cannot ask a 3-INT goblin to fight a goddamn E-Rank slug."
He was on his own.
He looked at the slug. It was Lvl 13. He was Lvl 12.
Its 2 AGI was its weakness. But its 18 STR and 25 STA made it an un-killable tank. And his primary weapons—[Acid] and [Piercing]—were useless.
He was, he had to admit, terrified. His [Cowardice] passive, long-dormant, flickered.
And then he saw it. The last line of the [Appraisal].
...highly vulnerable to [Bludgeoning] and [Heat] damage.
He looked at the [Nail-Studded Club] in his hand. Bludgeoning.
He looked at the smoldering embers of his fire. Heat.
His 29 INT, a glorious, cold, furious engine, ignited.
This wasn't a fight. This was a puzzle. And he loved puzzles.
He hobbled to the center of the room, planting himself between the cowering tribe and the indifferent, oozing slug.
He slammed the butt of his club on the stone.
THUD!
The sound was one of authority. The goblins flnched, their whimpering dying to a terrified hush.
"YOU!" Klik roared. He pointed at the one-eared goblin, Grik, who was shivering so hard his teeth were chattering. "GRIK!"
Grik pointed at himself, his eyes wide.
"FIRE!" Klik commanded, pointing at the embers. He made a big motion with his hands. "BIG! BIG FIRE!"
Grik stared, uncomprehending.
Klik cursed, his chest searing with the effort. He limped to Gruk's junk-hoard. He grabbed a handful of [Torn Sack-Cloth (Junk)] and [Dried-Out Bone Scraps]. He threw them onto the embers.
FWOOSH. The embers caught, and a small, hungry flame leapt up.
Grik's 3-INT mind clicked.
Ah! Fire-God wants... FIRE!
"Grik... make... FIRE!" Grik stuttered, and ran to the junk-pile, grabbing more.
"ALL OF YOU!" Klik roared at the cowering mob. He pointed at Grik. He pointed at the junk. He pointed at the fire. "FUEL! NOW!"
The command was simple. The results were... slow. But they moved. A dozen of the "braver" (less-fainted) goblins scrambled to the hoard, grabbing anything—cloth, wood, bones, dried goblin-hide—and threw it on the fire.
In two minutes, the smoldering embers were a raging, crackling, ten-foot-tall bonfire. The heat was immense, pushing back the cavern's cold, damp air.
The slug, its 2 INT registering the heat as a minor irritant, kept eating. It had reached the Grave-Hound's corpse and was now oozing over it, its [Sulfuric Slime-Trail] dissolving the E-Rank hide into a grey-black slurry, which it then slurped with a sickening SCHLOOP sound.
It was destroying his loot. Klik's rage spiked.
"STONES!" he roared, his voice ripping his throat.
The goblins froze.
"STONES!" He pointed at the walls of the cavern, at the loose rocks and rubble scattered everywhere. He mimed picking up a heavy rock. He mimed holding it.
Grik, his star-pupil, got it. He ran and grabbed a rock the size of his head. He held it up, questioning.
"YES!" Klik hissed. "GOOD! STONES! ALL OF YOU!"
Another ten minutes of chaotic, disorganized labor. Goblins dropped rocks on their own feet. Two got in a fight over a particularly "good" rock, until Klik hissed at them and they both fainted.
But soon, he had a pile. A large pile of [Rubble (Junk)] next to the raging bonfire.
The slug, oblivious, SCHLOOPED and dissolved.
"NOW..." Klik said, his 29 INT shining. He pointed at the stones. He pointed at the fire.
"IN!"
Grik looked at him, confused. Put... rock... in... fire?
"DO IT!"
Grik, terrified of this insane, scabby god, threw his rock. It landed in the bonfire with a thud.
Klik grinned. "ALL! STONES! IN! FIRE!"
The tribe, in a frenzy of terrified obedience, began hurling their hard-won rocks into the inferno.
This was the plan.
This was his plan.
They weren't just gathering [Bludgeoning] ammo.
They were making [Bludgeoning] + [Heat] ammo. They were making primitive meteorites.
The fire roared. The stones cracked and glowed a dull, cherry-red.
The slug, finally, its 2 INT registering the massive, sudden spike in ambient heat—its vulnerability—stopped eating.
It reared back, its eyeless, pale-white head rising from the half-dissolved corpse.
It tasted the air. The fire was a threat. The goblins... were a threat.
It hissed, a sound like a thousand leaking tires.
"NOW!" Klik roared, his 13 Agility already hobbling him backward, his club-crutch thudding on the stone. "GET! STICKS! THROW!"
The goblins panicked. The slug was looking at them!
But Grik, his 3-INT champion, grabbed a long, thick bone from the junk-pile—Gruk's femur, probably. He rammed it into the fire, pushed out one of the glowing-hot rocks, and rolled it onto the floor.
He couldn't touch it.
"The head cannot be bigger than the body," Klik thought, his 29 INT screaming at the flaw in his plan. They can'twieldit!
He looked at his inventory. [Torn Sack-Cloth (Junk)].
"CLOTH!" he shrieked. "WRAP! STONES!"
He limped forward, grabbed a piece of damp (thankfully) sack-cloth, wrapped it, double-wrapped it, around a smaller, red-hot rock, and lifted it.
It was heavy. It was searing. The cloth smoked and hissed.
But he held it.
He looked at the slug, fifty feet away.
"EAT! THIS!" he roared, and with his 11-Strength, crippled body, he heaved it.
'Junk Tossing (Lvl 2)!'
The mana flared, but his 11 STR was pathetic. The glowing-hot rock flew... and landedten feet short, with a clatter.
A failure.
The slug hissed, and spat.
[Caustic-Spit (E)]!
A jet of thick, glowing-yellow acid, the size of his arm, shot across the cavern.
It was not aimed at him. It was aimed at the tribe.
It hit one of the cowering goblins in the chest.
A Lvl 2, unnamed, useless goblin.
He didn't melt. He... vaporized.
The acid hit. TSSSSSS! A scream that was cut off instantly. A cloud of yellow, toxic steam. And then... nothing. Just a puddle of smoking, green-black sludge on the floor.
The goblin army... broke.
It was a rout. It was a stampede. The [Cowardice] passive annihilated their morale. They screamed, they cried, they threw themselves against the back wall, clawing at the stone, trying to dig their way out.
"STAND!" Klik roared, his voice lost in the panic. "FIGHT! YOU IDIOTS!"
It was useless.
The slug hissed again. It was rearing up. It was aiming... at the fire. It was going to extinguish his only weapon.
It was him. It was all on him.
He was crippled. He was alone.
"When the river is full," his mind whispered, "the fish will eat the ant. When the river is dry, the ant will eat the fish."
The river was full. And he was the ant.
"No."
He hobbled to the fire. His [Crude Cauterization] scabscracked and tore from the sudden movement. New pain, fresh pain, lanced through his chest.
[Debuff: [Bleeding (Minor)] has been re-acquired!]
He was bleeding again.
He didn't care.
He grabbed his [Nail-Studded Club], not as a crutch. He raised it.
The slug spat. A second jet of E-Rank acid flew...
...and hit the bonfire.
TSSSSSSSSSS-WHOOOOOOSH!
A massive cloud of steam and sulfur-dioxideexploded from the fire, dousing half of it. The smoke was blinding.
But the fire held. It was too big.
The slug, its 2 INT frustrated, began to move. It oozed, with its 2 AGI, towards the tribe. Towards him.
It was coming.
Klik looked at the club. [Bludgeoning].
He looked at the fire. [Heat].
His 29 INT, in a blaze of pained, desperate, furious inspiration, saw the answer.
He didn't need to throw the heat. He needed to deliver it.
He grabbed one of his own [Tar-Pots] from his alcove-pouch. The one he'd made from the [Tar-Cap Fungus].
He smashed it over the head of the [Nail-Studded Club].
The thick, black, flammable tar coated the nails and the wood.
Then, his chest ripping, his new wound gushing, he shoved the club-head deep into the heart of the bonfire.
FWOOOOOOOOM!
It ignited.
He was holding a massive, flaming, nail-studded mace, the tar dripping and burning with a greasy, orange light.
[You have created a [Flaming Nail-Club (Poor - Temporary)]!]
[This weapon will burn for 60 seconds!]
The slug was ten feet away.
It stopped. It sensed the massive spike in [Heat].
It reared up. Its back... the dozens of yellow-pustules... they began to pulse.
A low, vibratingthrum.
[Passive: [Analysis] detects a high-energy build-up!]
[Target is initiating [Pustule-Detonation]!]
It was going to explode. A 3-meter-radius bomb.
He was ten feet away. He was out of the blast-zone. He could wait.
But his 13 Agility was crippled. His tribe was cowering behind him.
And his 29 INT saw the truth.
He couldn't win from here. The club was heavy. His 11 STR couldn't throw it. He had to hit it.
"The brave man is not the one who does not feel fear," his 29 INT whispered, "but the one who conquers that fear."
He was terrified.
He was bleeding.
He was King.
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"
He charged.
It was a limp. It was a hobble. It was a stumbling, suicidal, desperate sprint.
His 13 Agility was pathetic.
But the slug's 2 Agility was worse.
He crossed the 10 feet inside its detonation-radius before it could pop.
He was at its face. He was under its chin.
The slug's 2 INT panicked. It was too close. It couldn't detonate without killing itself.
It reared back, its eyeless head thrashing, trying to spit or crush him.
It was too slow.
Klik roared, a sound of acid and fire and agony. He lifted the flaming mace high above his head, his 11 Strength screaming, his scabssplitting, his chest gushing blood.
"VULNERABLE!"
He brought it down.
He slammed the [Flaming Nail-Club] directly onto the [Sulfuric Gastropod]'s head.
SQUELCH.
It was not a sound. It was a sensation.
It was the sound of a water-balloon filled with boiling-tar being hit by a sledgehammer.
[VULNERABILITY EXPLOITED: BLUDGEONING!]
[VULNERABILITY EXPLOITED: HEAT!]
[CRITICAL HIT!]
The [Blubbery-Hide] split. The [Heat] flash-boiled the creature's brain. The [Bludgeoning] crushed its internal-structure.
It convulsed.
And its 2 INT lost control.
The thrumming in its back, the [Pustule-Detonation] it had been charging...
...went off.
All of them.
[WARNING: [PUSTULE-DETONATION] CASCADE IMMINENT!]
"Oh, nyango—" Klik screamed, trying to throw himself backward.
He was at ground-zero.
WHOMP-WHOMP-WHOMP-WHOMP-BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
A chain-reaction of acid-explosions.
The entire Lvl 13, E-Rank slug detonated.
A ten-meter-radius explosion of E-Rank Acid and Sulfur-Toxinerupted from its back.
Klik was hurled backward, like a ragdoll, his small, green body tumbling through the air.
He slammed into the far cavern wall, thirty feet away, with a sickening CRACK.
He was drenched, head-to-toe, in boiling, yellow, E-Rank acid and toxic-gas.
He lay in a crumpled, smoking heap.
His vision whited-out.
The last things his 29 INT processed were the notifications.
[You have been hit by [Pustule-Detonation] (Cascade)!]
[You are afflicted with [Acid-Burn (E-Rank)]!]
[You are afflicted with [Sulfur-Toxin (Minor)]!]
[...Your [Canine-Carrion Essence (Resistant)] is activating!]
[Your [Acid-Resistant (Minor)] trait is active! [Acid-Burn (E-Rank)]... Downgraded to [Acid-Burn (F-Rank)]!]
[...Your [Toxin Resistance (Lvl 1)] skill is active!]
[Resistance Check... Success! You have resisted [Sulfur-Toxin (Minor)]!]
[...Your [Crude Cauterization]... has been melted away by the acid...]
[...Your [Bleeding (Minor)] wound has been re-cauterized by E-Rank Acid...]
[You are in... Critical... Agony...]
[You have slain a [Sulfuric Gastropod (Llvl 13)]!]
[You, an F-Rank, have slain an E-Rank. Bonus EXP awarded!]
[MASSIVE EXPERIENCE GAINED: 350 EXP!]
[Level 12 (42 + 350 = 392)]
[EXP Threshold Reached! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!] (Cost 120)
[Level 12 -> Level 13]
[272 EXP Remaining]
[EXP Threshold Reached! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!] (Cost 130)
[Level 13 -> Level 14]
[142 EXP Remaining]
[EXP Threshold Reached! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!] (Cost 140)
[Level 14 -> Level 15]
[2 EXP Remaining]
[You are now Level 15 (2/150 EXP)!]
He felt the three waves of power wash over him, but they were nothing against the tidal wave of acid-burning pain.
His world went black.
...
...
He woke up.
The first sensation was itching. An all-over, burning... itch.
The second was sound. A sniveling.
He opened his eyes.
His vision was... blurry.
Grik. The one-eared goblin was standing over him, poking his face with a stick.
"King...?" Grik whimpered. "King... wake...?"
Klik groaned. The sound was a calcifiedcroak.
He sat up.
His skin... his skin was wrong.
The E-Rank acid had melted his old, green skin. He was... pink. A raw, pinkish-grey, like a burn-victim. His [Chitinous Buds] were gone, melted away, but his entire body felt... hard. Like a callous.
He was alive. His resistances, his evolutionary-path, had saved him.
He looked at the cavern.
It was a disaster. The bonfire was out. The walls were pitted with acid-craters. The floor was covered in a smoking, yellow-green slime.
The slug... was gone. It had blown itself to pieces.
There was no loot.
Wait.
He pushed himself to his feet. Lvl 15. His new stats... STR 17, AGI 19, STA 19, INT 32, PER 27, MANA 16.
He was a god. A raw, pink, itchy, traumatized god.
He limped to the center of the blast-zone.
There, in a crater of melted stone, was one thing.
The explosion had been so violent, it had fused all of the creature's energy into one object.
A core.
It was the size of his head, a *glowing, pulsating, sulfur-yellow orb. It was flickering with electrical energy.
He reached for it.
His tribe, all 31 of them (one was a puddle), watched him.
They were not cowering.
They were not terrified.
They were staring at him.
He had been blown up. He had melted. He was still alive.
They were staring at him with a new expression.
Awe.
He, Klik, the First-King, the Fire-Bringer, the Unkillable, picked up his prize.
He was not their King.
He was their God.
And he hated it.