Frank burst through the door to the site of the horrific ritual murder he had left Dontil at. The scent of death, decay, and blood hit him like a slap across the face the moment he was through the doorway. A few steps in he teleported to the side of the potion-crazed goblin who had been helping him his whole way through this madhouse. He quickly lifted the silent goblin's head from his small chest, which was heaving and producing strained, bloody gurgling noises from somewhere deep inside. Frank's mouth went dry at the grisly spectacle.

Frank offered the potion to the goblin, whose eyes had rolled back in his head. That was definitely not a good sign. He slapped the goblin's cheeks, which brought his eyes back to center, but his gaze was weak.

The fragile goblin responded, his tone coming out as if through tears, and indeed his cheeks and tunic were stained with tears alongside the sweat and blood. The blood of not only his own internal hemorrhaging, but also his daughter's now dried blood.

Frank gently held Dontil's chin in one hand, trying to unscrew the threaded cap of one of the potions with the other. Then a small hand pressed feebly against his wrist.

his thoughts were interrupted by a coughing fit, fresh blood frothing forth on the weakened father's lips.

Frank clenched his teeth. The grief had firmly taken hold of the goblin, it took everything in Frank not to strangle the little green bastard and knock some sense into him. The path ahead was right in front of him! All he needed to do was drink the potion and fight another day! But Dontil refused to take that step, he wanted to fall off the road entirely and die instead.

Frank pleaded. He wanted to just tip the potion into Dontil's mouth, but visions of Plaything cutting open her own belly upstairs froze his hand. What if Dontil stabilized, healed, then woke up only to throw his life away in his despair? Frank didn't want to be responsible for that sort of cruel tragedy, even if there was a chance the goblin's fighting spirit renewed with his health.

another coughing fit erupted from the goblin, this time the wheezing coming from the goblin felt weak. Frank bit his cheek as he squeezed the small green hand tight. Frank had to act before it was too late, Dontil was dying.

It just didn't feel right, it wasn't fair! Dontil was doing the right thing, he came after his family and tried to save them! So why was this his fate? How could it end like this?

Then, one more cruel twist of fate shuffled into the room. Frank didn't even hear him enter until the boy cried out, a tear filled word in Orgrauma.

"Api-pa!" Frank turned, startled, and found a young goblin wearing a herald's uniform, save for the feathered hat, had walked in on the grisly scene. Frank sat agape, the young goblin didn't seem armed. Even if he was, a single goblin was hardly a threat to Frank at this point barring unknown magic. Who was he, and what was he doing here? He was staring past Frank. Was he staring at the defiled corpses on the stage or...

"Mokki..." Dontil weakly called for his son, "jaga... mar"

Mokki walked forward like it was taking all his strength not to collapse in a heap on the bloodied ground. He quickly spared a glance at Frank, whose jaw still hung open and at a loss for words. Frank simply shifted aside, keeping Dontil's upper body raised as he allowed Mokki to take his place. When the boy sat down, shaking like a leaf in the wind, Frank gently placed the dying goblin's head on his son's lap.

The boy spoke in shaky, hurried Orgrauma to his father. Frank could only imagine what he was saying now. Perhaps he was pleading with his father to hang on, not to die. Perhaps he was begging their goddess for a miracle, or trying to get some sort of explanation from his father.

Frank made his decision right then and there, he wasn't going to let Dontil die like this.

He took the healing potion in his hand, unsealed the cap, and gently poured it down Dontil's throat.

Dontil at first resisted, but seeing the look of tense hope run across Mokki's face beside the human rekindled the former soldier's spirit. He knew what he was fighting for, and that he had to finish this fight against death itself to bring his son someplace better. He just had to recover. He weakly gulped down the potion, the healing was almost immediate, enough to stabilize his weakened body and ravaged organs. But Frank kept pouring. Dontil had already taken in half of the bottle of Lesser Martyr's Promise, the maximum dosage the System told Frank was safe for human children. If Dontil could overdose on Berserker Potion, he'd have to settle for a larger than recommended dose of healing potion too to undo the damage. Whatever consequences came from that couldn't be worse than dying in the grim shit hole he had charged into.

When the whole bottle was empty and safely down Dontil's throat, Frank gently put the bottle back into his backpack, he wasn't going to waste useful glassware.

Frank asked

Dontil responded weakly.

Frank bit his cheek again, unsure if there was more he needed to do. He could see Dontil's minor cuts and scrapes healing at an unnatural pace. The deep gashes from sword wounds on his arms were bleeding less, but something had to be done. Frank had never given stitches to anyone before, but he had practiced a little at home on old plush toys in storage. He knew the right motions and the pattern from the survival guide his dad had bought him, he just had to perform it all now.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He quickly uncapped another bottle of healing potion and downed a quarter of the bottle himself, then poured some over his shoulder wound. The taste was sweet, like some sort of berry he couldn't name and earthy with the taste of herbs. Quickly, he felt warm and his muscles relaxed. His wounds became itchy as they begin to heal rapidly, and the deep cut across his shoulder stung like it was doused with disinfectant before it too became warm and itchy. It wasn't an unpleasant itchiness like a mosquito bite, but still mildly annoying.

Frank quickly dug his first aid kit from inside his backpack. When Dontil saw the needle and thread he grimaced and turned away.

He weakly groaned, closing his eyes. Mokki gasped and held Frank's arm, unsure what the strange being was going to do to his father. Frank locked eyes with the child and initiated telepathy. Mokki grimaced with pain, then accepted the link.

The young herald asked, looking over his shoulder with the chill of fear running down his spine.

Frank turned and patted Mokki's head.

Mokki nodded and let Frank get to work. A few minutes later, Frank had stitched Dontil's wounds closed. It was bloody, and not pleasant to look at. But hopefully it would speed up the healing from the potion, and leave less of a scar. Frank finished up with a little gauze pad and rubbing alcohol to wipe away the blood and dirt, then he began to apply light gauze to keep Dontil's arm clean during its recovery. Frank still had plenty of thread, gauze, and medical tape on hand for himself if he needed it, partly owing to how small the goblins were. Dontil, to his credit, only barely winced and whimpered a little through the whole process. Whether it was from how weak he was, or because he was a hardened veteran who had seen combat before wasn't clear to Frank.

Stifled sobbing and sniffling could be heard from Mokki's direction. He wanted some kind of closure. Frank sighed, pursed his lips and gently put Dontil down on the stage. He walked over to Mokki and took him to the Goblin Haruspex he killed earlier.

Frank pointed to the large bullet hole that left the already ugly haruspex's face a chunky mess, twisted and gored by the bullet's path through his head.

Frank looked at the pathetic figure and wished he could have made him suffer a little more. His death was too quick for the torture he had put Vinta and the other goblins through. His legacy of suffering and heartbreak would carry on in empty holes in the hearts of Dontil and Mokki, painful reminders of the lives he had cut short with his brutal evil. He deserved to be on his knees begging for mercy at a minimum, or in a better case given back all the pain he caused others tenfold.

Mokki tightened his hands into fists. Then he blurted out something in Orgrauma.

"Ja jagasha numamash" the young goblin looked up at Frank, tears running down his face.

Frank chuckled and patted Mokki on the back.

Mokki looked up with shock

Fuck... how Frank going to explain the internet to a goblin?

He scratched his head thinking of how best to word it.

Frank took his camera off his chest harness and quickly shuffled through clips of his time observing the goblin camp and the slave quarters, Mokki watching the whole while with his hands on his head absolutely dumbfounded by the little magic box in front of him Frank couldn't begin to describe social media or video sharing sites to Mokki, maybe one day he could show him. As it was, the nearest source of wifi and cell towers was easily hundreds of lightyears away, if not in a totally different dimension.

Frank re-attached his camera and then pulled out his phone. He decided it would be easier to show Mokki how video worked, if for no other reason than to give him a little distraction from his grim reality and some hope. He opened his camera app and pointed it at Mokki, who was able to be easily seen in the faerie fire torches lighting the room. He pressed record and spoke both through the telepathic link and out loud.

"Alright, wave to me for a bit."

Mokki nervously did as he was asked, his head tilted to the side as if he was avoiding the gaze of the camera lens. Franked ended the recording and opened his gallery to show the young goblin the recording. Mokki, who had only ever seen himself in water reflections or in a rare mirror, was struck dumb by Frank's phone camera recording him perfectly, down to the sweat and tear streaks down his face.

Frank quickly picked up Dontil, who was now sleeping, but breathing steadily and in much better shape than before.

Mokki asked

Frank gently placed Dontil against his son's shoulder and smacked Dontil's face a little.

Dontil grumbled and swatted Frank's hand away.

the recuperating goblin complained.

Frank smiled at that, he was definitely in better condition than before when he was at death's door.

Frank patted Dontil on the back and tousled Mokki's hair, then opened the door to the hallway and checked both ends of the hall and down around the nearest corner on the way back to the bar. The way was clear for Mokki and Dontil.

Frank waved as Mokki began slowly carrying his father back up through the hall they had slaughtered their way through.

From here on out, Frank was on his own in the burial mound complex.