As the seventh month rolled around, the goblins under the leadership of the Great Holder grew increasingly aggressive. Hunting, death, and killing became ingrained in their daily lives, transforming the once carefree group into a menacing force within the dungeon.
The goblins discovered a twisted pleasure in inflicting pain upon their prey. They would intentionally injure the animals, leaving them half-dead and writhing in agony. The sight of their victims squirming and moaning in anguish reminded them of the night when the Great Holder brutally tormented and killed their former leader. Strangely, this memory filled them with a perverse sense of excitement.
During a hunt, the Great Holder and two other goblins stumbled upon a peculiar sight: two deer engaged in an intimate interaction. The goblins watched, their aggression momentarily replaced by a new sensation that caused their hearts to race at an astonishing pace.
[The system will not go into detail on this matter, apologies, Host.]
The goblins, driven by an instinctive curiosity, observed the deer's behavior intently. They didn't fully comprehend the nature of the interaction, but they knew it held the key to this unfamiliar feeling stirring within them. The Great Holder, in particular, found herself deeply captivated by the deer.
With patience and cunning, they waited until the deer was alone and resting before making their move. They dragged the unsuspecting creature back to their camp, their minds swirling with dark intentions.
[The system will not go into detail on this matter; however, the Goblins had discovered that there are differences between males and females, not necessarily known by those terms, and that they had an insatiable desire for lustful interactions; Meanwhile, male goblins discovered this desire to become amplified while preforming such actions with different races and creatures.]
As the goblins delved deeper into their newfound desires, their behavior grew increasingly depraved.
The line between aggression and lust blurred, creating a disturbing and volatile atmosphere within the dungeon.
Fable, still reeling from the shocking turn of events, could only watch helplessly as his creations spiraled further into darkness. In the end he shrugged, there was nothing that he could or even cared to do.
After all, goblins will be goblins.
The goblin population surged from a mere 20 to a staggering 100, the once bountiful resources within their immediate vicinity began to dwindle. The goblins, hesitant to venture beyond the familiar confines of their camp, found themselves grappling with the challenge of sustaining their burgeoning numbers.
In a desperate attempt to adapt, the goblins resorted to a hierarchical system of food distribution. The innocent babies, their cries echoing through the camp, were relegated to a diet of insects, primarily the squirming larvae found festering within the decaying corpses scattered throughout the area. The Great Holder, her authority unquestioned, indulged in the choicest morsels, her appetite sated by the finest offerings the dungeon had to offer. The rest of the goblins were left to fend for themselves, scrambling and fighting for whatever scraps they could secure in a ruthless game of first come, first served.
As the scarcity of food intensified, some goblins, driven by desperation and a primal instinct for survival, resorted to violence against their own kind. They attacked and killed their brethren, their once playful hands now stained with the blood of their kin, all in a desperate bid to steal the meager provisions they possessed.
The Great Holder, recognizing the threat this internal strife posed to the stability and growth of her clan, swiftly intervened. With a voice that commanded both fear and respect, she declared a new rule: goblins were forbidden from killing one another over food. Those who dared to violate this edict would face the ultimate consequence—they would themselves become the very sustenance they sought to steal.
On the twelfth month, the thirtieth day, the goblins slept soundly under a moonless sky. The night was still, broken only by the soft howls that crept through the darkness. In the shadows, forty pairs of yellowish eyes glinted, inching closer to the unsuspecting goblin camp.
Among the approaching predators was a wolf with silvery white and jet black fur, its sleek form blending seamlessly with the night. It moved with a predatory grace, its paws silent against the earth as it drew nearer to the slumbering goblins.
The goblins, sprawled on the ground, remained blissfully unaware of the impending danger. Their breaths rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, oblivious to the wolves' presence. But the tranquility was shattered as the wolves launched their attack.
The battle erupted in a frenzy of snarls and screams. The wolves, cunning and strategic, targeted the weakest goblins first, their fangs and claws tearing through flesh with ruthless efficiency. They darted around the camp, leaving a trail of lifeless bodies in their wake, as they sought to surround the survivors.
One wolf, however, missed its mark. Instead of sinking its teeth into the neck of its intended victim, it clamped down on the shoulder of a goblin. The goblin's piercing scream rent the air, jolting the majority of the goblins from their slumber.
As the goblins' eyes snapped open, they were greeted by a scene of carnage. Wolves tore into their brethren, killing and feasting upon their fallen kin. Rather than anger, a boundless fear gripped the hearts of the goblins. They screamed in terror, scattering in all directions, their panicked cries rousing the remaining sleepers.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
The wolves, sensing the heightened threat posed by the panicking goblins, redirected their focus. They lunged at the fleeing figures, their powerful jaws snapping shut around limbs and torsos. Some goblins, desperate to escape, found themselves ensnared by the wolves' relentless pursuit. They thrashed and wailed as the wolves dragged them down, their struggles futile against the unyielding grip of their attackers.
Blood painted the ground, glistening in the faint starlight. The goblins' night vision, once a boon, now served only to heighten the horror of the scene unfolding before them. More than twenty goblins lay dead, their bodies mangled and torn.
The Great Holder, startled from her slumber, quickly grasped the gravity of the situation. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to abandon the other goblins to their fate and save herself. She watched as a large number of goblins vanished into the forest, their figures swallowed by the darkness.
But the Great Holder found herself frozen, her legs refusing to obey her commands. She watched helplessly as the wolves continued their onslaught, cutting down the goblins who remained. Anger and frustration surged through her veins, replacing the initial fear. She was the Great Holder, the one who wielded the stick, and yet no one came to her aid.
Gripping the stick tightly, she swung it out to the side in a fit of rage. The sound of a dull thud filled the air, and she turned to see a smaller wolf lying on the ground, its lower jaw dislocated and its whines of pain piercing the night. The Great Holder's anger consumed her, and she leapt from her perch, bringing the stick down upon the injured wolf with a savage fury.
The other goblins, drawn by the absence of their leader's yelling, turned to witness the spectacle. They watched as the Great Holder unleashed a torrent of blows upon the helpless creature, beating it to a bloody pulp. Emboldened by her display of brutality, some of the fleeing goblins halted their escape, snatching up whatever weapons they could find—sharp sticks, rocks, even fruit seeds—and reluctantly joined the fray.
Yet despite their efforts, the goblins were no match for the wolves' well-honed tactics and coordination. The wolves moved as a cohesive unit, their attacks precise and devastating. The goblins, accustomed to the art of hunting, found themselves woefully unprepared for the realities of battle and warfare.
In the end, the remaining goblins who had stayed to fight, including the Great Holder herself, fell to the wolves' onslaught. Their bodies were torn asunder, their flesh devoured by the ravenous predators. Only thirty-six goblins managed to escape the carnage, fleeing deep into the forest, while more than eighty-four lay dead, their blood staining the earth beneath the starless sky.
Year 2, on the fifteenth day of the first month, the surviving goblins, traumatized by the brutal attack that had decimated their numbers, began to regroup. They sought shelter in the depths of caves, abandoning their former practice of sleeping under the open sky. The goblins, once united under the leadership of the Great Holder, now splintered into different factions, each seeking their own path to survival.
As the years passed, ten of these groups emerged as the most prominent, their populations swelling to over 500 members each. These tribes came to be known as the Great Tribes, their numbers and strength setting them apart from the smaller, scattered groups of goblins that dotted the landscape.
The rise of the Great Tribes was not without conflict. In the early years, disputes over territory and resources were common. Goblins, driven by their inherent aggression and newfound desperation, clashed with one another in fierce battles. The caves they called home became battlegrounds, echoing with the sounds of clashing stone weapons and the cries of the wounded.
As the years progressed, the goblins began to make new discoveries that propelled them towards what we refer to as the stone age.
They learned to craft crude tools from the rocks they found in their caves, fashioning them into spears, axes, and knives. These innovations gave them an edge in hunting and in their conflicts with other tribes.
The goblins also discovered the power of fire. They learned to harness its warmth and light, using it to cook their food and ward off the dangers of the night. Fire became a symbol of power and prestige among the tribes, with those who could master its secrets rising to positions of influence.
By the 50th year, the goblins had expanded their territory to encompass 65% of the dungeon area. Their population had exploded, reaching a staggering 120,000 individuals. Yet despite their numbers, the goblins remained a weak race, lacking the ability to wield magic.
In contrast, the animals of the dungeon began to evolve, their bodies and genes fusing with the abundant mana that permeated the environment. This fusion granted them enhanced strength, speed, and even the potential to become magical beasts. These creatures possessed an inherent understanding of how to harness magic to augment their abilities and launch devastating attacks.
The rise of the magical beasts proved catastrophic for the goblins. Many tribes fell to the onslaught of these powerful creatures, their stone weapons and crude tactics proving ineffective against the magic-wielding beasts. The goblins' territory shrank to a mere 30% of the dungeon, as they were forced to retreat and regroup in the face of this new threat.
In the 75th year, the goblins began to adopt a more defensive strategy. They started claiming and fiercely defending specific territories, becoming overly possessive of the areas they considered their own. Smaller tribes sought to distance themselves from the more active locations of the magical beasts and the larger, more aggressive goblin tribes.
However, three tribes refused to yield. They remained locked in a constant struggle for dominance, fighting each other for the sole reason of not wanting to share food sources. These tribes, driven by their stubborn nature and their unwillingness to back down, engaged in endless skirmishes and raids.
The interactions between the goblins and the magical beasts were rarely positive. The goblins, with their aggressive tendencies and lack of understanding, often provoked the beasts, leading to disastrous consequences. Many goblins fell victim to the powerful attacks of the magical creatures, their bodies torn asunder by tooth, claw, and magic.
These encounters instilled a deep sense of fear in the goblins. They began to avoid the magical beasts whenever possible, knowing that engaging with them would likely result in their own demise. The once-bold goblins now cowered in the shadows, their bravado replaced by a primal terror of the creatures that roamed the dungeon.
Despite the challenges they faced, the goblins continued to evolve. The constant struggles and the need for survival drove them to adapt and innovate. They developed more advanced tools and weapons, crafting stone spears, bows, and arrows. They learned to create primitive shelters and fortifications, seeking to protect themselves from both the magical beasts and rival tribes.
However, the goblins' lifespan remained a limiting factor. Even the most intelligent and resourceful among them could only live for a maximum of 25 years, with many succumbing to the harsh realities of the dungeon much sooner. This constant cycle of birth and death made it difficult for the goblins to accumulate knowledge and pass it down through generations, hindering their progress and keeping them trapped in the stone age.