As a goblin, I have to say my feelings are a bit mixed right now. I have spent the last week in a full on goblin hunt. I am the Goblin King, and a real by-the-tree goblin, and the Green Goblin is a cheap knock off. Actually, I think he is an expensive knock off, but that is missing my main point. I have spent the last week full on goblin hunting, and goblin’s are a stone bitch to hunt. On principal, I am rather smug about that part, but in this particular case, it is getting annoying.
Monday I caught him getting his little green ass scorched by the Human Torch as he attempted, failed, and regretted, breaking into the Baxter Building of the Fantastic Four. I don’t know if he was dropped on his head too often as a young goblin, or if he has some severe substance abuse issues, but breaking and entering the building of the Fantastic Four to steal the advanced technologies of Reed Richards, Mr Fantastic, is almost as suicidal as breaking into the Latavarian Embassy to steel Doctor Doom’s pajamas. He lost the Torch by ducking into a subway underpass riding the top of a semi-trailer hauling several tons of gasoline. The Human Torch decided not to make every other commuter into imitation human torches, and broke off pursuit.
I caught him laughing his ass off in the tunnel, and put him into the wall. I don’t think he is a real flesh and blood goblin, but whatever he did to himself, or had done to him, definitely plugged him in to the goblin spirit of the Unseelie Fey. He wasn’t as strong as I was, but he was as fast. He wore armour that was probably about a hundred years ahead of what police and military are using; it protected against impact, ballistics, blades (or claws in my case), fire (yeah he loves those pumpkin bombs, even at close quarters), and serves to augment his strength a bit. It costs him in a tiny bit of lag, and he already lacks my speed, so falling a little bit farther behind the reflex curve was pretty much all the extra handicap he needed to play pinata, and I proceeded to beat him until tasty candy or answers came out.
He swung at me with the sort of punch I had seen him blast Spiderman through walls with, but I let it pass beside my head, grabbed the wrist when it rocked to halt three inches into the concrete, and the back of his neck and proceeded to ram his fool green helmet into the underpass a half dozen times to soften him up for the planned question and answer session about “what the hell got up your little goblin ass to make you so psychotic.”
Things were about ready to go to endgame when that stupid bat glider of his swooped in behind me, and when I dodged out of the way, he mostly fell off the damned thing and was up to three hundred plus km/h before you could say “Hey that was my goblin!”
Tuesday I got him bombing the Daily Bugle, angry about the article that claims that both he and I are Spiderman’s criminal lackies. I was more offended that I was getting confused with the flying Spirit Halloween greeter, than I was being accused of being a school boy’s back up chorus. Sugar laughed at me so much she choked on her fruit loops when I tried ranting at her for sympathy. It turns out Green Goblin has no sense of humour, or lacks a Sugar to give you a reality check. He decided that J Jonah Jamesson deeded to eat a pumpkin bomb and die. I decided I needed to stop with the whole hand grenades as greeting cards thing that little psychotic imitation had going on.
I caught him with his arm back and fuse lit, and kicked him off his little bat glider. I rode him down and dropped his green ass on the pumpkin bomb when it went off. That took most of the pepper out of him, and I knelt on his chest to have a little discussion about agreed upon goblin rules of engagement in urban areas.
“You” [punch] “don’t” [punch] “throw’ [punch] “hand grenades” [punch] “at’ [punch] “unarmed” [punch] “civilians!” [THWIP]
I had shattered the lenses of the damned goblin mask he has no right to wear, blue eyes wide with insanity had glazed over in stunned semi consciousness, and I was just about ready to flip him over and grow some no shit thorn manacles on him that would bind anything mortal, and a good bit of things that are not, when that web slinging idiot decided to step in to save GREEN GOBLIN from me.
“Stop, you are going to kill him!” Spider man said, his web connecting my descending fist to the wall he was leaping off of, using the moment I was pulling on the line, and restraining goblin to get a leaping kick into my chin.
I don’t remember it turning spring time again, but I was seeing pretty birdies going tweet, tweet, tweet, as they circled my head. There is a better than even chance the kid just gave me another concussion. Worse, he cost me my pin on the Green Goblin. I blocked the Spider-dweeb’s punch, and had to pull my own when I almost accidentally gutted him, remembering at the last second this was the good guy but complete idiot, not the bad guy and confirmed psycho. I tell you, giving your friendly neighborhood Goblin King a concussion in a fight is a mistake, as the only time I need to really think is when I am trying not to kill someone.
I flipped my hand and toned it down to a palm heel strike that cost our web slinging pacifist his breath, rather than his intestines. Unfortunately it left the Green Goblin free to spread two pumpkin bombs at our feet as the little green git hopped on his little bat hover thing and fly out of there.
Spiderman decided to deal with the fact he aided and abetted an attempted murder goblin fleeing the scene of his attempted slaughter of the writing staff by, you guessed it, [thwip, thwip] he webbed my arms to my sides as I staggered from the existing Spider given concussion and the twin blast and fragment showers of pumpkin bombs filled with antipersonnel flechettes. It is cool spider-toddler had his danger sense that allowed him to duck behind a conveniently placed GOBLIN KING, and allow me to accept the equivalent charge of a claymore antipersonnel mine to save his ass, but I am not feeling all that great. I guess good news, bad news, the webbing that is holding my arms to my sides really reduce the fact I am bleeding out, but if this little twerp think’s he is arresting me for trying to stop Green Goblin’s murder spree he has another thing coming.
He yanked me to him by the webbing, his fist balled to punch my lights out. I get it, he is humiliated, frustrated, and conflicted. Welcome to being a teenager. Lift weights, jerk off, play video games, or go for a run, but do not take your hormonal imbalances out on poor wandering Goblins just out trying to save the world from psychotic imitations. I lunged inside his reach and head butted him in the teeth. I assume he has teeth under that mask. Could be pedipalps, I mean, he could be half actual spider. I don’t judge. I am a goblin, it’s not like I am winning beauty contests any time soon either. Felt like teeth when my forehead hit him.
He rocked back, not nearly as concussed as I was, but enough that his spider sense went unanswered in the seconds it took me to take my left boot and show what legs that regularly press eight tons feel like when they kick your nuts up into your bellybutton.
I turned my half functional brain cells to reaching to the wonders of goblin magic, and let the rot and decay of the Unseelie work its magic on spider silk to let me free my arms. I collapsed to sitting and worked on my breathing to power my magic into healing the killing load of shrapnel I picked up, and the not so helpful concussion from both blast and spider that was topping it off. I have to say, I took my time, as I watched Spiderman rolling back and forth in silent agony, clutching the spot his balls used to live, wondering if his twig would ever have berries again, or should he just switch to wearing panties. He eventually got his balls back, got his breath under control, and rolled to glare at me. I mean, I can feel the glare, but under the goggles it is a lot less effective.
“You were going to kill him!” Spiderman accused me.
“He was going to kill an entire floor of the Daily Bugle, then he tried to kill us just for added spice. He kills people at least once every couple of weeks, and he will continue to kill people whenever he needs to distract some hero from chasing him. He is going to kill people until someone kills him. If you keep letting him get away kid, he is going to kill someone you are going to miss.” I told him. I was a superhero now, sort of. I was a soldier first, and let me tell you, the correct answer to more problems that you think is a bullet through the brain pan. Some people cannot be stopped, they can only be killed.
“Killing people is always wrong” Spiderman insisted. I looked at his suit, and remembered Daredevil.
“Is this some sort of slogan they give out with every set of red lingerie? Because I got the same lecture from Daredevil about ninja murder-zombies, and I think the only people saying this are dudes swinging around in red long underwear.” I asked, frankly honestly curious.
He raised his hand to web me again, but I was done playing nice, I fell back off the rooftop and hid myself in glamour and shadow. I had a back full of shrapnel and was down enough blood to really feel it. I went home to Sugar and the joy-boys and girls to eat ice cream and watch Netflicks.
Last week it was Bridgerton, and this week it was Scooby Doo classic cartoons. Tomas was picking bits of pumpkin bomb from my back and thighs, while Sugar kept my mind off things by explaining the mystery of the day. Sugar was a bit of a philosopher, and her humour was nearly as dark as her skin. We watched the unmasking of the supernatural bad guy, only to find out it was just some rich white capitalist out to cheat his way into even more money.
“It’s always a rich dude.” Sugar mused.
I raised myself and grinned my wide, shark like tooth filled goblin grin. “Now, now, some of us are actual monsters.”
Sugar shook her head, and her face went flat as her eyes went far away. “No. The real monsters are always rich assholes. You may be green, fangy, and inhuman, but to really be a monster requires being born rich, and taught that only people as rich as you are actually human.”
I didn’t disagree entirely, but I mean, I am a goblin, and I know about the monster that I hold inside on a leash I only sometimes have a hold of. I rolled into a sitting position on the couch between Sugar and Tomas.
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“Well, the Scooby gang may always find their monsters end up being rich assholes, but my problem is a goblin. Well, and a spider too, but mostly a goblin. I am getting so sick of watching that bow legged bastard fly away on his little bat surfboard thing.”
Sugar shrugged and handed me an espresso flake ice cream container as she worked on her cookie dough, and Tomas his double chocolate fantasy. She went, “It’s the bat thing you have a problem with. The goblin you smack down just fine.”
Tomas snickered, looked at me side eye, and snickered again. I turned and gave him the fish eye. Tomas humour was fully embracing the “sassy gay friend” trope, and then amping it to heights, or depths, undreamed of by mortals with any sense of taste. I am not sure I wanted to know what he was laughing about. Sugar unfortunately, had decidedly less shame, or less impulse control that I did and asked him.
“Okay Tomas, what has you giggling. Share with the class or I will put hot sauce in your lube some night this week.” Sugar threatened.
Tomas blew her a kiss, and then overshared on command. “Well, I was just thinking, if he is a goblin like the boss here, even a little bit, it is no wonder he rides that thing bowlegged. I mean if he is wearing any sort of off the rack armour, there is no way there is enough truck for his junk.” Tomas said, reaching down and giving my Goblin jewels a squeeze.
“Hey, watch the hands!” I griped. Tomas thought my green skin, purple shirt and black leather pants uniform made me look like a BDSM gay pirate, and he was a lot more down for the look that I was to hear about it.
Sugar, ever supportive, laughed.
“Yeah seriously. As often as you joke about him as a gay pirate captain, you are not going to be playing cabin boy for that main mast on your first voyage.” Sugar said, now I had to use my spoon to smack both Sugar and Tomas trying to grab the goblin goodies. What happened to being terrified of fairy killing machines? When did we become targets of workplace sexual harassment? I was about to bitch about boundaries again when I put together what Tomas and Sugar had been saying, and the problem with my Goblin suddenly spawned a possible solution.
I caught the Green Goblin cruising two blocks from the Oscorp Tower. I was standing in the shadows of the roof of the chemical factory that reached half the height of the tower, and housed one of the core production centers of the biotech wing of the company as he cruised more or less towards me. If he was using his unaugmented sight in daytime he would have seen me. Unfortunately, his goggles used technology to do what goblin biology did for the real thing, and his night sight was sensor based. Sensors don’t do well with goblins.
I was done dealing with that damned bad glider thing, and I was sick of dealing with the pumpkin bombs (and related concussions). Sugar and Tomas had given me the key to the goblin, now it was time to unlock some whoop ass on this pretender to the goblin throne.
[Ccrraacckk] Two .50 Action Express magnum rounds hammered out almost as one as I let the Green Goblin have two hot shot over loaded soft nose slugs at the maximum energy my .50 Desert Eagle could handle, right into his balls.
Green Goblin wore the finest body armour I have ever seen, and it was full on bullet proof to anything under an anti-material rifle which was way too dangerous to start firing off in the heart of New York city and its squishy civilian population. It was, however, a little tight in the crotch for anyone whose body got enhancements that took you half way goblin south of the human. I don’t care how bullet proof your armour is, the Green Goblin just took roughly a ton of force to the balls, and whatever mental control rig he had for the glider, and however he usually controlled it manually were both out the window as the Green Goblin’s world dissolved into the feeling of a rampaging rhino to the testicles.
He fell from the sky, and I never let him hit the ground. I was on him like corruption on a politician. I rode him down, locking his right wrist and elbow, and let our combined impact on the ground shatter his right elbow, bending it the wrong way, and shorting out the augmentation in that arm. A powerhouse of a left swung into me as the breathless goblin gave into his rage, and used the last of his strength before the inability to breathe weakened him. Too bad the armour didn’t just make him a little slower, it restricted his range of motion just a bit. I let the arm push me over, and fell into an armbar. He raged, using strength far beyond human. It was almost goblin, like someone found a way to tap the essence of the goblin and fuse it into the human. For the record, that is a bad idea. There is only one thing that is wired to live with goblin urges and goblin biology and not turn into a psychotic murder spree with feet, and that is a goblin. We are selective murder sprees on feet, hell we can even do full on stealth scouting and innocent tricks depending on the circumstances. I mean, we do love to paint whole forests in blood and entrails, but sometimes we just steal the bras off sleeping nuns, and the drugs off cartel smugglers in the borderlands.
He gave me his best goblin rage, and I started to laugh. “Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!” I let my cackle rise from sane to really free form bliss, then broke his other arm. He screamed, and while his voice was masked by the voice filter in the mask, I swear I have heard it before.
I pulled his shattered arms behind his back, and used my teeth to cut my wrist and let my blood flow out. Weaving the blood into the black thorn manacles, I bound the fake goblin in the manacles that bound Merlin, the manacles that bound the Dagda, Until the sun rose to banish the power of the Unseelie and the dark, those manacles could bind a god. There is a reason the celts use our thorns in their artwork so much, this shit is epic nasty and left an impression on enough of their heroes that it became a whole thing in their artwork. I reached out and pulled off his mask and found myself shocked.
It all fell into place now. Why there was no record of his fencing the stolen goods. He never sold them. Why there was no record of his ever buying pumpkin bombs, or contracting repairs for glider or body armour. He didn’t have to. It was also the reason the Green Goblin knew about all those hush hush military projects. The Green Goblin was Norman Osborne, the scientist-capitalist king of New York arms industries, he was the East Coast Tony Stark, the big bad of the board room, the darling of bleeding edge research in everything from nanotech, biotech, agriculture, to armaments.
Holy shit. I just got Scooby Doo’d. I unmasked the “Green Goblin” whose monstrous insanity has left a trail of dead and wounded across New York for years, and found just another rich asshole out to make another billion.
I was in trouble, or would have been if I was just a hero. Guys like Norman Osborne and Tony Stark don’t go to jail, they get public spankings, and cut a few points of the next contract for the government’s next black project, or move a delivery date up on a weapon system that could save thousands, and then everybody is happy. This wasn’t Kingpin, a mobster whose criminal empire total value could be given to a dozen different schools in scholarships by Oscorp just because Norman wanted a photo op. Normal Osborne was too important to go down. His going down could bring down the government. It would be swept away and people not willing to sign a non disclosure agreement to keep it quiet would be made to disappear by the same law enforcement they tried to turn Osborne in to.
Luckily, I am just a goblin.
“You think you can stop me? NO ONE CAN STOP ME. You have no idea what you are dealing with. None of them do.” Norman raged, but I looked into his eyes, and saw a mirror. There was a goblin behind his eyes, the eyes of one of the finest scientists the world has ever known has been tainted with the rage and ambition of the goblin, and only a pathetic human will to hold it back. Oh no Norman, I know exactly what I am dealing with.
“Sorry Norman, but this town isn’t big enough for two goblins, and you are too dangerous to be allowed to live.” I said, raising my hands, ready to plunge my hand into his heart and eat it. To be honest, the goblin spirit had infected him. I wasn’t being an edgelord, if I didn’t eat his heart, I am not sure the goblin spirit would stay dead. I don’t know what he did to himself to bring out the goblin in him, but if I don’t eat his heart, whoever plugs into the same artificial enhancement is going to end up just as tainted as Normy boy.
My hand started to plunge down to give him the only mercy I can offer to a man broken by powers he should have left alone, when the single most irritating sound in New York ruined it all.
[Thwip] [Thwip]
The first strand yanked me off the goblin as Spiderman hit the roof in full swing, closer to a hundred kph than fifty. The second caught the unmasked Green Goblin and flicked him off the edge of the roof we were on, and onto one a floor below in the annex.
“You were going to kill him!” Screamed Spiderman
“And I would have done it, if it wasn’t for you meddling kids!” I offered in homage to Scooby Doo, and Sugar, who were both right this time.
I yanked the webbing connecting me to Spiderman and had the satisfaction of his letting go half way to me to tuck and roll away from my claws. I mean not that I was going to gut the little hero, but it is nice to see he knows that I could. Honestly, I worry this guy doesn’t take his enemies seriously enough. One of them is going to kill him, or someone he cares about, because he is holding back.
He came at me in a mix of fists and feet that showed he had a lot of spirit, more speed than he ought to have, and enough power to make me feel like I need to spend more time in the gym. What he lacked was the sheer bloody minded-ness of a real killer. He wanted to stop me, not to hurt me. If this guy had half of Daredevils talent, I would be a red smear on the rooftop pavement. As it was, I was laughing my ass off, playing slap hands.
Slap hands is a game we play as senior belts with juniors. They are free to attack however they want, and you simply slap the attack away. He was stronger than I was, and faster, but he wasn’t used to putting that strength into attacks at speed. He has spent so long fighting like a weak sister so he doesn’t accidentally hurt somebody that when he puts his real power into a punch they are so slow you could autograph his flexing muscles as the arm extends, or nap as you wait for the sidekick to snap out. I like him, I swear he is going to die young, but he is like the kid my parents tried to raise, while I am the semi reformed murder machine they actually raised. In a better world I would be him, but now I am left slapping the shit out of him in the hopes that he got a little more Daredevil or Punisher in his holy saint of Spider before I had to attend his funeral.
He flinched and dove to the side, since I wasn’t attacking, I figured that was his spider sense thingy going off. I collapsed straight down to see the Green Goblin blasting overhead on his bat glider. Spiderman looked shock that the bad guy he was here to save from me, and hand over to the justice system that will never be able to hold people as rich and powerful as Norman Osborne, had ruined his whole scene by making a get away.
I gave a nice slow clap.
Spiderman punched me thirty feet to land skidding across the rooftop. I laughed my best goblin laugh.
“You know what kid, you want him that badly? He’s all yours. Don’t come crying to me when he finally kills someone you know, because that guy isn’t going to stop until someone puts him out of all of our misery.” I offered in undisguised disgust. I had been a soldier before I knew I was a goblin, and I knew how the world punished half measures.
I jumped off the roof, feeling the twilight give way to the dawn. The first touch of the sun’s rays would ruin my thorn manacles, and I am pretty sure the Spider has no way of tracking our little billionaire genius psycho to all his possible bolt holes. Spiderman won’t let anyone else stop the Green Goblin, and he lacks the will to do it himself. This will all end in tears.
I stepped out of the alley, letting my glamour wrap me in Nick Condon’s illusion again. I called a cab to pick me up, then texted Sugar. I would be cooking breakfast for the whole crew this morning. I owed her that for laughing at her Scooby Doo wisdom. In the end, the real monster was just another rich asshole. It is enough to make a grown goblin cry.