The wagon was nothing more than a thick, wooden platform on six, oversized wheels—one of which squeaked loudly as it rolled. Bolted to the platform was a large steel cage full of sobbing people all huddled together. There were about nine of them as far as I could see. It was near dusk, though, and the thick forest that flanked the road wasn’t apt for letting in much light at this hour. So it was hard to make out much detail, especially from behind the overgrown shrubbery Yuri and I had made our hideout.

Two giant horse-hogs, which looked exactly as their name implied, pulled the wagon up the mountain incline, huffing and puffing with wet, dripping snouts.

Four hog-goblins walked beside the wagon. One in front, two on each side, and one at the rear. A final fifth sat on the wagon’s bench holding the reins.

Every hog-goblin I’d seen so far wore the exact same padded armor, save for a slight difference in color, and these ugly chumps were no exception.

The rearward hog snapped a whip at the back of the cage.

Someone screamed.

“Quit yer bellyaching,” said the hog, snapping the whip again to emphasize his command.

The sobbing stopped after that.

They’d come from Bangwilly Forest and were headed up to Rockwallow Hallow. The road they’d taken was much different than the narrow pass I’d come through. It still wound it’s way up the tall mountain, spiraling like a screw, but this road was much wider, it’s slope much flatter—much more conducive for transport vehicles.

When Yuri and I spotted them from a ledge up above, they were about a mile away from a second city gate on the far side of the mountain. We had just been about to give up, having waited the whole day for a single-cart transport to pass by, when this crew rounded a corner.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said the lead hog-goblin as I stepped out onto the road to block their path. The hog driver pulled on the reins and the horse-hogs stumbled to a halt, squealing in protest.

“What is this?” said the driver.

There were too many shadows to get a clear view of the lead hog’s facial expression from fifteen feet away, but confused yet amused would have been a solid guess.

“Hi there,” I said.

None of the hogs responded, only looked back and forth between themselves.

“I was wondering if I could borrow your wagon,” I said.

A moment passed, then the lead hog tossed his head back and let out an uproarious laugh. The rest of the hogs followed his example.

“My wagon?” said the lead hog. “This one right here? You want to borrow it, you say?”

“Yep,” I said. “That’s the one. Unless you’ve got a nicer one up your ass or something.”

The hog took a step forward and pulled a sword from his belt. “How about I give you something up your ass, human?”

I pulled a crunch grenade from my inventory and chucked it at him as hard as I could. I was surprised when he actually parried the little ball mid-air. I wasn’t surprised, however, when the sharp impact triggered the spacial implosion.

The hog stopped, momentarily blinded by the sphere of blue light that encompassed his sword. He lifted his weapon to eye level to find he now had a stubby hilt and nothing more.

“Da hell? What’d you do to my sword?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Go get 'em, Fuckis,” said the hog driving the wagon. “That’s one of them wizard humans. He’ll sell high to the Church, he will!”

“Wait,” I yelled, holding out my hands. “Hold on. Your name is Fuckis?”

The lead hog turned back to me. “There something wrong with my name, human?”

“No, I … I think it’s fitting. I like it. It just sounds like your mother didn’t like you, is all. She must have known you’d grow up to be a shit-shucking, kidnapping, pork knobler.”

The pamphlet Todd gave me on the hog-goblin slave trade network routes also provided a lot of valuable insight into hog-goblin culture, which included a list of the most insulting things one could call a hog-goblin. Pork knobler and shit-shucker were on the top of that list.

One of the other hogs gasped and put a hand over his mouth. The lead hog looked utterly shocked, completely taken aback.

“What … what did you … just call m—”

“I called you a pork knobler, and also you’re a … one second.” I ignited my thumb candle and pulled out the pamphlet to find the phrase I wanted. Ah, there it was. “And your mother’s a cork-gobbling conch boinker.”

The lead hog threw down his sword stub, stomped his boot, and screamed at me so loud it made me jump.

Then he ran for me.

I smiled, turned tail, and ran up the road. I made a circular motion with my hand and a simple, wooden door appeared about ten feet away. I slid to a stop in front of it, kicked it open, and closed it behind me.

Inside was a small wooden cubicle, about what you’d expect to see in a magical, fantasy world porta-potty. Only this one was made entirely of polished wood. And where there should have been a plastic seat, there was only a hole. Granted, a hole filled with a swirling, deadly void.

I only had enough time to turn around and sit before the door swung open and I was hit with a wave of dust. Not dust from the road. Hog-goblin dust. My pissed off pursuer simply disintegrated into an infinite number of pixels, all of which seemed to spray me in the face at top speed.

I walked out coughing and feeling a bit violated. I’d have to remember to keep my mouth shut next time.

After I clawed the sand out of my eyes, I gave the door a flick of the wrist and it vanished behind me.

Someone screamed.

A struggle was happening in the shadows around the wagon. Bodies scrambled this way and that, some of them falling over each other. Grunts and profanities filled the air, and so did the sound of blades.

The struggle died down as I approached, still dusting myself off. I found Yuri hunched over the body of a dead hog-goblin, doing her nasty business.

I found my crunch grenade. It was softly glowing in the dirt next to the face of another dead hog-goblin. Another lay sprawled out and spread eagle on the backside of the wagon.

Yuri’s two MODs—their jedi robes now covered in hog blood—stood stoic and silent, shoulder to shoulder next to the wagon, knives still in hand.

The prisoners had gotten excited by this point and were shouting things at me. It all blended together, and I couldn't make any of it out. The horse-hogs, however, stayed surprising calm throughout this sudden transition of power.

“Where’s the last one?” I said. “The driver.”

“Got away,'' said Yuri, as she tore her organ of choice free of it’s wet, boney container.

I walked around to the back of the cage, whipped out my thumb candle out, and found the lock. With a simple touch of my Spaceball, it snapped open and fell to the ground.

Each one of the prisoners thanked me profusely as I helped them off the platform. They were all different ages, genders, and races. The hogs seemed to have absolutely no criteria or preference when it came to who they grabbed.

I made sure each person had a shiny red apple before sending them on their way. It would be a long trek back down the mountain on foot. A better guesture may have been to offer to take them back home, but that would have taken too long and this wagon was a crucial part of Yuri's and my plan.

“Do me a favor and spread the word,” I said to a young looking elf. “Team Flesh Balls is here to save the day.”

“Flesh balls? Really?” said Yuri, now working on her third extraction.

“Team Space Garden?” I offered.

Yuri just shook her head and continued to gut and cut.

Over the past few days, Yuri and I had worked on growing her hidden flesh garden behind the Journeyman’s Stay. I steered conversations, nudging her to divulge more about her past, but she was a closed book—a locked box that only unintentionally slipped hints here and there. There was depth to her, that was obvious. But there was also something dark hidden behind those Korean eyes—most likely something tragic and horrible. This was no surprise, though, given where we both had ended up.

I helped the last of the prisoners out and watched them disappear down the road. And that’s when the notifications started popping up. Just as I pulled them up, the theme song from Jaws began to play in the back of my mind.

"What the?" I said, then something hit me from behind hard and fast. My face slammed into the dirt and something sharp slid into the meat of my back.