3

The dialogue box disappeared, and after a moment there was a sudden feeling like that big tower-drop ride at every amusement park, or maybe a doomed elevator; like the ground had been pulled out from under me and suddenly I was plummeting in a free-fall. No wind howled around me, there was only darkness and silence. My stomach lurched until the sense of movement slowly eased, and then I was hovering again. A moment later I began to feel a slow sweep toward unconsciousness, like what you get when an anaesthesia begins to take effect. The forced wave of sleep overtook me and my awareness faded.

When my eyes opened again, I was sure it was because I had woken up and this stupid dream was over. It wasn’t, it was just weirder. I was lying on my back on something lumpy that felt like grass and tree roots and cool earth. As my eyes focused, I was greeted by the sight of interlocking palm-sized green leaves backlit by dappled sunlight, far above me. I took in a slow, shaky breath, relieved to be away from the bizarre white space and its unpleasant occupants, but equally bewildered by my new surroundings and the fact that I hadn’t awoken in my bed as I was certain would be the case. I had no idea how much time had passed since the all-encompassing darkness but it was peaceful here, beautiful even, in a way that was disorienting for my shell-shocked brain. The air here smelled like a summer afternoon, and a soft breeze rustled the trees. Insects buzzed among the foliage, a constant backdrop interspersed with birdsong. I slowly sat up, propping myself up on an elbow and looking slowly around.

The green canopy hung over me, and I lay in a small clearing in a forest that I could only describe as idyllic. There were carpets of lush grass spread between huge old-growth trees that stood curiously far apart, not like the condensed maze of smaller trees battling for light that I was used to back home. Sunlight shone down through the huge trees in angled spears that caught on dust motes and other tiny bits of detritus drifting on the wind. I might have mistaken the place for a tucked away space in a cultivated park, but the trees seemed to go on endlessly in all directions, the sun occasionally breaking through the dense canopy and leaving light pooled on the forest floor. No paths led away from the clearing, but it would be easy enough to navigate my way through the widely spaced trees. I stood and dusted my faded jeans off. I was still dressed as was in the strange white space. So, no fancy spandex death game outfit, I thought ruefully as I patted myself over, then touched my face - nothing seemed to have changed, as far as my body went. I felt fine, beyond the staggering confusion incited by the weird-ass series of events that had led me here.

I still didn’t really believe any of this was real, in spite of the fact that it felt precisely like reality, but all my senses were engaged and reporting as usual. As if to hammer the point home, something bit me on the arm and I slapped at it reflexively. I saw the fluttering wings of a small insect, iridescent in the sun, dancing away. The fact that I could feel pain or discomfort was not lost on me. My lips compressed as I looked around, my jaw clenching slightly as I mulled over the implications.

I tried to recall the last thing that had happened before any of this, and I drew an absolute blank as I tried to plumb the depths of my short term memory for any kind of path that might have led to whatever this was. It took some time, standing there in the midst that undeniably beautiful forest clearing, before a scene began to rebuild itself in my mind. I remembered playing guitar, seated on my bed in the basement apartment I shared with Abi. I had been zoned out, staring down at my hands on the Fender Telecaster American Standard that was probably my most valuable possession. I had bought it something like fifteen years earlier, in a different life. I was supposed to pick Abi up from school that day, I remembered, and I was killing time until I needed to leave. It was my day with her - her mother would take her later in the week; she was working with her dipshit boyfriend on what they called ‘content’. This one was a YouTuber. Yeah.

I had been plucking idly at the strings of the guitar, playing nothing in particular. And that was it. I didn’t remember leaving, a car trip, or seeing Abi at all. It just stopped, right there, like it had been a clipped film reel. They had told me I’d be dead if they hadn’t ‘saved’ me, but that didn’t make any sense, given what I remembered. That was foreboding. Whatever was in that ‘memory edit,’ it had to be important - or entertaining - enough to motivate someone to pluck me from my own life and punish me for something I didn’t even know I’d done.

Panic started to rise in my chest as I imagined Abi waiting alone, left knowing nothing if I simply failed to show up that day. Just inexplicably absent from that point forward, from her entire life. It dawned on me then that, wherever I was, she was entirely out of reach until I figured this out. This looked just like Earth. Maybe this could just be the wilderness somewhere, maybe not even very far from where we lived. Maybe I could just walk into the trees and find my way home. Or not. For now, my heart wrenching need to protect her was absolutely impotent. As far as she knew, I had disappeared and abandoned her without a word. That horrified me; I loved that little girl so much it scared me.

For the past nine years, she had been the only reason I got up in the morning. We were practically attached at the hip. I knew how scared she would be once it became clear that I was just gone, and that took no time at all to break my god-damned heart. Hot tears started to gather in my eyes as I imagined all the questions and horrible answers that would be haunting her young mind. She was so sweet. She was nine years old. She didn’t deserve anything like this. Fuck whoever took me away from her, I thought. Even for one day.

My sorrow and anxiety transmuted into anger, then clenching rage, and then black hatred as the motives of my ‘abductors’ were made painfully clear. You sick fucks put me here for this exact reason. Because you knew. You knew that I would do fucking anything to get back. And I would. Anything. Whatever the fuck this was, dream or nightmare, truth or lie, getting back to her was the only thing I wanted. Screw whatever their prize was, nothing mattered but getting home. Either I was going to wake up and none of this mattered, or this was real and I was going to burn down anything that came between me and that goal.

This bold proclamation had my heart filled with vengeful wrath when the music began to play. It swelled up slowly; sweeping strings that came from below, rising into a soundscape that unfolded around me into a long, held note that hinted at aching sadness. Then began a ponderous, slow piano melody that introduced a sense of possibility, of potential awaiting fulfilment. It was like a promise of beauty just beyond the horizon, and it instantly reminded me of a Final Fantasy soundtrack. It was just playing. From everywhere. I slowly spun around, looking for some kind of source for the sound when I stopped suddenly, agape. Golden, softly luminescent words had formed, in a crisp, wide font, floating directly in front of me.

Coliseum Games Presents

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, given the earlier dialogue box. The words slowly faded, and the music continued to swell. A few hundred feet away, a flock of large black birds, ravens or crows, burst from the canopy up into the sky. I could hear them calling out in indignation as something presumably disturbed them from below. It was the first sign of any real life beyond the buzz of insects. I was watching them fly away, brows furrowed, as more floating golden text appeared before my eyes, apparently following my gaze wherever I looked. More text appeared.

A Potentia Corp Production

“Credits. Jesus Christ.” I spat, disbelieving. I instantly regretted speaking. I could hear a faint rustling in the bushes some distance away, not far from where the crows had taken flight, and I froze. The text faded like before, and the sound of shifting leaves continued, closer now. The music, seeming to play from all around me, took on a note of tension and uncertainty. I tensed, and my breath caught in my chest as I could now see the disturbance in the foliage, the swaying and shaking of branches and shrubs as they were pushed aside. I thought about running, or at least hiding, but that felt silly. It didn’t seem too large, and I’d feel pretty stupid if it was just a possum or something. So, I just stood there, like an idiot, waiting.

The accompaniment of the music was starting to rise past uncertainty into anxiety, and consequently my heart was starting to beat faster. This soundtrack bullshit was having a definite psychological effect, just like a movie scene. This was just a forest, I told myself. Whatever it was, it wasn’t big enough to be a bear. Bears were about as bad as it gets in a forest, right? Everything was fine. Just a small, harmless animal wandering through the forest. Another line of text faded into view.

In association with CircleSoft-Pinnacle and Longview Studios

The sounds were getting nearer, maybe twenty feet from where I was standing.. Whatever was coming, it was coming straight for the clearing. I entered that sort of half-crouch thing you do when you’re trying to prepare for a sudden threat, my muscles tensed with potential energy. A new line of text began to appear then, large and shining gold as it unfolded into an elegant cursive script that read:

The Fell and the Fey

Below, in a different, flowing printed font, it said:

Part 26: Redemption Arc

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

And then a god-damned goblin stepped into the clearing. The drawn out, wavering note that had been playing suddenly stopped, and the sounds of the forest around me stood out in stark contrast to the now-absent music. The little bastard was about three and a half feet tall, with mottled green skin, beady black eyes, a ridiculous hooked nose and jagged yellow teeth that filled a wicked grin. So, your typical, run of the mill RPG goblin. Except real. Really real. He - it looked like a he, anyway - was small, but he was ripped. Corded muscle rippled beneath the pebbled green skin of his too-long arms, and his legs, though squat, had thick, muscled thighs and clawed feet that dug into the earth. He was wearing some kind of leather jerkin-thing and a belt with a loin cloth. His calves and knees were covered in leather armor and he held a short sword. The blade was stereotypically notched and jagged looking, which might have been cliche any other time, but right now it looked as though it would be particularly uncomfortable when jammed into my guts.

If I had to identify something that was decidedly different about this goblin from any other game-based rpg goblin, aside from the fact that it was living and breathing and standing in front of me, it was most definitely his murderous intent. It was palpable. This little bastard looked like he not only wanted to kill me, but fucking eat me. Like I was going to be the hearty meal he sat down to after whatever the hell goblins did all day. Kill dumbasses like me, I guess. This kind of malicious intent was on another level from having someone want to hit you - you know, the average level of violence most of us could expect in a modern society. Someone wanting to kill you, to straight-up end your life, is a whole other ballgame. Something consuming you, however, is fucked up in a wholly different way.

This feeling is what occurred to me as I stared at the goblin past the sparkling golden font of the words that still hung in the air between us. I vaguely wondered if he was seeing them too, but backwards. The letters faded and a single, lonely violin played that long high note every cliche horror movie uses right before a jump scare. The goblin did that cocky, asshole thing where you flip the grip on the sword back and forth, and his grin widened.

The violin note held for an eerie moment as we stood staring at each other. The goblin crouched, blade readied, then suddenly booming tribal-style drums erupted and the melody reignited, this time accompanied by the pulsing, pounding beat. Right on cue, the green little psychopath surged forward and leaped into the air towards me, shrieking and flailing like a bodybuilding toddler on methamphetamine. The fucker must have flown ten feet straight forward, hurtling at me at chest height with his wicked sword raised and stabbing straight for my throat.

Now, I think it’s important to include a few qualifiers here for what happened next. See, I spent a few years in my mid to late teens learning martial arts. Okinawan-style karate, and Japanese swordsmanship, specifically. I was good, too. I almost never lost, actually. Sparring matches, tournaments, the whole thing. However, I eventually got to the point where hanging out with my friends was vastly more appealing than standing in a row in a school gymnasium yelling shit while punching the air, so I quit. Anyway, I’m a pretty chill dude, and I’ve never really made anyone mad enough that they wanted to fight me, so I’ve never really been in a real fight. I used to believe that those martial arts lessons, even if they were a little unrealistic in terms of real world street fighting, would still serve me well if I ever got into a violent confrontation. I was wrong.

Instead of a calm, cold and calculated side kick, or a perfectly executed straight punch to meet the charge, I stuck out both arms like they could shield me, my eyes instinctively squeezing shut in anticipation of the collision, and entirely without meaning to, I caught him. Right out of the air. My hands snagged him right under his little armpits and he howled in outrage, squirming and pinwheeling his blade at me like a murderous baby in the throes of an epic tantrum. The blade slashed inches from my face as I held the squealing, enraged goblin straight out before me. I heard myself saying, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” Both of us realised at the same moment that all the goblin had to do was slash at my arms, and I’d likely drop him. I panicked as his flailing dagger drew a red line across my forearm, and I threw the little shit as far as I could. He tumbled through the air and landed near the centre of the clearing, a tangle of green limbs. He scrambled to get to his feet. I was in full survival mode now, pumped full of adrenaline.

My heart was thundering and all I could think about was stopping this thing from killing me. I darted forward towards him as he struggled to his feet, his short sword still clutched in his hand. He barely had time to raise it before I drew back and kicked him, “this is Sparta!” style, right in the face. The blow took him under his chin and his head snapped back violently. He cried out as he careened backwards into the trunk of a large tree. He must have been stunned, because he had dropped his short sword, which lay between us. I hurled myself forward and grabbed it, fumbling the hilt into my palm and raising the weapon. He had pushed himself back to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, and from his back he drew another blade, this one shorter and wider, hooked at the tip. Red blood, not green or black ichor as one might expect from a goblin, was dripping from his mouth, but he was still wearing that jagged leer. His black eyes glittered with malice. He spoke then, in a language that sounded wholly foreign to me, rough and rasping and clipped, and as he spoke I could see blood on his teeth.

“To-ahk no aglieph basda, oon-torta!” he growled as he switched grips on his dagger.

“Fuck you too, buddy” I said, my chest heaving as I leveled the notched and jagged short sword at him. I was fully committed now, this was going to be him or me. Screw dying to a god-damned goblin. I had no experience with a short sword, but at least all the sparring I’d done with a longer sword had gotten me used to close-quarters combat and basic blocks and strikes. The goblin and I began to slowly circle each other, and my eyes stayed riveted to his shoulders. I avoided his eyes; the eyes can lie. The body tells true, however, and I saw the telltale sign as he tipped his dominant shoulder forward and darted in for a straight lunge with his hooked dagger.

I swung the short sword in a quick horizontal slash about even with his face and it forced him to abort his lunge. This left him back footed so I brought the blade around and stepped into a downward angled slash at the point where his shoulder met his neck. He was too quick, and agile as a hellspawned monkey. He sidestepped to the outside of my slash, letting the blade whistle past his face, then sprung at my exposed side, cutting a hot line across my ribs. I grunted in pain and distantly felt the wet, sticky heat of blood seeping from the wound on my side and the slash across my forearm. Panicked by the injury and fearing a follow-up, I spun around sideways toward him and threw a weak sweeping block that still managed to stop a thrust toward my flank. The blades clanged as we clashed, then he quickly darted back to reset, and we squared off again. I held the blade in my right hand, the point levelled horizontally towards him, my left foot and empty left hand forward.

The thumping, rolling beat of the music, now frantic, continued to thunder around us, ratcheting up the tension. Sweat had begun to drip down my forehead into my eyes, and I squinted, the burning sensation briefly clouding my vision. It was enough of a cue that the goblin literally leapt at the opportunity, bounding forward and hurtling up into the air straight at my chest, shrieking what I must have been a goblin war cry. I desperately tried to intercept him, but his leap was too fast and he crashed into me, pinning my shortsword against me. He straddled my abdomen with his thighs, like a god-damned monkey, and clung to me with surprising strength, his claws digging deep into my shoulder as he writhed and wriggled.

He drew his arm back for a downward stab into the side of my neck, but my free hand whipped up and caught his wrist. We spun, me still standing, him clinging to me. I stumbled with his weight and tried to shove him off me, nearly toppling us both. He growled fiercely, his face only inches from mine, his reeking, foetid breath hot against my skin. The corded muscles in his arm strained as he tried to drive the blade down, but my grip around his wrist was desperate and fueled by adrenaline, and my strength, though far from exceptional, was enough to hold him back and start forcing the dagger away. He howled and his mouth gaped wide as he flailed his head and tried to bite my neck. Without thinking, I headbutted him right in his ridiculous hooked nose and felt cartilage crunch.

My vision was briefly full of stars, but he was far more stunned than I. We were at the edge of the clearing now, and I whirled around and drove him straight into a huge tree trunk with all my weight, slamming his back into the rough bark. It was enough to knock the wind from his lungs and the dagger from his hand. His body had gone limp and he was no longer gripping me, I let his back slide down the tree and I went with him, sinking to my knees. He was starting to struggle again and I slammed my open palm hard against his chest, pressing him back into the tree. I pulled back my arm, the blade of the short sword angled straight at his face.

For a moment, I hesitated. I’d never really even hit anyone out of anger, let alone stabbed someone. I could have knocked him out; I didn’t have to kill the little bastard. Then his black eyes, gleaming with unrelenting malice, looked straight up into mine and his mouth twisted in the feral snarl of a cornered beast. I saw no rationality, no sign of fear even, only an unadulterated bloodlust that was absolute. He began to claw at my arm, leaving jagged scratches that dragged through the blood already leaking from my forearm.

He struggled to rise but I held firm. I gritted my teeth, made my heart into stone, and drove the blade straight into his throat as hard as I could. I felt the sword scrape bone, and the tip slam into the bark of the tree as it pierced through his green flesh. Those eyes raged against me even as he died. A gurgling half-snarl, half-wheeze sounded from his ruined throat, and red blood bubbled around the blade. I stared at the dead thing for a long time, my chest heaving, still holding the creature pressed hard back against the tree, but his body had gone limp. His head drooped just to the side, chin resting against the blade buried in his throat. His tongue lolled out, blood draining from his crushed nose and fanged mouth to patter against the leather jerkin he wore.

I pulled the sword free slowly, and let the goblin crumple onto his side at the foot of the large tree. Holy shit, I thought. Holy fucking shit. I just killed a god-damned goblin. A legit, living, breathing, real goblin. I had also almost gotten myself murdered in the process. These little horrors were supposed to be on the bottom rung of the monster world, often the first thing you faced in nearly any fantasy-themed RPG, and I had nearly pissed myself. Dead is dead, the man had said. I looked down at the dead goblin, then back at my hand still gripping the short sword.

I noted the music had stopped as I stared down at the blood dripping from the sword. The unreality of the entire situation struck me again, a bitter acknowledgement of the absurdity of it all. This time, however, I pushed it down and away. I was bleeding, I was injured, and it fucking hurt. It was getting hard to pretend this was a dream. I was exhausted and adrenaline surged through me still. I watched my hand tremble as another rivulet of blood dripped from the downward-angled blade. I had almost died. Not some theoretical death described abstractly by the psychos who had, apparently, really sent me here. Real death, in real time. It ultimately didn’t matter whether I believed it or not. In fact, denial of the reality right in front of me was likely to get me killed. I heaved a sigh and looked up at the sky as though I might catch a glimpse of the real enemy; the sick bastards who put me here. It was just in time to see the pillar of swirling amber light shoot straight up into the sky like a spear.