The battle raged on below us. Goblins kept on streaming through, and the templars were forced to take part, after just waiting in reserve for most of the battle.

The paladin among them shouted some orders, someone in more ornate armor lined with gold. He was supposed to be over level 40, I was pretty sure.

The rest of the templars followed the order, bunching together into one unit, each armed with a shield and either a sword or a mace. Most of them were humans, with some ogres and centaurs mixed in. I knew their levels typically ranged from ten to twenty, more skewed towards the latter given their experience as warriors who braved danger… sometimes.

They were really good at staying alive if nothing else. They advanced as a group, systematically dismantling the goblins in their path, descending upon a few at a time while the rest brought their shield up to protect their group from every other angle. The movement was practiced, and I noticed how they left no gaps, even when there weren’t any enemies nearby.

The column of specialized soldiers was effective, if a bit inefficient. A woman who was attacking got her shield grabbed, and then pried off just enough for a hobgoblin to hit her in the head with a mace. She staggered back, and the other templars quickly pulled her back as another took her place. Light magic was used to heal the wounded templar and soon they were advancing again, tearing into the offending enemy with sword and mace, before advancing even further and putting more creatures to their slow-moving grinder.

There was one Templar not among them, and it was the one who was a paladin. He was walking casually by himself, easily slashing at the enemies that barred his path. One hobgoblin refused to fall to a single sweep, and he looked at the bleeding creature with utter contempt. The paladin kicked the monster, stepped on it, and then took one too many stabs at its head.

He kept walking afterwards as if nothing had happened. Someone about as strong as my parents, but somehow above it all.

Speaking of my parents… I could see that my mom was doing fine, actually using a spear instead of her staff to conserve on mana. She uncharacteristically stayed in the same spot, only moving a little for incredibly tight dodges, and then stabbing all comers, using their own momentum against them.

Who I worried for however, were the people not here. My dad, Baston’s parents, Luine and Salaire. They were at the front lines, and that things were this bad here did not bode well for our vanguard.

Something lumbered from beyond the trees. A creature of green made itself known, larger than any that had come before. I knew it to be a goblin lord, a goblin that had reached the level of 40 in some of its Mutations but not capable of magic in the same way a shaman was. It walked like a gorilla, with misshapen large arms. The creature walked through the traps, suffering countless wounds but I figured they were superficial. Tied to its chest and protected from the rain of projectiles above was a goblin shaman.

She brandished her creepy wand, and those among the trees began missing more of their attack. It was hard to see from my vantage point, but the movements up there seemed more frantic and confused. One belfegor woman even ended up falling, only to be promptly crushed by the goblin lord upon her landing.

The duo of monsters got past the fence easily, barreling through the reinforced construction like it wasn’t even there. I saw a shadowy mist expand from the shaman, rapidly spreading through the air. Something clicked in my mind, and I understood what a goblin shaman’s magic was all about. They made use of the wicked mana naturally excreted by their fellow goblins, big or small, dead or alive. Something that should be incredibly difficult to do, but these nigh mindless beasts had managed it. The goblin shaman here had just activated the previously directionless wicked mana floating through the air.

Chaos ensued. The adventurers who were generally fighting as separate parties began turning on each other, even their own teammates. A crustecar barreled through their former teammates, taking an awful lot of punishment and disrupting the battle lines. A human man plunged his sword into a kobold friend’s mouth. A human woman hid behind a shield, fending off a hammer and an axe from her ogre allies, only for a goblin to slice at her legs, causing her to fall off balance and succumb to those that had long accompanied her.

The mental effects were only the start of it, however. Our defenders began to falter, their bodies weakened, and suffering grave damage judging by the vomited blood. And the vomitted vomit.

Mom!

I quickly scanned the crowd for my mother, and found her to be pretty much fine. She had switched to using her staff, and was keeping her distance while she hammered away at the goblin lord with a strong and consistent gust of fiery wind, interspersed with rapidly freezing waves of water and massive boulders. Luine had somehow found her way here, and was engaging the goblin lord from the sidelines, dealing upon it a thousand cuts. I don’t even know if I’m speaking metaphorically. It’s hard to follow how many attacks she actually manages to land. Although few of them bit very far into our enemy.

Therick suddenly grabbed my arm, he spoke with a furious expression.

“You wanted to watch! You’re always like this, pulling us into danger! What if I shove you headfirst there!? Would you enjoy that!??”

I blinked, my mind having trouble processing the words I was hearing. My answer came before my brain had even caught up to the situation. “Fuck off! You could’ve just said no, you twit! Tell me that isn’t awesome!”

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I gestured towards the miasma that obstructed our vision. Blood, gore, and violence still plenty visible, only distorted. A few wisps of the magic must have reached us from up here.

“It’s not awesome,” I mumbled, getting up and walking away. I found my footing unsteady, I felt sick. “Everyone, stay calm. Focus on me. Focus on our retreat.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Angerly snapped. “Look at all that! It is amazing! I’m staying to watch!”

“No!” Snapping at them will only have the opposite effect. “No,” I repeated, softly this time. “The wicked magic. It reaches us. Twisting our minds. We need to get away, and we need to keep calm while doing so.”

The rest of my party took a few moments to think that over before wordlessly following my lead. We grabbed onto ledges and windows, carefully making our way down, until finally I stood on unyielding ground. I communicated to the rest of my party with a nod, but before I could make any more distance, I felt the weight and the attention of the world itself upon my shoulders.

I looked back at the battlefield. I had to. I could not conceptualize doing anything else in that moment.

My mom had drawn a full ritual circle, adding some final touches with her oversized brush. Luine tried to target the shaman, but she finally got hit by a retaliatory strike, sending her careening back. She was barely able to avoid getting grabbed. Salaire then dropped from the canopy and held on, getting battered as she squeezed on the towering goblin’s neck. Her white coat was quickly being dyed red, hardening further. So did her wounds heal at a visible pace.

“Fissure’s Feast.”

Mom spoke the words, it echoed unnaturally into our very minds. The ritual that she drew began to evaporate into a wild crackle of energy.

The ground shook.

Salaire hurriedly separated herself from her prey. She was caught in midair by her wife, and pulled to safety. A gaping fissure then opened up right underneath the goblin lord, and he fell along with the shaman he carried. The crack on the earth then rapidly ground to a close, but the goblin lord managed to toss the shaman up, right at the ledge.

The paladin from before barred its way, and he plunged his sword into the goblin's arm, sending the utterly dangerous enemy tumbling back from whence they’d come.

And then the earthen mouth closed entirely, crushing those that remained within.

I could almost hear the planet burp.

~~~

The miasma cleared. The mana was still there, but it had become dormant again upon the shaman’s death. It was still a danger, of course, but not nearly to the extent that it was before.

The fountans were called upon, to point their mana founts at the problem, and dilute the wicked mana with their own. This would take a while.

Wounds were being tended to, the attacked sections of the tree wall were being quarantined for the time being, and I saw my dad arrive from afar, towering over his peers.

“Dad!” I came running, and the rest of The Harvesters followed after me. Granuel made a similar shriek, gunning for his own parents just behind my own.

I crashed into my dad and the man smiled, patting me on the head. I noticed how his armor was damaged, and he had some new scars over his arms and legs. Healing magic typically couldn’t heal entire limbs so he didn’t lose them, but scars only appeared with the most grievous wounds or those left out for too long.

Mom, Luine, and Salaire caught up to us afterward, and we were filled in about what happened in the front lines. There were apparently three whole shamans in the group, alongside all the goblin lords, which was why the defense went as badly as it did. Those monsters were over level forty in at least some Mutations, and other than the Piss Hunters, there were only a handful, if that, with the same sort of levels on our side.

“The wicked mana will stay there. It persists far more than other types of magic, no matter how we dilute it. Curse stuff typically does–”

Mom was explaining some technical magic stuff when a bright idea crossed my mind.

“What if we infuse it into a weapon? Make something cool!?”

Mom cackled at my suggestion. “That’s a good way to think, Haell! But cursed weapons are typically more trouble than they’re worth. We’re actually sweeping away all weapons from the site, and perhaps quarantining the wall on this side. This tree wall project was weird to begin with, mostly started for more resources, but fewer would have died if we had a proper wall instead… though I do like their vibes. Eh, overall win, but now they'll have to put up a proper wall. Goblin attacks are bad enough by themselves, but the aftermath… fucking hell.”

“I want to do it. I want to make a cursed weapon.” Someone was on my side. None other than Moonwash!

Mom shook her head. “This concentration is bad. It will cause chaos for the town, and damage our structures. Twist them. But it’s not actually enough for the formation of a cursed weapon. Or at least, the chances are low.”

“What about the staff of that goblin shaman?”

“You…” Mom sighed. “You kids are way too clever for your own good. We destroyed them, of course. At least that’s the official story. Who knows, in reality? I know that at least some of the shepherds keep them in secret.”

“Uhm… should you be telling us this?” Therick asked.

Mom waved him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Anyway, I’m guessing you want to try and wield wicked magic?”

“Yes. It’s interesting. I also want to make cursed weapons by harnessing it.”

“Hmm. It’s rare, very rare, for someone to be able to even wield it. Even among goblins, think of how much more lords were among them, compared to shamans. And the few cases that we’ve had… well, most of them went insane, or rebelled against the empire.”

“Same thing far as they’re concerned,” Luine chimed in.

“Yeah,” Mom simply agreed. “Don’t let me discourage you though, Moonwash! Follow your dreams! Just know that it’s difficult, and it will most likely drive you mad, along with anyone whoever wields your weapon.”

I snorted. That was probably highly irresponsible advice, but I loved it. Moonwash would not stop talking about it and the many possibilities, so I took it that she liked the advice too.