Inside their restored cave, with sleeping quarters, a makeshift kitchen, and, of course, the trap, the boy sat atop a small rocky outcrop and tinkered with the now third bracelet. Unlike for Carl and Richie, the boy had to collect the materials instead of buying them with his savings. To make the bracelets in their favorite colors, the boy bought purple water pearls for Richie and pressed white hydrangea petals for Carl. However, he needed fire stones for Ashu, which were unfortunately not enough to buy, so one night, he sneaked off. He climbed the dead volcano in the middle of the mountains. It was a close call, but he made it back before sunrise.

Outside the cave, the rain beat down on the ground. What was left of the grass drowned in puddles. The rest was already washed away, and the actual boundary of the mountain became clear. Almost all the last few years' progress had been washed away in just a few days. A sign. Indra's forest had lost to Kubera's mountain and retreated.

The Adventurers the boy had won for his plans stood at the cave’s entrance. The canopy cut off the rain and left a wall of falling drops.

“I'm glad we finished before the rainy season.” Ashu took in the damp air and shook himself. “Dragging all the material here was already hard enough in good weather.”

“You say something,” Carl said, leaning on Ashu’s and Richie’s shoulders. “But we had to play it safe and build robustly.”

They couldn’t consider their work pretty, but it wasn’t about looks anyway. For the Adventurers, all that mattered was the practical side of making money.

The Trap, or as they had sometimes caught themselves call it, Farm, had a special component: a Goblin Seed, a big egg-like magic object the boy had brought along. It hung at the structure's core, encased in a three-part sphere consisting of a water basin, a plant bed, and centered mirrors that focused the sunlight on the Seed and left room for ventilation. The vertical shaft was the second hardest to build, and now it was raining. Sobering. The easiest, however, had been the pitfall, which had already been there and only needed minor modifications to ensure no Goblins could escape after the 23-meter drop.

In fact, the planning had taken longer than the procurement of the materials and the subsequent construction. The boy had particular ideas about the specifications; everything had to be perfect. And this mountain cave was the best option. The Seed wasn't getting much sun, but that would change in a few weeks and speed up the process even more.

Currently, the Seed produced about one Goblin per hour. Interestingly enough, no babies or children. Instead, they were full-grown adults, including the odd Hobgoblin and sometimes weapons. However, their intelligence seemed comparatively below average. Instead of Ghukliak, they just bawled randomly. They fought and ate each other as best they could with their broken legs.

“I wonder how this magic works,” Carl said. “Have you guys ever heard about something like that?”

“Honestly, I’ve never seen any magic besides the occasional element spell,” Richie said. “Shall I invest some of my money to buy a fire spell? Rumors talk about a famous chef in the city using flames to cook.”

“It’ll be expensive, but if you would attract more customers, it could be worth it.”

As long as the Seed worked, they could eventually buy whatever they pleased with all the goods they harvested and sold. Goblin Ears for brewing Potions and producing medicine, daggers for processing and selling to the smiths, or even Goblin Tongues as bait for fishing or trapping rarer Monsters.

As time passed, the Adventurers sold everything they got their hands on and saved the profits. But as the weeks went by and the production was bursting, greed crept into the Adventurers' heads. And above all, curiosity.

What was so special about these glittering stones?

Sure, Monsters ate them to grow and ascend, but they were virtually useless to humans. A thought crept into the Adventurers' heads. What if the boy had found a way to make use of the glittering stones? Was he selling them for even greater prices and keeping the money for himself? Was he, in truth, taking advantage of the Adventurers’ ignorance?

The more the men thought about it, the more it made sense. The reason why the boy chose them as his lackeys and why he kept them in the dark. No matter how often or insistent they asked, the boy refused to tell the group what he did with the glittering stones.

“Oh, come on, he'll have his reasons,” Richie said. He and his friends walked through the forest back to the Farm from their trip to the village market.

“Hah. I'm sure of it,” Ashu snorted.

Richie sighed. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“Come on, Ashu,” Carl said. “He’s still a child, so to speak.”

“That doesn't convince me. This child wandered around alone in the forest at night. Something about his story—or lack thereof—bothered me from the start. Carl, what did your research reveal?”

Carl looked at the picture he had drawn of the boy. “You were right . . . none of the villagers know him.”

“You see?” Ashu crossed his arms and frowned oddly, proud at his friends. “Something is clearly wrong here.”

“It's strange, that's for sure.”

“Come on, guys,” Richie said. “Do you really think he would betray us?”

“Hey.” Ashu flicked his forehead. “We've only known him for a few weeks. He hasn't even told us his name. Not to mention the sheer amount of time he spends alone and the strange things he does.”

“But he likes my food,” Richie protested.

“Everyone likes your food.”

“Thanks . . . I guess.”

“What's so strange?” Carl asked.

“Well,” Ashu said. “A few days after we finished the Farm, I saw him talk to the Goblins.”

“Doesn't every Adventurer try it at some point?”

“Yeah, of course. But do they speak in Ghukliak to them?”

“What?!” Carl snapped. With the exception of some Black Bagicians, almost nobody spoke any Monster Language.

“That's exactly what I thought.”

“Guys,” Richie said quietly. “I think it's time to confess something.”

“Huh?” The others turned to him, surprised. He wasn’t one to keep secrets.

“Do you remember when the boy didn't want dinner with us?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Oh.” Richie cleared his throat. “Well, I cooked his favorite meal, and he had no appetite. That scratched my ego, so I wanted to ask him about it. Perhaps he didn’t feel well or—

“Alright. Get to the point.”

“Well. I saw him eating something else.”

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The others watched him dumbfounded. “Just because he didn't want to eat your food doesn't mean—”

“He ate glittering stones.”

—

The boy sat on the small balcony across the Seed, watching it siphoning energy from the plants, water, and first sun rays in days. It looked like a torso-sized egg, with a translucent green shell protecting the shimmering light inside. Mixed feelings overwhelmed him at the sight, and remorse showed at having to use something so beautiful for something so terrible.

He wore the new clothes his friends had given him. The white shirt and black pants fit well, and his boots had been exchanged for a cheap but clean and durable replica.

Steps echoed in the cave structure, and the boy shot up. Finally, they were back.

“Guys, come up here. I'd like to give you something.” His heart beat faster than in any fight. The excitement made him tremble and sweat no matter how much he fought it.

Silently, the men climbed up to the balcony and behind the boy. Did they see through him? The bracelets were supposed to be a surprise. No. No doubts. He wouldn't let on. He had worked on the speech all day, and now he would go through with it.

“Richie, Carl, Ashu,” he said, smiling. Facing away ensured the others couldn’t read his obvious face. “I’m glad you helped me. It was relieving to have company for once. You were a great help. Unfortunately, everything ends at some point. Well, almost everything. I hope so. Anyways. In case you leave me to go after your dreams, I have something for you.”

The boy pulled something out of his pocket, his hand shaking.

“Is this supposed to be a farewell gift?” Carl asked.

The boy froze. There was something wrong with Carl’s voice. Why did he sound so depressed? He was always in a good mood. Had something happened during their trip to the village?

“Hah, now that we've built everything for you, you don't need us anymore!” Ashu said. Irritated and cold, even for him.

“Say that it's not true,” Richie said quietly—demanding.

What were they saying? Had it been a long day at the market? Bad sales? Something else? No matter. Then, the boy had to cheer them up and carry the mood instead of Carl.

“Guys, it’s nothing like that.” The boy spun around, smiling brightly, and held the three bracelets in his hands. “I wanted to—”

Ashu’s ax slashed deep across the boy’s chest, drawing a line of blood. The grim expression on his face spoke volumes. Carl’s and Richie’s faces had grown dark, too—corrupted by the shadows.

What was going on?

The boy stumbled backward to the end of the balcony, vertigo driving him. He lost hold of the bracelets and dropped them. Then he slipped and fell himself, the others looking down. The wind rushed past the boy, flapping the clothes they gave him. It cracked awfully when he crashed into the rocky ground. His tailbone and waist broke. Surprisingly, he felt no pain in his legs—or rather, he didn’t feel his legs at all.

His head trumped from the impact, everything smearing into blurs before his eyes.

“I didn't trust you from the start.” Ashu’s voice bounced off the walls and down. “Now that the Farm is in place, we no longer need you anyway. If we only have to divide the money by three instead of four, I'll manage to have a house in the city by the time of the birth.”

“I’m sorry things turned out this way,” Richie said quietly.

Without knowledge about the concept of names, the mindless Goblins fought ruthlessly over their food. No regard for losses. One just sank his teeth into the meat when others already pulled and pushed him away. Blood spurted as skin and muscles pulled, stretched, and tore.

They bit the fingers off whole and spat out the bones. One tried hair and realized his mistake through gagging and vomiting.

One discovered the face and tried the nose. He snatched it off with a bite and chewed on it with relish. Those who noticed the new source of the head pounced on the ears, which were soon mangled and split apart.

They didn't like the taste of the clothes, but there was so much more meat underneath it would have been foolish to stop. They dug their fingernails between ribs, desperate to tear out at least a small piece for themselves.

The unending pain brought back old memories of when the doctors and magicians experimented on him to remove his magic. But in vain. Disappointing.

But one thing kept the boy going. The books.

There were so many incredible heroes in my children's books. They always said things like 'I'll protect you' or 'Don't worry, I'm here'. The heroes were always so cool.

I wish I had a villager in the story who gets saved by the hero. A hero who never pulled a troubled face, always smiling. One who fought and saved—who was admired by everyone. The hero, obviously. I would have liked to befriend someone like that. I could rely on them. Trust them.

Deep inside the boy, deeper than his organs, deeper than his feelings, deeper than his soul, something cruel awoke.

With the last of his strength, the boy concentrated. More or less successfully, a layer of stone covered his skin, or rather what was left of it. The protection of a golem.

He could forget his legs, but with some effort, he managed to transform parts of his fingerless hands into slime and shape them into tentacles. With a jerk, he lashed out like a whip and drove the Golbin horde away. Clearer in his mind, the pain only worsened, but he managed to reach one of the sacks on his hip with a tentacle.

He brought the sack to his face and bit into it with his sharp teeth. The sack burst, and glittering stones rolled out. He gobbled them up with pebbles and dirt as if he hadn't eaten for weeks. The sharp edges slit his throat from the inside, but the power numbed the pain.

A barrage of tentacles burst free from his wounds, clad in stone and teeth like a ragged saw. They tore through everything that moved. The pit filled into a puddle of blood.

However, the crunching sounds of eating wouldn’t subside, as the food turned into the eater and gobbled down everything it got into his hands. It munched on flesh, glittering stone, and bracelets. The fire stones burned the throat, the water pearls cooled it down, and the petals healed. Eventually, the disgusting feast concluded.

Only one creature dragged itself out, its belly full of the power it had just devoured.

And black steam billowed from it.

—

“Was that really necessary?” asked Richie, stirring silly in his pot. The group of dejected Adventurers sat around a campfire in the kitchen.

Carl watched silently, and Ashu just grunted in distaste, eyeing his bloody ax. None of them were hungry. Richie just cooked to calm his nerves. They sat in silence for a while when, one after another, they picked up footsteps echoing toward them, followed by bizarre laughter. A dark figure approached.

“In the end . . . everyone is the same,” a horrifyingly familiar voice said. “I don’t get it. Why? Why?! Is this really all there is to life for me? I’m so sick and tired of everyone’s appetite for cruelty and miserly desires. All these capital vices.”

The figure came closer, a silhouette with wings.

“Why do we even have gods if they are too bad to help?”

The footsteps sounded heavy and violent, as if stone was hitting stone.

“I just wanted to have a real family. I'm not even allowed friends.”

He stepped out of the shadows. And there he stood—bigger? The young one. The young one . . . who was no longer a boy.

The Adventurers' bitter expressions melted away and left nothing but pure atrocity on their faces. Richie lost hold of the spoon, and it dropped into the pot, splashing some droplets of hot soup on his hand. He didn’t even flinch from the pain. His mind spun solely around the approaching death.

Ashu, always quick with his ax, failed to grip the handle with his quivering and sweat-soaked hands, remorse robbing him of his last bits of strength. Carl’s mouth turned into an inverted smile; his otherwise cheerful and joking words were nothing but stuttering pleas for his life.

The campfire cracked louder with each step, and the light revealed more details of this—monstrosity of a former boy.

Wolf's ears stuck out of the top of his head like horns, pointy ears underneath, blood dripped from his little fangs, a pair of bat-no-demonic wings came out of his back, a slime-tentacle-like tail with an arrowhead swung around.

He was definitely taller, broader, and more defined. His skin had taken on a grayish-black stone facade. But most striking were his radiant teal eyes with pupils out of crying fire petals.

“I won’t let destiny, or fate, or some god determine my life. I’ll become stronger than a god—stronger than everything else. I’ll become Immortal and shape my destiny.” He stepped closer with his heavy feet and sniffed two streams of flames out. Petals manifested in the air and caught the fire, burning but not incinerating. Steam rose from the seemingly endless water supply and the petals.

“Isn't that how it was, One-Eyed? With immortality. I’ll make myself the hero.”

He laughed in disturbing manners, turning sinister. And stopped, glaring daggers at the Adventurers. His hand moved, and so did the burning petals around him, speeding into projectiles and shooting at the pale and helpless Adventurers.

But he wouldn’t let them die that easily. His quote-on-quote friends had to endure more than a quick death or simple torture. They had to suffer, as he himself did before they would suffer a horrible death, and so he threw them down the pits and waited patiently for the Goblins to emerge from the Seeds.

By doing so, he discovered the Goblins grew a lot stronger by feasting on them and produced higher-quality glittering stones.

“Interesting . . .”

Progression Towards Immortality: 0,00005%