Hector hefted his heavy hammer, a signal to his party members that there was something ahead of them. A dozen adventurers readied their weapons, spoiling for a fight, for the fatal conflict that brought them wealth and power. They had encountered nothing during their six hour delve into the dungeon, an exceptionally poor showing for the seasoned explorers and it showed on their anxious faces. If they did not find a good haul soon then this delve would be a complete failure, with nothing to plunder besides a few glow stones and some marble bricks.

“Finally some action!” Whispered Paris, his mustache glistening in the dark.

Hector rolled his eyes, annoyed by his third cousin’s attitude, but the man was still his family and he would not abandon him, no matter how much goblin grease he used to style his mustache.

Together they advanced into the darkness, reaching a small burp in the tunnel, a sort of atrium, or expanded staging room for the dungeon. Ahead of them they could hear the sounds or combat, the shrieks of dying creatures and howls of engrossed spectators.

“Archers in the rear, assassin watch their backs. Mages in the middle, and fighters with me.” Ordered Hector.

Paris drew his basket hilted rapier, tucking his fingers into the protected hilt. Should the blade stick it would be faster to snap the blade than to worm his fingers out of the basket. Two archers and the assassin moved to the rear, nocking arrows or adjusting their daggers one last time before combat. Four mages began circulating their mana, readying spells for the upcoming brawl. A shriek of unbridled agony reverberated through the tunnel, making some of the adventurers wince as they imagined possible sources. Glow stones moved from pockets to hands or from hands to pockets as each class began their own preparations. In a few seconds the twelve adventurers signaled that they were ready, each squeezing the shoulder of their leading partner.

Hector waited for the twelfth squeeze, then departed, as the largest and strongest member he took the front, forming the tip of their spearhead. Paris stood directly behind him, his agile rapier a check against hordes. He knew Paris would watch his back, they were family.

Glancing behind him, Hector found the other members of their party all in order, he smiled, this rag tag team had been assembled in haste. Guildmaster Konrad would only allow three parties into the dungeon, and his pet adventurers, Nara and Hattie, took up one of those previous slots. All other adventurers were coerced into mercenary quests, or scouting forays, sideshows that paid one tenth what a dungeon raid could and took twice as long to complete.

Hector had assembled the strongest members as quickly as he could, gathering the highest level strangers, regardless of synergies or temperaments, to get his party into the dungeon. The fact that no one in the party had come to blows was most likely due to there not being any treasure. That might change in the next few seconds.

The party started to jog, picking up the pace as they burst out of the worm tunnel and into Goblinville. Blue moss and green glow stones illuminated this village from above, joining their feeble light until the cavern shone like the surface world’s blue hour, the twilight before the sun rose above the horizon. Hector’s mouth twisted into a grin, scores of goblins in stood in circles, exactly as the guild had described they would.

His legs surged, activating his weaker talents to bound ahead of his fellows and take the nearest goblins by surprise. Hector’s hammer plowed through the first goblin, smashing through its ribs and spine with a blow that carried it into a second and third goblin, demolishing the goblin circle and sending splatters of blood across the survivors. Paris sprang past him, cutting down a goblin with a surgical slash to its neck before he ducked behind Hector.

The only armored goblin in the circle let out a blood curdling howl, and all hell broke loose.

His howl echoed through the cavern, instantly summoning every goblin to his circle, scores upon scores of green runts and armored midgets came for the adventurers.

Hector welcomed them.

His steel shafted hammer broke the armored goblins as they came, leaving the lesser greens for Paris and his party. Fireballs burst around the party as the magi unleashed their mana, the two archers equaled their kills, their faster shortbows finishing wounded goblins. Despite their incredible levels, few goblins could survive an arrow to the eye, or breathe the mages’ fire.

Paris’ blade skewered another greenskin as he thrust the blade up a goblin’s schnauzer, penetrating into the cranium where it stuck. Paris yanked on the blade, jerking the goblin forward and backwards as he tried to free his stuck rapier. One of the armored goblins saw his plight and decided to aid him by way of removing his arm.

Raising his rusty sword the armored goblin charged, covering the distance between them in a half second. Paris’ eyes went wide, recognizing the danger for what it was and twisting his sword in a desperate attempt to free himself, knowing that his basket hilt would keep him from releasing the sword. His rapier snapped.

Paris fell sideways, twisting his arm up in the nick of time, his captor, the basket hilt rose to meed the goblin’s sword. Steel bent and gave way, basket hilt deforming and breaking two of his fingers whilst sparing his shoulder. The armor goblin hollered in fury, spitting daggers at his denial.

Then the assassin struck. Appearing behind the armored goblin, his first blade struck, aimed between the goblin’s ill fitting gorget and his helmet. The armored goblin activated a talent, and the gorget seemed to leap over his neck, meeting the assassin’s blade with it’s protective steel. As if the assassin had foreseen this twist, his second blade slid into the goblin’s opposite armpit, piercing unprotected flesh as it glided through ribs. Sharpened steel encountered the goblin’s beating heart.

The assassin activated his own set of talents, both blows repeating themselves twice as the goblin’s armor shifted and negated blows. Six thrusts encountered armor six times as the higher leveled runt displayed his prodigious talents.

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Paris did not remain idle, recognizing the goblin’s defensive talents he timed his assault, using his broken blade as a dagger he activated his own talents, expertly aligning his broken fingers with the goblin’s eye. He lunged forward. Broken rapier piercing the goblin’s ill fitting helmet and skewering the greenskin’s brain. Pain and steel distracted the goblin, allowing the assassin to land four unopposed strikes.

Then it was over.

The armored goblin’s corpse fell to the floor, the final warm body in Goblinville. Hector frowned at Paris’ broken blade, silently chiding his loss of another sword.

“Delphine, you got any healing for my idiot cousin? Fool needs to use a proper hammer instead of that toothpick.” Called Hector.

Diviner Delphine stepped between the cousins, her glowing eyes watching Paris’ reaction as she lifted his basket hilt. Paris recoiled from her, gnashing his teeth as the basket pressed on his shattered bones.

“I can heal it, but…” She said, letting the words dangle.

Paris squirmed under her taunting. “But what!” He demanded.

“Hector will have to bend those basket wires out of your hand first. Try not to scream too much.” She said.

Delphine gave him a cute smile and stuffed something hard between his lips. He growled, but was silently grateful when Hector began leveraging the fragmented hilt out of his fingers.

“Mmph! Hmmph!” Groaned Paris, tears flowing freely as metal wires were ripped from his flesh.

Ten minutes later his hand was free and healed, the pieces of his broken blade resting in its scabbard and a goblin’s shortsword in his repaired hand.

“Thought this was a high level dungeon! Where is all the booty? Aint nothing down here except copper coins and rust!” Grumbled a bitter Paris.

Hector sympathized with him, but wished he would just shut up already. What could they expect? This was a goblin village.

“Stow the bitching. I hear something.” Whispered the assassin.

Hector made a mental note to ask for the man’s name, he had proven himself to be more stealthy and far more lethal than they had initially thought. The party fell silent, listening for the next enemy.

A whisper reached them. The sound of scales rubbing against fabric. Hector nodded to the assassin, then pointed to Paris, they nodded, both men eager for a challenge. Using the head of his warhammer, Hector jerked open the flap to the last tent, Delphine tossed a glow stone into the felt confines, illuminating a pint sized girl with snakes for hair.

“Gorgon!” Shouted Hector.

He was about to release the tent flap and burn the tent down, safer to let the gorgon burn than to risk petrification, when the assassin vanished into the tent, Paris hot on his heels. The gorgon hissed something unintelligible, “Oooh hhiiiiiss. Frienssss”.

The assassin struck, his dagger slashing through the miniature gorgon’s red eyes. It shrieked in pain, screaming as the blade carved through snakelocks and its eyes. The assassin ducked and weaved, narrowly evading two clawed hands.

Paris struck next, activating his single talent for slashing attacks he severed the gorgon’s left hand, ignoring the inhuman child’s screeching he pivoted. Hacking through the girl’s remaining hand in the millisecond that his talent remained active for. The assassin’s dagger opened her throat, the girl’s protective scales turning the blade aside.

She fell to the floor, writhing in an expanding pool of blood. Maia grasped at her neck and eyes, unable to comprehend that her hands were gone. Blood splurted from her stumps, covering her face and drowning her neck in her own gore.

“Nice work, at least we can take her core. Hold her down, don’t let her hair bite you.” Said Paris.

The assassin solved that dilemma by severing her snakelocks, slashing through two or three of them at a time until none of the beady eyed gardners remained. Delphine swallowed and cast heal, disturbed by the violence but understanding her role in the process. Paris kicked the gorgon in her scaly ribs, catching and pinning her left stump under his boot when she doubled over. The assassin pinned her right stump, catching her by the throat and pushing her down, whispering an apology to the month old Maia.

Paris offered no such niceties, plunging his stolen sword into Maia’s side. She kicked, trying to scream, trying to escape, as Paris carved through her organs, breathe vented through her mutilated neck and no sound left her mouth. Delphine closed her eyes, casting heal once more.

Mana cores powered their world, and had to be harvested from living creatures. Still, it turned her stomach to see the harvest performed on a girl so visually similar to her. Paris’ shortsword caught on a rib and he withdrew the blade, plunging his hand into Maia’s ribcage. He wiggled his arm around her organs and found the fountain of her soul, the mana crystal, just behind her heart.

A dark skinned man appeared in front of them, a disapproving glare on his face.

Cease this torture and leave. I understand that you must kill, but I will not allow cruelty within myself. Said Tantalus.

Paris’ fingers gripped the mana crystal, ripping the treasure from Maia’s chest with a smile. He had his payday, who gave a flying fuck about the strange man-in-a-dress’s opinion.

—-

Tantalus weighed his options, scrawling numbers in his mental notepad in an attempt to bend hard numbers to his will; Maia needed sisters. Yet he had no mana to give her the family she so desperately needed. Satharis’ evolution combined with Gurks had drained his reserves, reducing his pool of two million MP to a few thousand. He would recover, but the cost of dungeon repairs was mounting, crippling his ability to honor his promise to Hattie and reshape the dungeon as a whole.

Alerts cascaded in his mind, scores of goblin respawns appearing in his head. Tantalus’ interface sorted through them, clumping them into groups of ten so he could count them at a glance. Except for Gurk’s expedition, which seemed to be unavailable for respawn or buffs while outside the dungeon, every goblin in the dungeon had died. He ignored it, every now and again the goblins got uppity, and the armored chiefs massacred them all. Something about establishing dominance over the runts, not something Tantalus cared to witness.

Math was hard enough for him without the mental strain of trying to comprehend goblin logic. Their twisted minds somehow managed to give his incorporeal mind a headache.

Then Maia’s voice entered his mind. She had not yet learned how to limit her speech to those in front of her and broadcasted her thoughts for the entire dungeon floor to hear.

“Hiii! Are you my new friends?” She asked.

New friends? During a goblin war? Uh oh… Wait, they aren’t dumb enough to go after her are they? She could tear the goblins apart, blindfolded and with one hand behind her back. I really shouldn’t let her think that violence is the answer though, that isn’t what a good father would do.

Maia’s shrieks of agony sent a shiver down his spine.

Damn it all. I’m the worst father. Do I run over there or let her understand that pain hurts. She will respawn, or i’ll heal her… She has to grow, push the boundaries of her world… Thought Tantalus.

His justifications delayed him for ten precious seconds.

Her second eruption of shrieks silenced his qualms, whatever was happening was too much for his daughter. He had to intervene. Using his roster, he pinpointed Maia’s location and shifted his intelligence and illusion to her side, witnessing carnage that confounded him.

Four adventurers were carving into Maia, torturing his daughter while one of their members healed her, kept her alive to endure more pain.

He wanted to kill them. To capture them and let the slimes dissolve their bodies an inch at a time. He wanted to beat them within an inch of their lives and then heal them so the goblins could dismember them.

His anger passed, tempered by his lack of physical body.

Cease this torture and leave. I understand that you must kill, but I will not allow cruelty within myself. Said Tantalus.

Instead of obeying him, the creep with a mustache pulled something out of Maia, her mental shriek of agony ending as her heart left her body.

Sick fucks.

Tantalus activated the talent for expelling intruders, instantly vomiting the adventurers from his dungeon. He considered shitting them out of the chasm, but dismissed the thought, dropping them in his atrium instead. No matter how barbaric life was, killing another human, ending another soul’s inhabitance, was still a cardinal sin for him.