The Goblin felt the katana sink deep into his gut, slicing through fat and muscle, its momentum slowing as it perforated an organ before coming to rest. The pain signals from all the damage danced pleasantly in his head.
That isn’t something most people would enjoy, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him.
But it was wonderfully distracting, like the sear of a good drink on the back of the throat, with different notes that the Goblin could isolate and appreciate.
He pushed himself forward on the sword and the Jiezhi thug balked. He rested a hand on the Asian man’s shoulder, patting him gently. Even in restraint, the impacts were enough to jostle the man out of his shock that the Goblin had taken his strike on purpose. The man released the katana and ran, screaming in Mandarin. The Goblin was familiar with the word. He’d heard it enough times: demon.
Blood rushed through his muscles as he saw his prey fleeing. The man had been a skilled combatant, fast and agile. He now used that agility to parkour vault a chain-link fence and roll beneath a toppled stack of pallets, putting obstacles between him and the Goblin.
The Goblin’s anatomy churned as he crouched down, muscles and tendons shifting positions on his joints to better suit the next movement. The fleeing man was already caught in his mind’s eye, trapped at the center of his focus.
It became too much to just watch and the Goblin released his inhibitions. Thin metal and nailed together wood proved no obstacle for him. They gave way with as little resistance as water as he surged forward and closed his hands around his prey.
The man screamed in pain as fingers crunched an arm and a leg, pinning him to the ground.
The Goblin chuckled heartily as he stepped back, releasing the man. “It was a good exchange, but it was over far too short. Perhaps you would like a second attempt?” he rumbled. One of his fingers prodded the hilt still stuck in his belly. “I still have your sword with me. You can have it back, if you think it will improve your odds.”
The man was frothing at the mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“I must warn you before you retrieve it, my blood boils quite easily.” The Goblin grinned at his little joke. But the smile dropped as he realized that the man was no longer moving. The Goblin’s bare foot, covered in dust and smears of oil and blood, prodded the man’s broken limb. There was no response.
A chill settled over the Goblin’s shoulders. His skin crawled, beginning to shift restlessly. His eyes roamed the dark streets, looking for movement in every corner. Larger parts of his internals began to slide, moving around aimlessly, consuming energy just to be in motion, all the while his muscles tensed and relaxed chaotically. The friction within produced a familiar rumbling sound. Noise to drown out unwelcome thoughts.
Then his face appeared. The Goblin looked away quickly but it was too late, it had stuck in his brain and now the ghostly face was everywhere.
The Goblin stepped over the body and then leaped several stories to the roof above. He landed and tumbled to his knees. Looking down, he saw that his foot had changed and lost its human Shape. The ankle had fused with the foot, the toes retreating to become a stump. He had to concentrate hard to will it back to the Shape it had originally.
It was impossible to not think of him and that made the Goblin hurt each time. It was the irreparable kind of hurt tearing, unlike his flesh which stitched itself back together easily, this hurt damaged his sanity, making it harder and harder to hold on to what was left.
It didn’t help that the Goblin was pretty sure he had somehow killed Alek more than once tonight.
The Goblin leaped from building top to building top, searching desperately for his next opponent. His next distraction. It had been so delightful when the chaos had first begun. So many Rings coming out of the woodwork, with the courage and lack of inhibitions to take on the foe they had feared for years. But the waves of emotion that pulsed through the city also made his painful recollections come more quickly, the greater supply of distractions matched with a greater demand for them.
The Goblin spotted movement and honed in on it. Yes. A pack of Shapers. His heart leapt with joy as he plummeted down to them. He slammed into the street, crunching a newspaper stand beneath him, spilling papers out towards the group.
The leader moved in front of the others and held his hands out protectively. The Goblin noted the purple, octopus-like tentacles that wriggled from his wrists. They were disappointingly small and likely could do no harm to the Goblin. His gaze passed over the rest of the group. One tiny girl with a mouse-like face. She bared her front teeth like a small chihuahua would, more endearing than threatening. Another had wild eyes and her mouth never stopped muttering. They were supporting a young man who looked vaguely familiar, who had strange slits in his muscled arms, gaps where you could see right through him. He was bruised and bloodied, nearly unconscious.
“Slim pickings,” the Goblin rumbled aloud.
The leader stood resolutely with his hands shielding the rest of his group. “We will not fight you, Goblin,” he said wearily.
“You will,” the Goblin replied. “All things do. All things fight to live, to breathe just one second more.”
Sweat shone on the leader’s bald head. His eyes had dark bags beneath them. “For animals, perhaps. But humans are smarter than that. I know you, Goblin. Fighting would only mean prolonged suffering. Any seconds of breath gained would be ones choking on our own blood. That isn’t worth fighting for.”
The Goblin shifted restlessly. “You know the Goblin? Then you know he does not accept no as an answer.”
Despair seemed to sink into the man’s shoulders, lowering them a fraction. “So be it. We will not fight you.”
“I can…” the injured man spoke quietly, struggling to even speak.
“No, Spike,” the leader said.
The Goblin stared down the group, looking for any dissenters. The woman was distracted. The man with holes in his arms couldn’t even stand on his own. Only the little rat girl looked as though she would put up a fight. The Goblin imagined for a moment that they fought. She would be reduced to a pulp, a thin smear of blood on the uncaring asphalt of the Old Town. That thought unsettled him. Was he really so desperate that he would stoop to killing a fledgling?
His face appeared amidst the frightened faces of the group.
He’s gone. The statement echoed in the hollow deep inside him, echoing for infinity, never to be voiced aloud. He suspected that opening the void would mean he could never close it again. Not until it had consumed everything.
Perhaps he was that desperate.
“I will spare the child in exchange,” the Goblin declared, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.
The leader didn’t seem surprised. “And who will lead her to safety?” he asked, not batting an eye. “This city has become a deathtrap, even for those that know how to navigate it. Will you protect her? How will you do that when you jump to fight everything that moves? She won’t survive. Killing us is as good as killing her.”
The hollow was becoming too large to bear. Whole segments of his internals were changing, burning up into new, unrecognizable Shapes. The heat in his chest was painful and it flared each time the signal pulsed.
The Goblin roared, unleashing every bit of emotion that roiled inside. “RUN!”
The shout echoed through the city, resounding off the cliffs. Yet the leader did not move and his group didn’t scatter. The small girl snarled at him.
The Goblin’s muscles strained against his will. His eyes took in every tiny movement. Entertain me. Distract me, he thought. Please.
Anger seeped into every pore on his skin. He glared in resentment at the leader. And then he sprung forward.
The leader shut his eyes, awaiting a painful end.
The Goblin sailed over their heads, swinging blindly at the building in front of him, smashing through it, sending bricks and plaster flying. He roared, his lungs driving every bit of rage through his throat. It didn’t matter the material: stone, concrete, metal; all of it crumbled in his violent flailing. The building collapsed on top of him as the fire from his blood spread flames across his work.
After a time he was buried in rubble, cocooned in a burning pile of shattered structures. Even there, his body did not let him rest. He clawed his way to the top, muscles straining against the tons of rubble. He arrived at the top of the heap, breathing heavily. The group had left. He was alone.
The little snarling girl’s face remained in his mind. He groaned, placing his head in his hands. How far he had fallen. Long ago, he wouldn’t have wanted any of this. It felt like a past life, before this purgatory. Before he was the Goblin.
Tapping into those memories he could imagine those who had, up to this point, been living normally. He did not desire for them to join him in such unrest. They did not deserve it. But, he thought as his body continued to writhe on the inside, what could be done?
A voice no louder than a mouse spoke directly into his ear, “Goblin.”
He turned and was baffled when he saw nothing.
No, there was something there, so translucent and ephemeral he could almost dismiss it as a heat wave from the burning wreck he sat upon.
“Who speaks?” he rumbled.
The voice quivered as it responded, “Ajna.”
The Goblin grinned devilishly. “Ajna. I can see you. I would choose your next words carefully, before I seek you out and crush your writhing body between my palms.” He faltered, chest growing cold as he saw the ghost of his Witch at the foot of the rubble heap, staring up at him with eyes that reflected the flames.
Ajna was quiet for a moment, seemingly working up the nerve to speak. “Do you see that tall apartment?” he asked.
The Goblin tore his gaze from his hallucination. The lone tower sat underneath the furthest point of the Sill. “I do.”
“You want excitement? You want a battle? Go there. Nick is there, the Wolf who fought you before. You want a rematch? He promises you the battle of your life.”
The Goblin stared at the tower that stretched up towards the orbs in the sky. The hollow inside him ached deeply. All the bloodshed in the world would not fill it. Would anything at the tower be any different?
“I…” the Goblin started. “I think not.”
This seemed to genuinely shock the young voice. “What?”
“Nick still has his Witch. A powerful one. I do not wish to expedite their fate of losing one another. Whatever foes I face there will do nothing for me. I would just be spreading the fire. I think a long time ago I knew this, but I had forgotten.”
“But Nick needs you.”
That produced a chuffing laugh from the Goblin.
“It’s true!” Ajna insisted. “If you don’t want to raise hell then come save Nell! That’s why Nick is there. He’s saving his Witch and he’s stopping the Tree and Alek from destroying the city.”
The Goblin gestured at himself. Black horns and fire gave anyone who could see his silhouette the impression of Satan himself. Sans tail. “Do you look at me and see a human? It is an illusion. A vestige of what I once was. I’m nothing but a creature of violence now. I have no capability to save anyone. This moment of clarity will disappear soon enough and I will descend back into blood, unable to discern friend or foe, only prey.”
“Then do that.”
It was the Goblin’s turn to be surprised. His anger flared at the child’s foolishness. “I bring nothing but death and destruction!” his lengthening teeth bared as he shouted. “Do you think I care enough for Nick’s plight that I will stop myself before I crush whatever hopes he has? You’re wrong. Everything will burn and I will feel no better for it. Even you will be erased.”
Ajna shouted back, voice cracking, “Do it! Just try to burn it all down! We’ll stop you. Nick and Nell are heroes and-” he faltered, “and I am too. I’m a hero! So play your part. Be the dragon.”
The Goblin paused. When in this conversation had his body stopped Shaping? “Such baseless courage. Pray tell, hero. What do you fight for?”
“My mom,” Ajna answered without hesitation. “She’s lost in a dark place. Once someone is so deeply caught in despair only a hero can give them hope again. So I have to be one. Because I love her.”
The Goblin considered this deeply. Something about the child’s words were powerful. They rang inside his hollow, not filling it, but at least helping him feel as though it was not as infinite as he had once thought.
“Be the dragon,” he murmured. “I will come, I will rage, and then… if I play my part, the heroes will grant me resolution?”
“I promise,” Ajna said.
The Goblin stood and looked to the tower once more. What was worse, kicking and screaming until he lost that last shred of his identity, forgetting even the face that haunted him, or playing the part of someone else’s story to get his fitting end?
No, he thought. My story ended a long time ago. He had just been clinging to it, afraid of what would come next.
He would burn one last time.
And then he would let go.
Maybe I will see you soon, old friend