Chapter 64: THE GOBLIN EVOLUTION
Blood-streaked dawn broke over the Western Marshlands for the fifth consecutive day since Princess Elysandra’s assault. The fortress walls, once proud and imposing, now resembled a creature’s ribcage torn open by a predator—jagged, broken, and stained with viscera. Blackened craters scarred the earth where corruption magic had detonated, while heaps of bodies—some human, others unidentifiable—formed makeshift barricades across breached sections.
Reed stood atop the eastern watchtower, one of the few structures still intact, surveying the aftermath. His muscular form bore fresh wounds—a lattice of cuts across his torso where the Princess’s crystalline claws had found purchase. Black veins spread outward from each laceration, pulsing with unnatural vitality despite Lady Dalia’s healing attempts. His left ear was partially severed, the ragged edge cauterized by desperate battlefield medicine.
"Lord Reed." The voice came from behind him—not the gruff, throaty growl typical of goblin speech, but something more refined while maintaining the distinctive timbre of his species.
Reed turned to face Grimclaw, once a common foot soldier who had helped guard the artifact chamber. The transformation that had overtaken his subordinate remained shocking despite having witnessed it for several days now. Grimclaw stood straighter, his previously hunched posture now erect and dignified. His eyes, once tiny yellow orbs filled with simple cunning, now gleamed with amber intelligence. Most remarkably, the crude bone piercings that had adorned his face had been removed, the holes healing with unprecedented speed, leaving only faint marks on his forest-green skin.
"The survivors are gathered as requested," Grimclaw reported, his vocabulary and diction startlingly improved. "Seventeen in total. All showing signs of the... evolution."
Reed nodded, muscles tensing beneath his tattered commander’s cloak. "And what of those who were exposed but show no changes?"
"Unchanged in mind, but their physical recovery rates have nearly doubled," Grimclaw responded, producing a meticulously written report scroll—another novelty, as most goblins barely managed crude pictographs before the transformation. "Goreface took three arrows to the chest yesterday. He should be dead. Instead, he pulled them out himself and rejoined the battle within hours."
They descended the watchtower’s winding staircase, passing goblin sentries who saluted with precise military form rather than the chaotic enthusiasm typical of their kind. Reed noticed subtle changes in each—elongated craniums, more defined musculature, eyes that assessed and calculated where before they would have simply reacted.
The main hall had been converted into a field hospital following the Princess’s attack. Wounded fighters from various species lay on makeshift pallets—humans, elves, orcs, and goblins intermingled without the usual racial segregation that would have been unthinkable weeks earlier. The shared enemy had erased centuries of prejudice in mere days.
Against the far wall stood seventeen goblins, segregated from the others not by choice but necessity. Each displayed advanced stages of the transformation first observed in Grimclaw. Their skin had shifted from motley shades of green and yellow to deeper, more uniform forest tones. Their traditionally uneven yellow fangs had straightened and whitened. Most striking were their eyes—now displaying a range of amber to golden hues, with slitted pupils that contracted precisely in response to light.
"Brothers," Reed addressed them, noting how they formed a perfect semicircle without prompting, an un-goblinlike display of discipline. "How do you feel?"