Chapter 11
Gate Initiation, Part V (From Each According to His Ability Scores)
The gobblin’s foot is halfway down, ready to squish Jelly Boy when I lunge forward.
I slam my shoulder into the gobblin’s gut with everything I’ve got, sending the squat bastard stumbling backward. He lets out a startled, piggish squeal as he topples into his buddy, both of them going down like bowling pins.
They hit the walkway hard, tangled together in a pile of jiggling jowls and stubby limbs. Their fat bodies rock side to side, trying to find leverage, but their short arms aren’t doing them any favors. They might as well be overturned turtles.
No ti to gloat. I scoop up Jelly Boy and bolt.
The sli wobbles excitedly in my grip, like an overcaffeinated Jell-O shot. I give him a quick pat on his squishy top.
“Good job, Jelly Boy!”
Bzzzzt!...
He vibrates harder, thrumming like a happy engine. Damn thing’s adorable.
I book it down the walkway, feet pounding the tal grating, heading for the second set of stairs leading to the factory floor. Behind , the gobblins are still flailing like drunk toddlers trying to get up.
I hit the stairs and take them two at a ti, Jelly Boy tucked under one arm like a football. My wand is still in my other hand.
The mont my feet hit the factory floor, all hell breaks loose.
The pukwudgies scream in panic, tiny bodies scrambling in every direction. They duck behind crates, climb up onto conveyor belts, and dive headfirst into piles of scrap tal like they’re trying to burrow into a new dinsion. Thankfully, none of them seem hostile towards . The last thing I want is to have to fight fifty smaller mobs.
I ignore them. My focus is on the gobblin I punted off the balcony earlier.
That sack of crap is only just now rolling onto his side, groaning, struggling to push himself up. He’s not quite dead, but he’s in a bad way.
Good.
I pick up speed, feet slapping against the concrete, heart hamring in my chest.
Ti to see if these Strength points actually do sothing.
I launch myself forward and jump.
For a brief mont, I’m airborne.
I co down, both feet first, heels leading straight into the gobblin’s face. Its skull gives like a rotten pumpkin. His head pops like a stepped-on ketchup packet. Blood splatters everywhere. An eyeball rockets straight from the thing’s head, rolling to a stop near the forgotten overstuffed pastry from the gobblin that had gotten Wiley the Coyote’d earlier.
I stumble back, breath hitching, boots slick with gore. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and I try not to think about the fact that I just crushed a gobblin with my feet like it was a freaking goomba!
A notification blinks across my vision.
You have defeated Gobblin, Level 3.
A Gluttony Elental has been released.
QUEST UPDATE (Seize the ans of Production): 2 of 4 Gobblin superintendents killed.
QUEST UPDATE (Bright-Eyed New Adventurer): 2 of 5 monsters killed (Spell Streak Broken).
I wipe a streak of red off my cheek and glare down at the ss.
“That’s for slashing my shoulders, you ugly bastard.”
That’s when I notice it. My shoulders feel… better? I roll them experintally. The pain is still there, but it’s dull, fading by the second. The bloodstains on my shirt are still wet, but the wounds themselves have mostly closed up. The torn flesh is knitting itself back together, slow but steady.
Wait a minute. I ntally summon my health bar.
It flashes into existence in the upper right corner of my vision—and it’s no longer empty. Hell, it isn’t even in the red anymore. It’s actually mostly full. And still ticking up., slowly but surely.
I rember what Snake Guy—the bastard who had enrolled into the God Gas and first explained the System to —had said about HP. It’s not just a asure of how much damage you can take. It’s more like a buffer, a representation of your body’s ability to recover. If you have HP left, your wounds heal faster. But if you hit zero? Then, your body can’t over-compensate. And everything that should normally be lethal will be lethal.
Good thing to keep in mind, I think.
I exhale sharply and shake the gore off my boots. That’s when I notice the faint blue glow. It’s outlining the headless gobblin corpse.
Okay. That’s new…
I kneel beside it, curious, and focus. The System responds instantly.
[Loot gobblin corpse?]
Yes? A pulse in my mind is t with the System interface summoning a new window.
It’s a small inventory nu, titled ‘Gobblin Corpse.’
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1 Health Potion (Poor Quality)4 Cream Puffs1 Vial of Enchanted Ink2 Gold PiecesI stare at the list.
…Cream puffs? My eyes wander over to the stranded cream pastry that was sitting in the middle of the manufacturing floor, slowly being soaked in dark red gobblin blood.
Yeah, no thanks. Not worth 5% of my total inventory capacity, that’s for certain. However, I take everything else.
As soon as I do, a ntal weight settles over . It’s not physical, but it’s there—like the strain I felt when I used Wizard’s Hands to carry that heavy weight earlier.
I grimace. Looks like I actually feel the weight of what I carry. Maybe not the sa as if I were actually pocketing the material, but it’s sothing I naturally want to test the limits of.
I place Jelly Boy gently onto the floor and he whizzes away to inspect the cream puff. With a ntal command, I pull the health potion form my inventory. The vial pops into my right hand and I take a closer look at it. The liquid inside is a sickly, watered-down red. I swirl it in the bottle. Probably tastes like ass. But hey, might co in handy. I deposit the vial back into my inventory.
I stand up, shaking out the lingering stiffness in my shoulders and scan the walkway above for the Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. The two remaining gobblins are finally back on their feet. About damn ti. They were flopping around like overturned turtles for way too long. I guess I should be thankful for that.
Now they’re beelining it for the stairs, their ugly little feet slapping against tal as they waddle down one at a ti. They don’t have much choice—too wide to go side by side.
I could run. That’s an option. A very smart option. I consider, but only for a second.
Screw it. It’s face these gobblins or be culled by the System before this God Ga even really started. If the System is gonna bless with Strength, then I’m gonna use it. Spellcaster class be damned.
I place the wand back into my inventory, replacing it with clenched fists and bad intentions. Then, I charge.
“RAAAHHH!” I roar, ready to flatten these oversized booger-goblins into paste. Only to be caught off guard when the first gobblin trips at the bottom of the stairs.
Or at least, it looks like it trips. Instead of face-planting like a clumsy idiot, it tucks into itself.
And then it starts rolling.
And by rolling, I an it turns into a goddamn green bowling ball that’s half my height and cos right at .
“ARE YOU KIDDING ?” I can’t help but exclaim.
The thing picks up speed fast, and before I can dodge, it slams into like a runaway truck.
My ribs crunch. Pain explodes through my body. My health bar flashes in the corner of my vision, a quarter of the bar disappearing in a blink.
It’s like getting hit by a wrecking ball made of pure, sweaty goblin mass.
And it doesn’t stop.
The damn thing keeps spinning, the montum driving backward as I skid across the manufacturing floor, boots screeching. My feet lift off the ground—I’m riding this thing like a very unsafe, very painful amusent park ride.
I barely have ti to register my health bar plumting before—
WHAM!
I slam back-first into a tal wall, hard enough that I swear my skeleton tries to escape my body. Sothing behind clicks, which I barely hear through the ringing in my ears.
The factory roars to life. Gears grind. Chains rattle. Conveyor belts lurch forward.
Machines that should absolutely not be moving without proper supervision start spinning, slamming, and sawing in all the wrong ways. A few of the pukwudgies scramble to man their stations. Most, remain tucked away, observing the conflict from little pockets of safety.
The gobblin unsticks itself from my body, flopping onto the ground with a dazed groan, still tucked into a ball like a sickly green hedgehog knocked onto its back.
The second gobblin is trudging toward , muttering under its breath. I can’t make out the words, but I’m pretty sure they’re so combination of insults, curses, and possibly a death threat or two.
Then I notice what’s in its hands. Cream puffs. One in each clawed fist. For a brief, blissful mont, I think, I can’t believe this thing is snacking in the middle of a fight.
And then the bastard hurls one like a grenade. I dodge. Easily side stepping the cream puff’s trajectory. The cream puff smacks into the floor. And explodes.
Not just like, a ssy explosion. No. This thing goes full Michael Bay, a violent blast of burning cream and dough shrapnel—tiny bits of crispy pastry flying like shivs.
So of the cream lands on my forearm. The pain is imdiate. It’s like hot cigarette ash sizzling into my skin.
“OH, WHAT THE HELL!?” I scream, shaking my arm violently to get the stuff off.
Exploding. Acidic. Cream puffs. Okay: noted.
My vision goes red.
I look down at the gobblin ball, still dazed from its failed murder roll. My anger flares. And I kick it. Hard. Like, soccer star, penalty shot, crowd on their feet, GOAAAAALLL levels of hard. The gobblin ball rockets forward at inhuman speeds, straight at cream puff gobblin.
The little bastard sees it coming and launches cream puff number two. But it’s too late.
The two gobblins collide in a glorious, bone-rattling impact. Limbs tangle. Bodies flip. They hit the floor hard, sprawling in a heap of goblin-y disaster.
I exhale.
SPLAT.
I blink. I turn my head slowly.
The cream puff didn’t hit . The gobblin had launched it at the exact mont his balled up companion made impact, causing the pastry’s trajectory to careen far off course.
Instead, it hit a pukwudgie. Square in the face.
The tiny creature screams—a horrible, high-pitched, ear-shredding wail. The acidic cream lts into its fur, sizzling, bubbling. It desperately claws at its face, writhing in pain.
I cringe. Oh, god dammit!
I do my best to ignore the horrible, shrieking wails of the cream-splattered pukwudgie. I can sll its sizzling face from here.
It’s not my fault.
Technically.
Probably.
Either way, I have bigger problems.
The two remaining gobblins are staggering to their feet, dazed. Their beady eyes refocus on , full of rage and murder.
No ti for hesitation. I charge.
The first gobblin throws up its hands in a desperate block as I close in. Too slow. I smash through its guard, driving a right cross straight into its ugly, green face. It reels. I follow up with a jab. Then a hook to the ribs. The gobblin staggers. One more. Full strength this ti.
Crack!
My knuckles flatten its snout.
The gobblin’s eyes roll back, and it drops like a bag of rotten potatoes.
Ding!
You have defeated Gobblin, Level 3.
Level 2 increased to Level 3!
A Gluttony Elental has been released.
QUEST UPDATE (Seize the ans of Production): 3 of 4 Gobblin superintendents killed.
QUEST UPDATE (Bright-Eyed New Adventurer): 3 of 5 monsters killed.
Nice.
[2 Stat Points Currently Unallocated. Assign Stat Points?]
No hesitation. I ntally pump them both into Strength.
The final gobblin lunges, wrapping its disgusting, clawed hands around my arms. It’s stronger than it looks, but I’ve had just about enough of this shit. I twist, pivot, and throw.
The gobblin flies sideways, flailing through the air and lands directly onto the conveyor belt. The sa one leading straight to the giant, chanical jaw. The sa contraption that chewed through a pukwudgie’s arm like a dog with a chew toy. The gobblin screams.
It claws at the belt. Too slow. The machine's tal teeth clamp down. A wet, horrible crunch. A spray of red mist. Gore, everywhere.
I look away.
Ding!
You have defeated Gobblin, Level 3.
A Gluttony Elental has been released.
QUEST UPDATE (Seize the ans of Production): 4 of 4 Gobblin superintendants killed!
QUEST COMPLETE: Seize the ans of Production.
You have received: An Advanced Adventurer’s Chest (x1). A spell enhancent potion (x1).
QUEST UPDATE (Bright-Eyed New Adventurer): 4 of 5 monsters killed.
I let out a long, shaky breath.
The fight’s over. Finally.
I shake out my hands, my knuckles aching. My health bar is low, but stable. And it’s slowly rising.
I exhale again, only for the breath to catch in my throat.
The room goes dark.
What the hell?
I realize that I’m standing in a massive shadow swallows whole. Sothing looms over .
I freeze. Slowly, hesitantly, I tilt my head back and look up.
“What the actual hell—?!”
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