Goblin Slayer stirred, his body heavy and numb, every inch of him aching with a dull, persistent pain. His muscles were so fatigued that even attempting to shift felt like a monumental task. His eyelids fluttered weakly— refusing to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time, before the darkness reclaimed him.
For brief moments between consciousness, he caught glimpses of his surroundings: a room, larger than most, with palm wood walls and a ceiling overhead. The space was adorned with beaded curtains and rugs hung like tapestries— a style foreign to the places he'd known. Soft hues of beige and turquoise filled the room, giving it a calm, almost bohemian feel, though none of it seemed to register fully in his mind.
When he finally woke, more alert this time, his eyes opened to see something that immediately sent a pulse of adrenaline through his veins.
The sight of it filled him with instant, murderous rage. His muscles tensed, or at least tried to, but his body was too weak, too stiff to respond. His heart hammered in his chest, and he gritted his teeth as his crimson eyes locked onto her— glaring with the fury of a man who had spent years slaughtering her kind.
Yet, something was different. This goblin wasn't like the others he'd come across.
'Wait… That's impossible— this can't be?! That's…?! That's?!' The mortified teenager's mind spiraled, as his crimson eyes traced more of the dark green-skinned monster's features— the unmistakable curves in their breasts and hips making it hard to deny what he was looking at.
She was short, as goblins were, but she had long, brown hair that flowed down her back, rather than the greasy matted mess he'd come to expect. Her flat nose— was nothing like the hooked, grotesque features of the goblins he was used to killing.
Her large, round eyes were yellow with soft, human-like scleras instead of the beady, goat-like black voids. And her face was almost pristine— showing signs of hygiene that were polar opposite to the wart-infested skin conditions of the other goblins he had come across.
'No, this thing…! It can't be a goblin— that wouldn't make sense! Not unless…?!' the shaken teen's mind trailed off, as his thoughts momentarily shifted back to what D'Arce had told him— before she had him arrested, and unintentionally almost sent him to what should have been his doom.
""Impotus gobelinus": it's one of the four genera of goblins who exist— it means "Imp Goblin," in Old Common…"
"… They're the ones most commonly associated with the word "goblin"; the smallest population out of the four genus, yet are the most infamous. The ones you're undoubtedly vindictive of…"
'Then… Then, that means… That must mean that she was telling the truth…'
"… Not all goblins are like the ones associated with pillaging and raping… Most goblins are law-abiding subjects who live peacefully within the boundaries of our society…"
"… They have the same rights as you and I."
'No… No! No, that part can't be true— I won't allow it to be,' he shook his head as much as his stiff neck would allow him to— rejecting the mere idea of there existing a peaceful goblin, after witnessing the atrocities committed by them.
'Male or female, a goblin's still a goblin! If anything else, the existence of females means that their kind as a whole is even more problematic than I thought!' His thoughts spiraled, as the mere idea of goblins not needing captives to multiply themselves made the teenager's hate-filled eyes widened with dread.
She smiled at him— an expression that faltered under his deadly glare. It wasn't the grotesque sneer of a marauding goblin, but a nervous, uneasy smile. She clutched a clay cup of water close to her chest, clearly trying to appear harmless. Yet, all Goblin Slayer could think of was how much he wanted to rip her apart, despite his body betraying him, leaving him paralyzed on the couch.
The goblin woman swallowed nervously, her eyes darting away from his furious gaze. "E-Excuse me, please," she stammered in fluent Common— her voice softer than the grating screeches of the monsters he'd fought. She set the cup down on the small table beside the couch, and Goblin Slayer's eyes followed her every move, calculating, assessing— waiting for the moment when he'd have the strength to kill her.
As she stepped back, he noticed her attire— a light beige sleeveless shirt and a brown skirt. She wore turquoise jewelry, bracelets clinking softly as she moved. On her feet were simple sandals. There was something unsettlingly human about her, yet he could never mistake her for anything other than what she was.
A goblin.
She hurried out of the room— her sandals slapping softly against the wooden floor, as she power-walked out of what he now realized was a bedroom. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts— and his seething rage.
Every fiber of his being screamed to attack. To end her. His fingers twitched, but his body wouldn't respond. He was too stiff, too injured. His muscles burned with fatigue, the effort of even moving his hand sending jolts of pain through his chest and abdomen. His mind raced, a torrent of memories flashing before him.
He thought back to every goblin he had ever slain— their filthy, snarling faces; their beady, soulless eyes; their cackling laughter as they butchered and defiled. He remembered the horrific scenes they had left behind, the carnage, the suffering.
'Mimicking kindness, and civility… It's a trick— all of it is,' his mind screamed. 'It has to be! Goblins all the same— just vile, disgusting vermin who deserve to burn in hell, where they belong!'
His hatred swirled like a storm, but it was trapped inside his mind, imprisoned by his broken body.
The image of the pristine face of the goblin girl lingered in his thoughts— taunting him with its unfamiliarity, stirring confusion and doubt in a mind trained to think of only one solution: to kill them all.
But his body wouldn't let him. He was helpless, laying there on the couch, filled with murderous intent but unable to act on it. His muscles were twitching, his mind spinning, as he tried to make sense of the incongruity before him.
A goblin had helped him— possibly more than just her.
He wanted nothing more than to destroy it. Yet, for now, all he could do was wait— his fury boiling like molten iron beneath his skin. His blood pressure surged— veins pulsing at his temples as he tried again to rise from the couch, only to end up wiggling helplessly against the soft cushions.
His fingers twitched— curling into fists that gripped nothing but air. His mind screamed for action, but his body— weak and broken from the endless gauntlet of trials— refused to obey.
With a growl of frustration, Goblin Slayer slumped back into the couch. His breath came in sharp, angry bursts, his chest heaving as he tried to control the overwhelming wave of rage coursing through him. Begrudgingly, he forced his mind to assess his current condition.
Most of his body was wrapped in white, clean bandages, wound tight around his torso, arms, and legs. As his eyes scanned the bandages, he noticed braces around his legs and left arm— carefully and professionally applied, the craftsmanship of the bindings surprisingly good, as though a trained medical professional had done the work. He could barely comprehend the skill it must have taken to dress his injuries so efficiently.
The thought only fueled his anger further.
'Goblin hands.'
The idea that those filthy creatures had touched him, had helped him, made him grind his teeth in frustration. He still couldn't see through his murderous rage, still unable to comprehend why they had done this— why they hadn't finished him off when they had the chance.
A low, guttural growl escaped his throat, and he shifted his glare to the copper fireplace in the corner of the room. It flickered with a dull, warm glow, the polished metal giving off a soft reflection.
His mind spiraled in fury, but the sound of the door opening startled him. It slammed against the wall, hitting with a loud thud, as someone stepped inside— a new figure, unlike any he had seen before.
'Is…?! Is that a woman?!'
The person looked carefree, almost casual, and utterly out of place in such a strange environment. They had long, pastel-blue hair that swayed gently with their movements, and light skin that paired well with their light hair. Their face was adorned with a pair of dark sunglasses that reflected the room back at Goblin Slayer, as they approached with an air of indifference. A closed-lip, lazy smile hung on their face, exuding a lackadaisical carelessness.
Strapped to their back was something that Goblin Slayer didn't recognize— an exotic, foreign object, long and oddly shaped with curved edges and strings. It had the appearance of some kind of weapon, but it lacked the immediate lethality of a sword. Yet, the way it was carried, strapped diagonally across the figure's back, made it seem important. The figure also carried a guard-less katana sheathed at their slender hip, which felt far more familiar and dangerous.
Goblin Slayer's brow furrowed. 'What's that thing on her back? Some kind of axe?'
It looked too delicate to be of any practical use, but he couldn't be sure. Everything about this person was strange and unnerving.
As they approached his bedside, a small group of older goblins followed, each of them dressed in clean, human clothing. They looked groomed— better groomed than most people he's seen. Each of them carried something unfamiliar to him, clipboards and medical bags. The goblins shifted nervously, clearly uneasy, but kept their distance as the blue-haired figure came closer.
Goblin Slayer's mind reeled, trying to make sense of what was happening. 'I think it's a woman— looks like one, at least. But that doesn't matter. Why are… Whatever they are, walking freely among goblins? They don't seem scared or threatened by their presence, but why?'
He had killed so many goblins, seen so much carnage and cruelty at their hands, and now the person moved among them as if they were harmless.
The figure coolly lowered their sunglasses, revealing a pair of glowing yellow irises that twinkled with amusement. Their expression never faltered from that relaxed smile. Despite the oddness of the scene, there was something disarming about the figure's calm demeanor— something almost mocking, yet not malicious.
With a slight tilt of their head, they greeted him in a relaxed voice that was neither feminine or masculine.
"Why, hello there, Old Sport."
'Old… Sport…?' The gray-haired teen repeated bewilderingly to himself— caught off guard by not only the ambiguity of the entity's voice before him, but by the odd nickname they had just called him.
Quickly shaking off the distracting confusion, Goblin Slayer— with his throat dry, and his voice weak from exhaustion— vocalized his rage, as he forced the words out through his parched lips.
"Who... Who are you?" he rasped, glaring daggers up at the figure. "And are you... Are you conspiring with these…?! These WRETCHED THINGS…?!" His body ached, and his vision wavered, but his hatred was sharp as ever, refusing to be dulled by pain or injury.
The stranger, seemingly unbothered by his murderous glare, casually pushed their sunglasses back up the bridge of their small nose with one finger, an amused smirk tugging at their lips. "You talking about conspiring with these goblins? What's there to conspire against?"
They then slid their hands lazily into the pockets of their black pants, their posture loose and completely unthreatened by the killing intent radiating from Goblin Slayer. "Nah, these nerds are just part of my fan club, Old Sport— not members of whatever crackpot theory you've got formulating in that twisted noggin' of yours," they added, playfully, clearly not taking his flurry of emotions seriously.
With a cocky little shrug, the blue-haired figure introduced themselves as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Name's Remi Kasugai, by the way— or "Storm Lord," around these parts."
Goblin Slayer blinked, too furious to even process the absurd title. His hands twitched against the couch, but he was too weak to rise, his body wrapped tight in bandages, his limbs still too stiff and broken to obey. But his mind was clear enough to stay focused on what mattered. "Where…?! Where are the other captives…?!" he demanded, ignoring their self-important name.
Remi's laugh was light, almost like they were sharing a joke with an old friend— as if the whole situation was some grand cosmic prank only they were in on. "They're up your ass, and around the corner— each and everyone of them," they chortled, still wearing that same relaxed, closed-lip smile. "I'd be more than happy to reached down there and go looking for you, but only if you ask reeeeaal nicely first."
Gritting his teeth at them, the enraged teenager experienced the impossible: he was growing more irritated with something else, other than goblins. "Is this…?! Is this all some sort of a JOKE to you…?!"
"Yeah, it is," Remi replied bluntly— visibly taking enjoyment from the effect he was having on him. "But like for real though: these guys around here don't do captives— not unless you get all philosophical and shit about how "we're all just captives, in the eyes scheme of the Supreme God"," they said in an exaggerated, playful voice.
The teen's crimson eyes narrowed, his glare burning hotter, but his limbs remained useless. "Enough with the lies…! Your attempts to deceive me are futile…!" He choked out through his raspy voice, which made Remi's smug smirk widden ever so slightly.
"You talk some big shit, for someone with such soft, kissable lips," they said teasingly; the out of pocket comment only adding fuel to the burning inferno inside of Goblin Slayer's eyes. Instead of further aggravating the teenager in a full-body cast before him, Remi simply waved off his anger with a dismissive hand— their sunglasses sliding down their nose, to once again reveal a pair of glowing yellow irises.
"Besides, you're probably thinking of the wrong kind of goblins," they explained, their voice carrying the same casual nonchalance as before— like they were explaining a trivial misunderstanding.
"These ones here? They're "Hill Goblins". Different breed entirely from those rascally "Imp Goblins"." Remi explained, while still completely unfazed by the deadly rage in his eyes— their demeanor still cool, laid back, as if none of this was serious at all.
"Hill Goblins," they continued, sliding their hands out from their pockets. "A bit more civilized than your average, rapey, and sadistic Imp Goblins. They've got manners. Some even wear clothes, see? Nice ones, too." They gestured vaguely at the older goblins behind them, who shifted nervously but remained silent. "They don't go around raiding villages, or shoving their willies into peeps— quite the contrary. These ones are more into the nerd stuff, like artificing, and other technological mumbo-jumbo."
Goblin Slayer's mistrust and fury only deepened. His heart pounded in his chest, every fiber of his being wanted to lash out, to tear into the goblins behind Remi and this bizarre, carefree figure standing before him. But he was still helpless, still stuck on the couch, his body wrapped in bandages, his muscles stiff and aching.
"You... Expect me to believe... That?!" Goblin Slayer growled, his voice little more than a rasp. But Remi only shrugged again, that infuriating smile never leaving their face.
"I don't give a shit what you believe in; you'll figure it out soon enough on your own." Remi pushed their sunglasses back up again, the faint glow of their yellow eyes disappearing behind the dark lenses. "But hey, might as well lighten up. You're alive, aren't you? You should be thanking them— not acting like a dick to them."
Goblin Slayer's fists clenched weakly at his sides, every inch of his body shaking with barely-contained rage, but there was nothing he could do— at least not yet.
Remi then casually pulled the strap of their guitar over their head— letting it slide off effortlessly. With a cocky grin, they glanced at the group of goblins— their nervous eyes darting between Goblin Slayer's murderous glare and the chill stranger standing beside him.
"Alright nerds, you're all good to go— have at 'em," Remi said in a nonchalant tone, strumming a few random chords before making their way over to the end table near Goblin Slayer's head.
As Remi started tuning their guitar, plucking at the strings with a playful flick of his wrist, Goblin Slayer's crimson eyes snapped over to the goblins. His angered glare bored into them— a silent promise of violence if they dared come any closer.
One of them, a male goblin with black-rimmed glasses, black-and-gray hair, and a thin goatee, stepped forward nervously. He cleared his throat, clutching a clipboard close to his chest.
"G-Good evening, sir," the goblin stammered, adjusting his glasses as if that might protect him from the man's murderous intent. "I'm Dr. Mokagnuk, and today my team and I will be conducting an examination on your progress— all standard procedure, I assure you. This will involve removing your bandages… With your consent, of course." He spoke quickly, his words tumbling over each other in his nervous rush.
Goblin Slayer remained silent, his jaw clenching so hard that his teeth might have cracked. His body screamed at him to move, to fight, but his muscles refused to obey. Instead, he lay there, seething in his own frustration, his eyes never leaving the goblins.
He could practically feel the hate boiling in his veins.
Remi, still plucking at the strings of their guitar, grinned without looking up. "Oh, and Old Sport," they said casually, "if you do somehow manage to get your busted-ass off of that couch, and you try to go all "murder-hobo" on any of these goblins, then I'll have no issue with killing you myself." Their tone was so nonchalant, so casual, it was as if they were commenting on the weather. "Just a friendly little warning, is all."
Goblin Slayer's silence remained, though his nostrils flared, his lips twisting into a deeper scowl.
Dr. Mokagnuk, looking between Remi and Goblin Slayer with wide eyes, cleared his throat again nervously. "R-Right then. We'll, uh… We'll take that as consent."
"Damn straight," Remi muttered, his grin widening as he started strumming a real tune, something rhythmic and smooth, though his eyes never left Goblin Slayer. "He's ready for his prostate exam when you are, doc."
Dr. Mokagnuk gave Remi a long, exasperated look before sighing heavily. "We… W-We won't be doing any of… That," he reassured Goblin Slayer, who continued to glare silently, his fury almost palpable.
The goblins around him hesitated, but at a nod from Dr. Mokagnuk, they began to move. Carefully, nervously, they approached the gray-haired teen, removing his bandages with steady hands.
The room was tense, each goblin on edge as if expecting him to lash out at any second.
And as they peeled away the layers of bandages, revealing the scarred, bruised flesh beneath, Goblin Slayer's mind raced. His hatred for goblins clouded his thoughts, every instinct shouting at him to attack. But his body was too weak, too stiff.
Remi, ever the picture of chill, casually turned their attention back to Goblin Slayer, still strumming. "So, Old Sport, do you have an actual name? Or are you the more "mysterious stranger" kind of loser?" They asked, as if this were the most casual of conversations.
Goblin Slayer's eyes burned with rage, but he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes, his gaze never wavering from the group of goblins attending to him.
Remi raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Eh, no worries— real names are overrated anyway," they said with a shrug— their tone light and carefree. "I'll just call you... "Sportsy"— "Old Sport," for short. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Goblin Slayer's only response was a deeper scowl.
"Yeah, I think so too," Remi said while being undeterred by the teen's silence— their fingers moving smoothly over the strings of their instrument. "Tell you what though, Sportsy," he said, a playful grin spreading across their face, "How about I show you what I've been cooking up in the studio? That sounds pretty cool, doesn't it?" They didn't wait for a response. "I'll take that as a "hell yeah, it does"!"
With that, Remi launched into a melody— their fingers dancing along the guitar strings with surprising skill. The tune was soft yet rhythmic, a smooth, almost hypnotic sound that filled the room. As the melody drifted through the air, Remi's voice followed, singing in a relaxed, almost lazy tone.
"It's full moon again— crazy how time flies. One might wonder if my path is in the right direction."
"But I do believe, things come to light by accident. When it remains on, sounds like it's meant to be."
At first, Goblin Slayer resisted, his mind still full of violent thoughts. But as the song continued, something strange began to happen. His anger, it didn't fade, exactly, but it dulled.
The murderous rage that had been boiling inside him like a furnace started to simmer down, becoming something more distant. His body, still aching and sore, began to relax slightly, as if some invisible weight was being lifted.
The goblins worked quickly, removing the bandages and applying fresh treatments to his wounds. But Goblin Slayer barely noticed. His mind was clouded, a strange sense of calm washing over him, despite the overwhelming confusion and mistrust gnawing at the back of his skull.
He shot a glare at Remi, suspicion flickering in his crimson eyes. 'This isn't right. Why am I feeling… Calm?'
Remi's grin widened as if he could feel Goblin Slayer's confusion. "Good shit, right?" They asked with a chuckle while still playing the upbeat, jazzy notes— their voice carrying that same relaxed energy, as when they were singing. "Glad to hear you say that, Sportsy; I figured you'd appreciate a little bit of magic to take some of that edgy-edge off."
Goblin Slayer's eyes narrowed at the mention of magic. His fists clenched, the familiar rage bubbling back up, but it was weaker now— still dulled by the soothing sound of their music.
"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist," Remi said, not missing a beat. "It's not the BAD kind of magic. Think of it more as… A musical sedative. Makes it easier for the doc and his pals to patch you up, without you going full "autismo mode" on them."
Goblin Slayer growled low in his throat, his crimson eyes flicking toward the group of goblins tending to him, then back to Remi.
They continued playing— their grin never faltering. "And trust me, Sportsy," he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone for just a moment, "you're gonna want to sit tight for this— cause they're the ones keeping you alive right now— not me."
Goblin Slayer gritted his teeth, but he didn't argue. The stranger's words— annoying as they were— made a disturbing amount of sense. Still, his eyes remained fixed on the goblins, his mistrust and hatred for their kind simmering beneath the surface. Even now, he couldn't let go of the rage.
Remi, seeing the look on Goblin Slayer's face, chuckled to himself. "Oh, don't worry, Sportsy. You'll be back to killing shit in no time— as a matter of fact, I've got a little something for ya later to let all that rage out on. But for now… Just relax. Enjoy the show." And with that, Remi launched into the last verse of the song— their voice and guitar filling the room with an oddly soothing calm, yet upbeat tune.
"Some-times it's the journey itself that teaches a lot about the destination; not aware of no matter how far— no matter how far!"
"How you go— how you go, how you go!"
"How long it may last— carpe diem, no time to waste!"
"Venture life— you gotta venture life, go get it!"
"Burn, your, dread…!"
For the first time in what felt like years, Goblin Slayer's body began to loosen, his mind slowly drifting from the rage that had gripped him for so long. Even if only for a moment, the music— infused with magic or not— was a strange, unwelcomed relief.
Author's note: I absolutely did make a bard/warlock/fighter hybrid class OC companion that's essentially just Rimuru Tempest with the personality of Dave Miller from Dayshift at Freddy's.
