The full moon hung high above the desert, casting its cold, pale light across the landscape. The night sky was painted in shades of violet and pink— the eerie beauty of it in stark contrast to the horror unfolding below.
The ruined fortress stood like a skeleton of ancient glory— its crumbling walls draped in shadow. The place had become the stronghold for a marauding army of desert bandits— large men with sunburnt, cracked skin, their light armor stained with blood, sand, and the dirt of countless raids. They filled the once-hallowed grounds with their unruly presence— a feral mass of drunken debauchery and violence.
Fires blazed in the center of the courtyard, the largest of which was surrounded by a raucous crowd of marauders. Hot alcohol, served in filthy, chipped mugs, were passed around as they shouted and brawled, while fistfights erupted between the men with sickening cracks of bone and roars of fury.
Their faces were twisted in wild expressions of lust and anger— their eyes bloodshot and wide with intoxication. Broken teeth flashed in cruel smiles as they reveled in their brutality— smashing bottles over one another's heads or throwing punches just for the sheer pleasure of it.
Around the fire, scattered among the men like discarded toys, were their captives— women, human and elven alike, stripped of all dignity and clothes. They huddled in terror, their bodies bruised and marked by fresh cuts and scars, the cold night air biting against their exposed skin.
Their eyes were wide with fear, tear-streaked and vacant, as they trembled in the dirt. Some were dragged by their hair, others forced into degrading acts while the men laughed and cheered— their orifices violated by the filthy genitals of their rapists. Cries of agony and whispered prayers for mercy were swallowed by the roaring flames and the laughter of their tormentors.
One elf, her delicate face bloodied, her silver hair matted with sweat and dirt, stared blankly into the fire, her lips trembling as she clutched her knees to her chest. Another human woman tried to shield her friend, but the marauder holding them only pulled her away with a sick grin, his filthy fingers digging into her skin. Their screams— echoing into the night— were drowned by the relentless cheer of the marauders, who continued to feast on their pain like vultures.
Above the courtyard, in the tower's highest chamber, the dark elf sat— watching the moon through a narrow, broken window. His skin was a deep obsidian, his long white hair falling in silky strands around his broad, muscular shoulders.
He was tall and imposing, dressed in black leather armor adorned with silver buckles and studs, his arms marked with swirling tattoos that gleamed faintly in the dim light of the chamber. Around him, treasures from the marauders' latest haul were carelessly piled— gold coins, gemstones, and ornate weapons glinted in the flickering candlelight. Despite the luxury, the room felt suffocating, filled with the heavy, oppressive stench of sweat, blood, and despair.
The dark elf, however, paid no attention to the treasures or the women cowering in chains at the far end of the room. They sat in the corner, their wrists and ankles bound, naked and covered in bruises. Their eyes were hollow, dark circles beneath them speaking of nights spent in fear. Some had fresh cuts, blood still trickling from shallow wounds on their arms and legs, while others had older scars that told of their prolonged suffering. They whimpered quietly, shivering from the cold and the pain, but the dark elf gave them no more notice than one might give a flickering candle.
His gaze was fixed on the moon— his lips quietly mumbling prayers in his native tongue.
It reflected in his eyes, the cold glow of the lunar light casting his sharp features in a ghostly hue. There was a strange calmness about him, a stillness that seemed out of place in the chaos below.
He seemed almost lost in thought, his gaze unblinking as he watched the sky. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the hilt of a curved blade resting across his lap, but his mind was far away. The cries from the women shackled in his chamber might as well have been the rustling of leaves to him— background noise to the symphony of despair that he had grown so accustomed to.
One of the women, emboldened by desperation, dared to crawl toward him. Her body trembled with every inch she gained, her face a mixture of terror and pitiful hope. "Please…" she whispered, her voice hoarse, her hands stretched out toward him in a pleading gesture. "Please… We've told you everything we know… F-Free us…"
The dark elf didn't move, didn't flinch. His eyes remained locked on the moon, as if her words never reached his ears. Her outstretched hand faltered, and the last shred of hope that had kept her crawling crumbled. She collapsed onto the cold floor, curling in on herself, her sobs drowned out by the wind that whistled through the cracks in the stone.
Outside, the marauders roared louder, and the fires burned higher. Their shadows danced on the walls, grotesque and mocking. The fortress, once a place of order, was now a desecrated ruin— a graveyard for the living, and a hell from which there seemed no escape.
And above it all, the dark elf watched the moon, indifferent to the suffering that churned beneath him.
The sky above the ruined fortress began to churn, storm clouds gathering from all directions like dark omens rolling over the desert. The once clear, star-filled sky turned black, a swirling vortex of impending chaos. Thunder rumbled in the distance, deep and ominous, and the faint smell of rain and electricity filled the air.
The dark elf stood at the broken window, his fingers gripping the crumbling stone of the windowsill, the sharp edges cutting into his palm but drawing no pain from his expression. His eyes, red and black, glimmered with anticipation. His gaze pierced the thickening storm clouds, as if he could see beyond the darkness. His lips barely moved as he whispered under his breath, voice low and cryptic, "So… You've finally arrived."
He let out a long sigh, his breath escaping him slowly as if he were about to enter a calm meditation. But then, his eyes widened— a sudden manic light flooding into them, his pupils dilating until they were almost devoured by the dark void surrounding the red irises. His mouth twisted into a sharp, psychotic grin, his lips pulling back to reveal a set of jagged, razor-sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light of the chamber.
A low chuckle bubbled up from his chest, growing louder and more deranged until it became a full-blown hysterical cackle. His shoulders shook with the force of it, his laughter echoing through the tower as he turned away from the window.
The women chained to the wall, already broken by fear and pain, scrambled away from him, their chains rattling as they cowered. One whimpered, her hand covering her mouth, as the dark elf strode past them without even a glance, his unhinged laughter still ringing in their ears.
He approached the corner of the room where his weapon rested against the post of the bed— a monstrous claymore over three meters long, its deep blue metal gleaming faintly. The blade was massive, jagged along its edges, its design resembling a crescent moon. It looked impossibly heavy, far beyond the capacity of any ordinary man to wield, yet the dark elf effortlessly lifted it with one hand— swinging it over his broad shoulder like it was weightless.
The women shrank further into their chains as he walked by, his grin still wide, his eyes wild with murderous glee. Without a word, he descended the spiral staircase— each step echoing in the hollow stone tower. The storm outside had grown closer now, the air thick with the promise of violence, and the dark elf welcomed it with his horrific smile, eager for the bloodshed to come.
At the fortress's front entrance, the storm had fully arrived. The massive wooden gates shuddered before they exploded inward, the blast sending splinters and dust scattering into the night. In the midst of the debris stood Remi, their cyan tendrils already extended and slithering across the ground like deadly serpents. Sparks of cyan lightning crackled around them, illuminating their bloodied face and glowing yellow eyes. With their guardless katana drawn, they moved swiftly on their tendrils, each motion fluid and precise, like a spider hunting its prey.
Beside them, Goblin Slayer stepped forward— his body encased in an aura of crimson lightning, and his left eye glowing intensely, pulsing with every step he took. The air around him shimmered with power, the static in the air rising as he gripped his tomahawk tightly, the metal edge glowing faintly with a dangerous heat.
The twenty marauders stationed as sentries barely had time to react before death descended upon them.
The first marauder screamed as Remi's tendrils pierced through his chest and neck, lifting him off the ground as blood sprayed from his mouth. His eyes bulged in horror as cyan lightning coursed through his body, making his skin blister and crack before he was flung aside, his body left twitching and smoking in the dirt.
A second marauder lunged at Remi, only to be met with a slash from their lightning-infused katana, the blade cutting through his abdomen like butter. His body split in half, entrails spilling onto the ground with a wet squelch, while his dying scream became swallowed by the sound of crackling energy.
Goblin Slayer moved like a blur beside them— his tomahawk cleaving through the chest of a marauder, the force of his strike sending blood and bone flying. His body count began ticking upward in his head as he decapitated another— his tomahawk moving in a wide arc that severed the man's head clean from his shoulders. The severed head hit the ground with a dull thud, eyes still wide in shock.
One marauder, terrified by the slaughter, tried to flee but was stopped by Remi's tendrils wrapping around his legs. He screamed, thrashing in vain as they yanked him back into the fray. Remi's katana struck him across the back— severing his spine, before they casually tossed him aside like a broken toy, with his body hitting the ground with a lifeless thud.
Goblin Slayer's glowing left eye flashed as a group of three marauders charged him, spears in hand. With a low growl, he leapt forward— his tomahawk igniting with crimson lightning. In a single, powerful swing, he cleaved through all three men— their bodies exploding in a spray of blood and gore. Limbs flew, their spears falling uselessly to the ground as their broken bodies crumpled into a pile of flesh.
Remi let out a delighted laugh as they skewered another marauder— twisting their tendrils in his gut before ripping him apart in a shower of blood and viscera. "You'll have to try harder than that…!" They taunted— their voice full of sadistic amusement as they effortlessly dodged another attacker's blade, slicing him across the throat in response.
The sentries were no match for the combined force of Remi and Goblin Slayer. One by one, they fell, their bodies torn apart in a violent storm of lightning, blood, and screams.
The stench of alcohol, sweat, and blood filled the air as Goblin Slayer and Remi pushed onward through the broken gates— stepping into the ruined courtyard in the wake of their massacre.
The marauders' camp sprawled out before them like a grotesque, living nightmare. Hundreds of desert marauders, drunk and distracted, littered the area around a massive bonfire that burned in the center, casting flickering shadows across the scene. Their loud laughter, lewd jeers, and brutal raping of the shackled women and elven captives created a cacophony of chaos— the air thick with debauchery.
But the moment Remi and Goblin Slayer stepped into the courtyard, all that noise began to shift, turning from rowdy revelry into disordered panic.
The marauders, drunk and sluggish, scrambled to their feet, tripping over each other in their haste to grab their weapons. Some were too far gone— their movements sluggish and clumsy, others were still preoccupied with the horrors they had been inflicting on the captives, leaving the women to lie chained and bruised on the ground.
The bonfire's heat burned hot on their faces, the orange light throwing long, sharp shadows across the chaotic scene. The marauders finally noticed their presence— two figures standing in the glow of the flames, their silhouettes wreathed in lightning and death.
Remi was the first to move.
A wave of cyan lightning surged down their tendrils— crackling through the air as they launched forward with their katana drawn. Their blade glinted in the firelight as it sliced clean through the first marauder's neck— sending his head spiraling into the bonfire, where it exploded in a burst of flame and blood.
Another marauder, reaching for his sword, had no chance to react as Remi's tendrils shot through his chest— lifting him off his feet before hurling him into the fire as well. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Goblin Slayer followed close behind— his tomahawk glowing with crimson lightning.
His first strike cleaved through a marauder's arm, sending a spurt of blood into the night air. Before the man could even scream, Goblin Slayer followed up with a powerful swing that cut the marauder in half, his body crumpling to the ground in a pool of blood.
Another marauder came at him with a spear, but the teen twisted on his heel— swinging his tomahawk in a wide arc. The blade connected with the marauder's face, splitting his skull open with a sickening crunch. Blood and brains splattered the ground as the body fell lifeless at his feet.
The camp exploded more into chaos. Marauders screamed as they stumbled over each other— some too drunk to hold their weapons properly. They trampled their own as they tried to rally, but Goblin Slayer and Remi moved through them like a storm of death.
Remi's tendrils lashed out in every direction— piercing through the torsos and skulls of the marauders with brutal efficiency. One tendril wrapped around the neck of a fleeing man, and yanked him backward before slamming him headfirst into the ground— his skull cracking open like a ripe fruit.
Cyan lightning arced through their tendrils as they electrocuted another group of marauders, their bodies convulsing violently before collapsing in a heap of charred flesh.
A marauder swung his sword at Remi, but they ducked under the blow— their katana flashing as they severed his leg at the knee. The man fell, screaming, only to be silenced as Remi drove their blade through his heart— twisting it as blood poured from the wound.
Goblin Slayer was a blur of crimson energy— his tomahawk cleaving through flesh and bone with terrifying speed. He swung his weapon in wide arcs, creating crimson crescent-shaped projectiles that sliced through the ranks of marauders— dismembering them where they stood. Limbs flew, blood sprayed in fountains, and the marauders' screams filled the night.
One marauder tried to rush Goblin Slayer with a club, but the feen sidestepped— bringing his tomahawk down onto the man's shoulder. The blade bit deep into the flesh, cutting through muscle and bone, leaving the man hanging in two jagged halves.
Goblin Slayer pulled his weapon free, blood pouring down its length, and threw it toward another group of marauders. The tomahawk spun through the air, slicing through the necks of two men before embedding itself in the skull of a third.
As Remi continued to fight, their movements were like a dance: graceful yet violent. They leapt into the air, using their tendrils to propel themselves above the marauders, before sending a bolt of cyan lightning crashing down onto the group below. The lightning arced through their bodies— leaving them convulsing and smoking as they collapsed to the ground.
One marauder, thinking he had the drop on Remi, raised his sword to strike, but their tendrils coiled around his throat, and lifted him off the ground. With a flick of their gelatinous extremity, they snapped his neck— his body falling limp as they tossed him aside like a broken doll.
Nearby, the captive women were regaining their composure. Despite their bruises and torn clothes, their eyes glinted with determination. Some reached for fallen weapons, others grabbed the chains that once bound them.
One woman, an elf with a deep gash across her cheek and blood running down her inner thighs, whispered an incantation. A glowing sphere of light formed in her palm, before exploding outward— blasting a group of marauders backward, their bodies hitting the ground with sickening thuds.
Another woman, her hands still shackled, swung a chain around her head before hurling it toward a marauder. The chain wrapped around his throat, and with a sharp pull, she yanked him off his feet, his head slamming into the ground with a wet crunch. She let out a shout of defiance, rallying the other captives as they began to join the fight, using whatever they could find to bring down their captors.
Goblin Slayer, seeing the women join the fray, let out a grunt of approval. He swung his tomahawk in a wide arc— sending another crimson projectile toward a group of marauders attempting to flee. The projectile cut through them, their bodies collapsing in a shower of blood and severed limbs.
The marauders were overwhelmed, their numbers dwindling as Goblin Slayer and Remi continued their relentless slaughter. The bonfire roared higher, fueled by the bodies thrown into it, the flames casting an eerie glow over the battlefield.
Remi, covered in blood and viscera, laughed as they skewered another marauder on their katana, before throwing him into the fire. "Nothing like a late-night barbecue, eh Sportsy?!" They taunted— their voice filled with sadistic glee, as their mouth began to salivate at the thought of their next feast.
Goblin Slayer said nothing— his focus unwavering as he dismembered another marauder, as his tomahawk flashed in the firelight. His body count continued to rise, as the ground beneath his feet became even more slick with blood.
'They're worse than the bandits in Evergreen… These monsters are indistinguishable from those goblins… Imp goblins,' the gray-haired teen thought to himself, while momentarily thinking back to the villagers of Delrivkat, just as the blade of his tomahawk cleaved its way up through the jaw of a marauder— blood trickling down the handle of his gifted weapon.
'Hill goblins… Maybe… Maybe they're not actually goblins? That would explain why they're so civil— so kind,' Goblin Slayer considered to himself— his brain trying to overcome his own bias, as he pulled his weapon out of the convulsing marauder's skull with a sickening wet crunch.
'Yes… Yes, that has to be it: they're simply mislabeled as goblins. In reality, they're like the orcs: just born with the misfortune of being green-skinned, and sharing characteristics of those foul monsters…'
'Goblins are goblins… No matter what form they take. Some even pass for humans— like these unforgivable degenerates…'
'…'
'I see… It's all starting to make sense to me now.'
After the slaughter, Remi's tendrils coiled around the charred corpses near the bonfire— dragging them closer with ease as they crouched over the blackened remains of the marauders. Without hesitation, their teeth tore into the scorched flesh— peeling it from the bones with grotesque efficiency. The sound of cracking bones and seared muscle being ripped apart filled the air— their acidic saliva hissing as it dissolved what was left of the marauders' charred skin.
They chewed noisily, enjoying the macabre feast as though it were a casual snack, their yellow eyes gleaming with feral delight. Their mouth worked at the remnants of a torso, blackened ribs jutting from the burned flesh as they gnawed— tearing off chunks of muscle. Charred skin sloughed off under their grip, and blood— thickened from the heat— dripped from their fingers as they devoured the remains with monstrous appetite.
Goblin Slayer, meanwhile, moved efficiently through the courtyard— his tomahawk flashing in the dim light as he cut through the chains binding the captive women. Each slice was precise, clean, and methodical, the chains falling to the ground with metallic clinks. His attention never wavered from the task, his mind focused on freeing the women and restoring order in the aftermath of their brutal raid.
When he finished cutting the last of the chains, he looked at the women who had gathered, trembling but standing strong. "Are there any more captives?" He asked, his voice low but steady.
From the group, a tall, muscular woman stepped forward. Her dark skin was marred with scars and fresh bruises, her black dreadlocks tangled with blood and dirt. Her face was swollen from recent beatings, and the remnants of torn clothing barely clung to her battered body. Despite this, her posture was strong, her voice firm and filled with authority.
"Second Lieutenant Na'kara Othundi, Royal Army," she introduced herself, standing tall despite the pain she must have been enduring. "On behalf of my comrades, we thank you for your intervention. Both of you," she added, glancing cautiously toward Remi, who was still crouched by the fire, chewing on a burnt leg like it was a drumstick.
Goblin Slayer nodded once. "Are there more prisoners?" He asked— repeating himself, while speaking only as much as he needed to.
Na'kara hesitated for a moment— her gaze hardening as she seemed to relive the trauma. "There… There are still Royal Army Knights trapped in Suliven's tower. Those who haven't been…" Her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath before continuing. "The ones who haven't been… Dealt with yet."
Goblin Slayer's eyes narrowed at the weight of her words. "Who is Suliven?" He asked— the question simple but charged with an undercurrent of menace.
At the mention of Suliven's name, Remi, who had been tearing charred flesh from bone without a care in the world, paused mid-bite. Their head turned, and their yellow eyes sparkled with interest. "Ol' Suliven, eh?" They said, a smirk forming on their bloodied lips as they took another bite of the burnt leg. "I know who he is, Old Sport. He's just some asshole big shot who's part of this group called the "Blackwatch". Big and scary to most, but wasn't ever big or scary enough to ever square up with me at Delrivkat."
Na'kara's lips pressed into a thin line as she addressed Remi directly, her tone filled with disdain. "S-Storm Lord," she said stiffly, clearly uncomfortable, but there was a reluctant respect in her voice. Her eyes flicked uneasily toward the leg Remi was chewing on, and the gruesome sight seemed to unsettle her further. "W… Why are you here?"
Remi's lips curled into a wider grin as they casually tossed aside the half-eaten leg, licking their fingers clean of blood and ash. "'Cause I didn't want to fuckin' cook at home, that's why." They stretched their arms, standing lazily as if the aftermath of the battle was little more than an inconvenience. "Don't worry why I'm here, Lieutenant— worry about redevousing with the rest of your tax-draining leeches, and leave the rest to Old Sport and I."
Na'kara visibly tensed at Remi's cavalier attitude, her fists clenching as she addressed Goblin Slayer instead. "Suliven… H-He's is an executive member of Blackwatch," she clarified— keeping her voice steady despite the anxiety creeping into her features. "He… He led the invasion of Sahara Outpost, after… After Albion destroyed it."
As she spoke, Remi, still relaxed and smirking, leaned against the side of the crumbling wall. "Albion, eh? So that's what happened to the outpost then… Makes sense: considering the whole fuckin' thing burned down, from what the reports read."
Goblin Slayer's expression remained impassive, but his mind flashed back to the bandaged woman who had attacked the caged wagon. 'That woman in bandages... When she was that… Thing, she was capable of burning that guard into ash… Does that mean she was the one who did it? Did I arrive, just after she burned down that outpost?'
Na'kara's face, however, paled as she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Suliven… He came with these marauders, and with an entire army of goblins… They… They killed the men, and rounded up the women and children… With him taking the highest in command for himself to be…" She stopped, visibly shaking now. "He's… He's done horrible things to the knights he's taken. We need to stop him before he- before he does more."
Remi rolled their eyes— biting into the remnants of their snack. "He ain't shit."
Na'kara's fear was palpable, and she shot Remi a sharp glare. "Y-You don't understand, Storm Lord! Suliven is a monster. He's…! H-He's a sadist…!"
Remi shrugged, brushing off her words as if they were of no consequence. "So am I, Lieutenant— but you don't see me bragging about it." They tossed the remaining bones aside and stretched lazily. "Like I said: Sportsy and I will take it from here; so you're relieved of your fuckin' duty."
Goblin Slayer watched the exchange in silence, his eyes flicking from Na'kara's anxious face to Remi's confident smirk. His gaze shifted toward the dark tower looming ahead. Something dangerous awaited them inside, and he could feel the malevolence seeping from its very stones.
Remi, seemingly unbothered by the weight of the situation, turned to Goblin Slayer with a grin. "So, Sportsy, how about we stop jerkin' off and go commit one last murder— to the end the night on a high note?" They cracked their knuckles, still grinning wickedly. "Besides, I got beef with this dark-elf fuck: the amount of times I've had to put on pants to deal with his goons trying to invade Delrivkat are unforgivable."
Goblin Slayer nodded, his mind already calculating the next steps. "That's fine."
Na'kara's voice broke through, filled with determination despite her fear. "I'll help however I can, but be careful. Suliven isn't just any terrorist. He's-" She tried explaining, before her voice hitched as the air around them seemed to change.
A sudden chill swept through the courtyard, and the women who had been freed tensed, their expressions shifting from relief to stark terror.
Na'kara froze in mid-sentence, her eyes wide and locked on a figure that appeared in the shadows just beyond the courtyard's edge. The remaining captives, who had been huddling together, also went deathly silent.
The oppressive atmosphere deepened as the figure stepped forward into the flickering light of the bonfire— Suliven.
He was tall, with sharp, angular features and eyes like burning coals, black sclera with deep red irises that pierced through the dark. His long, white hair swayed gently in the growing wind, and his calm, predatory gaze immediately fell on Remi.
Suliven's presence was ominous, commanding, as if the very air around him recoiled.
For a long moment, he simply stared at Remi— his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his eyes turned upward toward the raging storm above, the thick clouds swirling and darkening as if drawn to him. He spoke in a low, smooth voice, reciting a chilling hymn that echoed through the courtyard.
"Azura, the Moon Goddess… She loved the Earth once, with all the tenderness of a mother, as Earth Mother does now. But mankind, wretched and vile, broke her heart. Their wars, their cruelty, drove her away. And now, she can only love from afar— watching as the Earth withers beneath the weight of mankind's sins…"
Suliven closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if savoring the storm above. He let out a soft sigh, his lips curling into a calm smile as he turned back to Remi.
"Storm Lord…" He greeted them in a soft, almost reverent tone, his eyes flashing with predatory delight. "Guardian of Delrivkat… This battle has been a long time in the making— for years I've stayed put, yearning for Azura to bestow upon me the opportunity to be the one to end your miserable existence."
Remi, wiping the blood from their lips after devouring their gruesome meal, stepped forward with a cocky grin. "You've had plenty of chances to duel me, Suliven. Instead, here you are: trying to fuckin' shove your religious beliefs down my throat, without even asking first." Their tone was mocking, brimming with arrogance. "But I guess consent wasn't ever your thing, was it?"
Suliven chuckled, a low, condescending sound that echoed in the courtyard. "Your bravado in the face of death is just as legendarily annoying as the rumors say it to be." He shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. "You're flanderized, Storm Lord: a caricature of self fulfillment, and of meaningless existence… You're the way of Azura's divine plan for us to take back Zemuria from these… Wretched humans."
He cast a disdainful glance around the camp, at the charred bodies of marauders scattered across the courtyard. "Like these marauders," he spat the word with disgust, "All of them— filthy scum. I had every intention of slaughtering them myself. You merely saved me the trouble; your only contribution to something greater than your own selfish ego."
Remi crossed their arms, unfazed by Suliven's taunts. "Well then, glad I could be of service," they sneered. "If only I knew you're this much of a dick-rider, I would've came here sooner with lube, not a sword."
Suliven remained unfazed by Remi's remark, his smile unwavering. The tension in the air grew thick, the storm above raging, lightning flickering in the distance.
While Suliven and Remi exchanged words, Goblin Slayer moved quietly among the captives, pulling Na'kara and the others into a huddle. He spoke in a low, urgent voice. "Take the others and leave. Now. Head for the first dune you see and take cover behind it. We'll find you."
Na'kara hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Suliven, then to Remi. "What about-?"
"-Go," Goblin Slayer cut her off, his voice firm but quiet.
Na'kara nodded, gathering the women quickly. They moved in groups, fleeing through the ruins with quiet haste. Suliven watched them flee for a moment, his gaze detached, indifferent to their fear.
"You. You were the one commanding those goblins— the one who were using that pyramid as their nest?" Goblin Slayer asked, stepping up to stand beside Remi, his body crackling with crimson lightning.
Suliven tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting lazily to Goblin Slayer. "Why is your concubine speaking to me, Storm Lord?" he asked with a sneer, his voice mocking. "Do you have no reign on it, or is the power dynamic reversed?"
Remi barked a laugh, their cyan tendrils sparking with energy. "That's just Old Sport— he's gonna help me clobber ya to smitherins, you moon-worshipin' FUCK."
Suliven chuckled softly, the amusement clear in his eyes. "How adorable— you grew attached to it enough to give it a name…"
"If that's the case then… Let's see if you're still smiling by the time I fucking gut it in front of you."
A tense silence fell over the courtyard, the air thick with the crackle of electricity and the howling wind. Remi's body crackled with cyan lightning, the tendrils around them twitching in anticipation.
Goblin Slayer's crimson lightning sizzled around him, his red eye glowing like a burning ember beneath his helmet. The calm before the storm hung in the air, heavy and oppressive.
Then, without warning, Suliven's calm demeanor shattered. His face twisted into a psychotic grin, his sharp teeth bared in a terrifying display of madness. His eyes burned with a blinding white light, the black and red irises disappearing into the radiant glow.
He swung his massive claymore over his shoulder— its jagged edges gleaming in the firelight.
"I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!" He roared, his voice booming across the ruins. The ground beneath him trembled as white beams of moonlight pierced through the storm clouds above— shining down on him like a divine spotlight.
The air around him crackled with raw power as glowing white runes appeared beneath his feet— etched into the earth by ancient magic. Rocks and debris began to levitate around him, pulled upward by the sheer force of his power.
The white light enveloped Suliven's entire body— his form radiating with an otherworldly glow. His muscles bulged, veins pulsing with energy as his entire body surged with power. The very storm itself seemed to answer his call, the winds howling and lightning flashing violently across the sky.
Remi's eyes narrowed, their grin widening in anticipation. "It's going down now," they muttered, cyan lightning sparking around their tendrils.
Goblin Slayer gripped his tomahawk tightly, his red eye burning fiercely beneath the visor. "Get ready."
