Chương 164: Chapter 162 – A Long Story - Abridged

"Goblins," repeated Cole. He looked around at the strange, curious critters currently crawling over each other and the vehicle, sniffing their packs and gnawing on the jerry cans.

"I thought goblins were supposed to be small, gross, and green. These look more like Muppets on meth." Cole looked around. Most of the goblins were armed. Some carried spear or knives, but others had unmistakable firearms—if primitive, with no two exactly the same size. Cole doubted there was anything resembling a standardized caliber here. Half of them had already lost interest in the human group. Hard Tone shrugged.

"What do you want from me? They run the place. These guys are the reason this world is only Risk Index 4. Be glad they're friendly."" Over friendly, mark me," said a figure working its way through the crowd. It was a toad-faced creature, maybe twice as tall as the others and clearly a different species. He wore loose wraps and face paint and had leathery, scarred skin stretched tight over lean muscle. He walked on one real leg and one that looked very close to a Paralympian running blade for amputees.

Even with his diminished stature and injury, Cole got the feeling this wasn't someone he would want to get in a fight with.

"Tis errant, having lost their fear of humans. Unnatural. Ill-advised and more." It approached Hard Tone, getting close and looking up at her with a sneer.

"What business have three humans in the interior?"

"We've come to hunt," said Hard Tone.

"We're going to claim a null nymph."

"Oh? And what right have you to claim such a beastie?"

"The right of arms and will. We'll take it because we can take it. Or we'll die like fools," said Hard Tone. That was apparently the right answer, because the creature backed off and nodded, expression softening from a grimace to a simple scowl—what Cole assumed to be his natural expression.

"You're the soldiers of Apollo's world. The Zaranbog, yes? Those whose steps carry home."" That's right," said Hard Tone. The creature spat on the ground.

"That grants you Stampede rights through Flock standing, as declared by Tribe Apollo." Cole leaned over to Anne." Am I supposed to understand what any of that means?" he asked." It means we can hunt," she whispered back. Cole felt a tugging on his trousers and turned around to find one of the larger goblins with massive hands pinching the hem of his uniform.

"Boss, why's your blast 'em all wiggly?" it asked, pointing at the ravenous rifle. Cole looked down. Apparently the bigger ones could talk, at least.

"Because it's tired and hungry," he said.

"Ah," said the goblin, nodding sagely as if that had been the most reasonable answer it had ever heard. He fished in the leather satchel at his hip and pulled out a handful of loose rounds that smelled vaguely like a farmer's freshly fertilized field, holding them up to the gun. The ravenous rifle's magazine well tentacles quested out, wrapping around the cartridges and pulling them in. The goblin reached out and stroked the surface of the eldritch armament, which sent a ping of pleasure to Cole's mind.

How was a tower dimension created by a voyeuristic god not the strangest world Cole had been to? The one-legged creature rubbed bony fingers over the side of its face.

"A null devil nymph is coveted prey, indeed," he said.

"Two grounded nymphs make home of the badlands—both quarries sought by hunters in prime. Your competition is ahead of you." He considered.

"South, it must be." He raised his voice.

"Lads! Would you feast upon a devil's flesh tonight?" The entire goblin convoy erupted into cheering, several of them firing their guns into the air. The rounds zig-zagged and spiraled on dark contrails as though they had minds of their own. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Hard Tone grinned back at the rest of them.

"Looks like we'll have local support for this." She looked back to the toad-faced creature.

"You got a name?"

"Sourtooth, of the Flock," he said. And you?"

"Hard Tone, of those whose steps carry home." She slid back behind the wheel and revved the engine. All of the goblins within earshot mimicked the noise, cranking their hands as if gripping imaginary motorcycle throttles. That filtered out to the vehicles, who revved for real. Some of them forgot to put their vehicles in neutral first, and Cole saw at least two fender-benders that resulted in goblins ejected from cabs. The majority of the goblins raced back to the convoy so as not to be left behind.

But the toad-faced one, Sourtooth, and the taller goblin who had fed bullets to Cole's gun both clambered onto the L-ATV beside Heartbreaker. As the convoy set off, several of the goblins squawked at finding themselves with no ride, running after vehicles who barely slowed down enough to let them back on. Cole watched the chaos that was the goblin convoy.

"These guys are the dominant species here?"

"Believe it," said Heartbreaker.

"Only other world we've been to where locals managed manned space flight. Albeit with some help from an Earth abductee." Cole looked over at Sourtooth, who glared off in the distance with a smug smirk, not denying Heartbreaker's claim but not confirming it, either. The goblin poked Cole in the side.

"'S true, boss. Trust. I talked to Armstrong hisself, once. And he dun lie." Cole stared down.

"Like, Neil Armstrong?"

"Never met Neil," he admitted, ears flattening in shame. Cole glanced at the others, hoping to alleviate a situation that was only becoming more confusing. but Anne and Heartbreaker were already embroiled in a conversation and Hard Tone was taking directions from Sourtooth. He looked back down at the goblin.

"You got a name?"

"Knuckleburns," said the goblin, grinning up and holding up his hand where, sure enough, burn scars covered his knuckle.

"From a misfire on a reckless rifle. I'm a scrapper, yeah?"

"Sure," said Cole. He looked out over the badlands, toward a herd of loping, horned… kangaroos, maybe? The strange creatures hopped their way across the badlands while the vehicles bumped and jostled along parallel to the herd.

"So this null nymph, thing. What is it, exactly?" Knuckleburns balanced his rifle between his knees so he could use both hands to talk.

"Well if the bigjob devil is like this," he said, holding his hands wide, "Then the nymphs is like this," he said, bringing them together.

"I was on the C2 jet when Lura and Apollo killed the big one with the steely-sparky huck'em. But I din't get to scrap on the moon." Cole rubbed his eyes. Anne laughed ahead of him and leaned back.

"The null nymphs are spawn of a kaiju that nullifies the Lewis Field in an area around it—hence the name. Their materials can have an affix that zeros out charges. Good for taking an ethereal or deific caster alive."

"The orcs killed most o' the nymphs," said Knuckleburns.

"Wait, orcs?" asked Cole. Knuckleburns pointed at Sourtooth, who just sneered around the broken canine on his left side. The big goblin continued.

"But some scarped. They pop up. One or two at a time. We hunt 'em so they don't get big again."

"How big was the one you killed?" asked Cole. Knuckleburns got to his feet and looked upwards, turning in a circle. He pointed to one of the clouds floating above.

"Like that. Fine scrap, it was." The sun began to drop in the sky and the convoy slowed to a halt as the light began to fade. To Cole's surprise, one of the vehicles had a cargo compartment that tilted back like a dump truck, then telescoped up into a lopsided tower. Many of the goblins rushed inside, others started cooking on campfires and running around like manic children. Some just dog-piled into blue, furry mounds and began snoring. Sourtooth and the other… orcs?

Whatever they were, they sat with the scrappers like Knuckleburns, and a second larger breed that all had Mohawks for some reason. Cole munched on a protein bar and looked on. Hard Tone came up beside him, popping the tab on an energy drink.

"Hard to believe, right? That somewhere like this exists, after all the awful places we go to." Cole shook his head.

"It's a lot to take in. Honestly, it's weirder than Babel, or Vael." He looked at Tone.

"They fought giant alien monsters on the moon? Not, like, metaphorically?"

"They strike you as the metaphorical type?" asked Hard Tone, quirking her eyebrow.

"Tis true and more beyond," said the one-legged orc, limping over to the vehicle with Knuckleburns at his side.

"King Apollo created winged chariots and other strange artifice. Defeated the Landed Dragons of Habbe, cowed the Midnight Queen with fury from the sky, all before he rode a steel tower into the sky atop a pillar of flame and did battle upon the Mirrored Land to free the Great Grandfather Spirit."

"Busy guy," said Cole. Knuckleburns raised his hands into an O shape above his head. Sourtooth chuckled and offered a half-hearted version of the same gesture before continuing.

"Confided to me, once did the little king, that from another world came he where he wore the skin of a human." Sourtooth looked Cole up and down and shrugged.

"Or as close to one as few could tell the difference. That's why your kind to walk these lands are welcome."

"Oh, come off it, Sourtooth," said Hard Tone.

"You just want to see us hunt." The orc barked a laugh.

"On the morrow, mistress. Blade and bullet to flesh, we'll put. Leave the tracking to me, and I'll swear by the one leg I've left that the nymph I'll put in your sights by midday."