The first goblin didn't just fall; it ceased to be a cohesive biological entity.
As it leaped, the air around its midsection imploded with a sound like a wet towel being snapped. The creature’s spine was pulverized instantly, its lungs forced out through its throat in a crimson mist. The remains hit the stone floor with a dull, heavy thud, looking like a pile of discarded offal.
Halden gasped, his rusted sword nearly slipping from his numb fingers. He had fought goblins for a decade. He knew their speed, their stench, and the way they shrieked when they died. But this one hadn't even had the time to shriek.
"Stay back, Halden," Victoria said. Her voice was as calm as if she were commenting on the weather.
From the dark tunnel, the rest of the war-band poured out—twenty-four green-skinned nightmares, led by a Hob-shaman whose flesh was draped in the cured skins of human scouts. The Shaman raised a staff made of a human femur, a sickly yellow light pooling at its tip.
"Krak! Kill the human meat!" the Shaman shrieked in its guttural, spit-flecked tongue.
Victoria didn't wait for the spell. She stepped forward, her dark robes flaring. She didn't use her wand. She simply opened her palm and made a twisting motion in the air.
"Spatial Torsion: Floor Level."
The stone floor beneath the charging goblins didn't just shake—it warped. The gravity in a twenty-foot radius increased tenfold in a fraction of a second.
The sound was horrific. It was the collective sound of forty-eight goblin femurs snapping simultaneously. The creatures weren't just knocked down; they were hammered into the rock. Halden watched, his stomach churning, as the goblins were flattened against the floor, their eyes bulging from their sockets, their green skin tearing as their own internal pressure betrayed them.
The Shaman, shielded by its own crude mana, managed to stay upright for a heartbeat longer. It tried to scream a curse, but Victoria was already in its personal space.
She wasn't running. She was simply there.
"Your magic is built on filth," Victoria whispered. Her amber eyes were inches from the Shaman's terrified yellow slits. "Let's see how it handles a vacuum."
She placed her hand directly over the Shaman’s mouth.
"Decompress."
She didn't blast him. She did the opposite. She removed the atmospheric pressure from the space inside his lungs. The Shaman’s chest cavity didn't just collapse—it exploded outward as the air inside expanded violently. There was no fire, no flashy light. Just the brutal, clinical application of physics.
The Shaman fell, a hollowed-out husk.
Victoria turned back to the remaining goblins, who were still pinned to the floor, gasping and broken. She didn't look at them with hatred. She looked at them with the same boredom one might feel while cleaning a dusty shelf.
She snapped her fingers.
The gravitational field didn't release; it concentrated into three dozen tiny points. Each goblin was suddenly pulled into its own center. In a series of rapid-fire pops, the war-band was reduced to a collection of dense, marble-sized spheres of bone and flesh.
The cavern went silent.
The smell was overwhelming—the iron of blood and the musk of goblin fear. Victoria wiped a single speck of green ichor from her cuff. She turned back to Halden, who was now on his knees, his rusted sword lying forgotten in the dirt. He was shaking, his face a mask of existential horror.
"The tunnel is clear," Victoria stated. "For now."
Halden looked at the spheres on the floor—the remains of the "army" that had terrorized him for years. He looked at the girl who had done it without even losing her breath.
"You're not a mage," Halden whispered, his voice cracking with a terror deeper than anything the goblins had ever caused him. "You're a monster that wears a girl's face."
Victoria didn't deny it. She didn't comfort him. She simply looked toward the hearth of his shack, where his pathetic grey broth was still simmering.
"I am what the Spire made me, Halden," she said. "Now, are you going to eat, or are The first goblin didn't just fall; it ceased to be a cohesive biological entity.
As it leaped, the air around its midsection imploded with a sound like a wet towel being snapped. The creature’s spine was pulverized instantly, its lungs forced out through its throat in a crimson mist. The remains hit the stone floor with a dull, heavy thud, looking like a pile of discarded offal.
Halden gasped, his rusted sword nearly slipping from his numb fingers. He had fought goblins for a decade. He knew their speed, their stench, and the way they shrieked when they died. But this one hadn't even had the time to shriek.
"Stay back, Halden," Victoria said. Her voice was as calm as if she were commenting on the weather.
From the dark tunnel, the rest of the war-band poured out—twenty-four green-skinned nightmares, led by a Hob-shaman whose flesh was draped in the cured skins of human scouts. The Shaman raised a staff made of a human femur, a sickly yellow light pooling at its tip.
"Krak! Kill the human meat!" the Shaman shrieked in its guttural, spit-flecked tongue.
Victoria didn't wait for the spell. She stepped forward, her dark robes flaring. She didn't use her wand. She simply opened her palm and made a twisting motion in the air.
"Spatial Torsion: Floor Level."
The stone floor beneath the charging goblins didn't just shake—it warped. The gravity in a twenty-foot radius increased tenfold in a fraction of a second.
The sound was horrific. It was the collective sound of forty-eight goblin femurs snapping simultaneously. The creatures weren't just knocked down; they were hammered into the rock. Halden watched, his stomach churning, as the goblins were flattened against the floor, their eyes bulging from their sockets, their green skin tearing as their own internal pressure betrayed them.
The Shaman, shielded by its own crude mana, managed to stay upright for a heartbeat longer. It tried to scream a curse, but Victoria was already in its personal space.
She wasn't running. She was simply there.
"Your magic is built on filth," Victoria whispered. Her amber eyes were inches from the Shaman's terrified yellow slits. "Let's see how it handles a vacuum."
She placed her hand directly over the Shaman’s mouth.
"Decompress."
She didn't blast him. She did the opposite. She removed the atmospheric pressure from the space inside his lungs. The Shaman’s chest cavity didn't just collapse—it exploded outward as the air inside expanded violently. There was no fire, no flashy light. Just the brutal, clinical application of physics.
The Shaman fell, a hollowed-out husk.
Victoria turned back to the remaining goblins, who were still pinned to the floor, gasping and broken. She didn't look at them with hatred. She looked at them with the same boredom one might feel while cleaning a dusty shelf.
She snapped her fingers.
The gravitational field didn't release; it concentrated into three dozen tiny points. Each goblin was suddenly pulled into its own center. In a series of rapid-fire pops, the war-band was reduced to a collection of dense, marble-sized spheres of bone and flesh.
The cavern went silent.
The smell was overwhelming—the iron of blood and the musk of goblin fear. Victoria wiped a single speck of green ichor from her cuff. She turned back to Halden, who was now on his knees, his rusted sword lying forgotten in the dirt. He was shaking, his face a mask of existential horror.
"The tunnel is clear," Victoria stated. "For now."
Halden looked at the spheres on the floor—the remains of the "army" that had terrorized him for years. He looked at the girl who had done it without even losing her breath.
"You're not a mage," Halden whispered, his voice cracking with a terror deeper than anything the goblins had ever caused him. "You're a monster that wears a girl's face."
Victoria didn't deny it. She didn't comfort him. She simply looked toward the hearth of his shack, where his pathetic grey broth was still simmering.
"I am what the Spire made me, Halden," she said. "Now, are you going to eat, or are you going to keep staring at the trash?"
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going to ke
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ep staring at the trash?"
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and then Add to home screen.