Vik awoke to the same filth-ridden world he had been forced into. The stench of unwashed bodies, rotting meat, and damp thatch clung to his senses like a cruel reminder that this was no nightmare—it was his reality.
He had hoped, absurdly, that he'd wake up somewhere else. Perhaps in his bed, with the soft glow of his phone screen reminding him that life was normal. That he still had an office job to complain about, a coffee machine to rely on, and a mundane routine to follow.
But the cold, hard ground beneath him and the guttural noises of his fellow goblins shattered that illusion.
This was his life now.
A crude wooden door creaked open, and an older goblin shuffled inside. The creature was hunched, its limbs gnarled like twisted roots. Its yellowed teeth jutted out from a face worn by age and malnutrition. The goblin grunted, producing a sound that was as unintelligible as it was unpleasant. Then, after a few more guttural mutterings, it finally spat out something Vik could vaguely comprehend.
"Come temple."
With that, the old goblin turned and left, leaving behind something far more disturbing—a pile of small, bloodied corpses.
Vik stared. They looked like rabbits, though their twisted forms and unnerving, vacant eyes hinted at something… off. The other baby goblins, however, wasted no time.
The second the food was presented, instinct took over.
Vik barely had time to think before the frenzy began.
Green bodies surged forward, colliding in a chaotic brawl as they scrambled for food. Hunger trumped hesitation. Fists, feet, and even teeth became weapons in the struggle for survival. The weak would starve; the strong would eat. It was that simple.
Vik had lived through office politics before, but this was something else entirely. In his past life, he had fought for promotions, for raises, for recognition. Here, he fought for something far more primal—existence.
A bony elbow jabbed into his ribs. A sharp, clawed hand swiped at his arm.
His instincts screamed at him to fight back.
He did.
Vik dodged a wild swing and threw his weight forward, shoving a smaller goblin aside. A plump rabbit carcass sat within reach. Just as he extended his fingers, another goblin—a scrawny thing with a dark, almost necrotic-looking mark on its arm—lunged at him.
Without thinking, Vik reacted.
He twisted, letting the attacking goblin overcommit to its strike. The goblin stumbled forward, and Vik seized his chance, ramming his shoulder into its chest. The goblin hit the ground hard, dazed. Vik wasted no time, grabbing the rabbit and sinking his teeth into its flesh.
Raw. Gamey. Metallic.
His stomach twisted in protest, but his body needed it. The moment the meat slid down his throat, a strange warmth coursed through him. He felt… stronger.
A faint chime rang in his mind, and suddenly, the translucent screen reappeared before his eyes.
STATUSName: N/ARace: GoblinBlessing: N/ALevel: 1Exp: 10/100
Stats:Strength: 1 → 2Vitality: 1Agility: 1Magic: 0Charm: -25
Skills:Unique Skills:
Adaptive Mutation: Adapt from any situation.
Growth Mutation: Not limited by racial limitations.
Vik exhaled sharply. Eating made him stronger?
This world had rules—harsh ones, but rules nonetheless. And rules could be exploited.
By the time the frenzy ended, the rabbit carcasses had been stripped clean, and the weakest goblins had collapsed in exhaustion. Vik, however, remained standing. His body still ached, but something inside him had shifted.
He had taken his first step toward power.
But the day wasn't over yet.
A sharp grunt pulled him from his thoughts. The old goblin, still lingering near the entrance, gestured impatiently.
The remaining goblins, now numbering seventeen, were herded out of the hut. Outside, Vik got his first clear view of the goblin village.
It was a miserable place.
A cluster of crude huts, constructed from mud, broken wood, and scavenged scraps, sprawled across a barren landscape. Smoke curled lazily from a central fire pit, filling the air with the acrid scent of burning flesh.
Among the ramshackle dwellings, two structures stood out. One was a larger hut, its entrance marked with bones and strange symbols—likely belonging to someone important. The other was a cave, its entrance framed by jagged, ominous-looking rocks.
That was where they were being led.
As they approached, a deep, rhythmic chanting filled the air. Inside the cave, dozens of older goblins swayed in unison, their faces painted with crude markings. At the center of the gathering stood a particularly ancient goblin, its frail body draped in tattered robes. In its clawed hand, it clutched a twisted, gnarled wand.
Vik's gut twisted. This wasn't just any gathering.
It was a ritual.
The Baptism of Blood.
One by one, the baby goblins were shoved forward. The shaman dipped its wand into a basin of thick, congealed blood, then proceeded to pour it over each goblin's head. The younger ones accepted it willingly, as if understanding its significance. Others thrashed and screamed, but resistance was useless.
Vik's turn came.
For a split second, his mind screamed at him to resist. Every logical fiber in his being recoiled from what was about to happen.
But logic had no place here.
Survival did.
The shaman's eyes met his—beady, gleaming with an unsettling fervor. Then, with an almost reverent motion, the goblin tilted the basin.
Cold, viscous blood poured over Vik's head, seeping into his skin, his pores, his very being. The stench of decay clung to him, thick and suffocating.
Then, his vision blurred.
A familiar chime echoed in his head, and the translucent screen flickered into view once more.
[USER has received BAPTISM OF BLOOD][Vitality +2]
A sharp inhale filled his lungs. His body felt… different. Not just stronger, but more resilient. The fatigue he had felt after the feeding frenzy seemed less overwhelming. His heartbeat steadied.
The ritual was complete.
As the chanting faded, the young goblins were left shivering, coated in blood, standing in eerie silence.
Vik clenched his fists. He had survived.
And now, he understood.
This world wouldn't give him anything.
If he wanted to thrive, he would have to take it.
He wasn't just going to be another goblin in the dirt.
He was going to rise.
No matter what it took.