Goblin Pest Control

“Brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant, Morgana,” she muttered to herself as she stalked down the dirt road leading out of the city. “One week in this world, and you’re already on your way to go massacre a bunch of green pests in the woods. Definitely what I pictured for my grand new life.”

Her boots crunched over gravel, the sun warm on her hood, but her eyes were distant. She jabbed her finger into the air as though lecturing some invisible idiot. 

“And then, of-fucking-course, you run into Sir Shiny McHoly-Pants in the middle of the street. Why not? Why the hell not? My luck’s been so good lately, why stop now?”

It didn't take long for her to leave the city throught the big metal gate while having strangers look at her in a weird way as she kept talking to herself. But, of course, she didn't care.

She paused dramatically, pitched her voice deeper and straighter. “‘Greetings, fair maiden, I am Avric Greycastle, shining example of justice and piety, smiter of evil, detector of demonic filth at ten meters—’” She broke off into a snort. “Gods, I hope they don’t work like D&D paladins here. If he’s got some divine evil-radar, I’m screwed.”

A few more minutes of walking and she stopped in a patch of shade, glancing back toward the distant city walls. Far enough now. She unclasped the right side of her cloak and let it drape over her left shoulder instead.

With her back now free from her cloak's cover, she reached up, let the magic of her Phantom Guise drop, and felt the familiar weight of her horns and the stretch of her wings as they unfurled. Her shoulders relaxed as she flexed them, the armor shifting smoothly around the movement.

“Ohhh, that’s better,” she groaned in satisfaction. “Dorrik, you beautiful cranky bastard, you really did nail the fit.”

The black leather hugged her form without pinching, the special back panel giving her wings full range. She flapped them a few times to test out their movement, feeling satisfied.

“Now I don’t have to fight this damn thing every time I flap. Practical and stylish.” She flicked the hem and grinned.

She eyed the open sky beyond the treeline, then muttered under her breath, “Alright… time to test out these bad boys.”

Her wings stretched wide, the leathery membranes catching the sunlight. With a sharp beat and a strong leap, she launched herself upward. 

Straight into a wobbling, drunken climb that had her swaying like a kite in a windstorm.

“Shit— shit— shit!” she hissed, flapping harder, overcorrecting, and nearly spiraling into a tree. A branch whipped past her head. “Okay, note to self; don’t fucking tilt sideways unless you want to eat bark.”

For the next few minutes, she zigzagged above the forest, alternating between jerky dives and clumsy climbs. Every adjustment seemed to create a new problem: wings beating too fast, not fast enough, or folding wrong at the joints.

Finally, after a solid stretch of muttered curses and near collisions, she leveled out. The wind steadied against her face, her movements smoothing into something that felt… natural.

“Oh-ho,” she breathed, a grin creeping in. “There we go. Who’s the sexy airborne demon now?”

She angled toward the smoke curling above the treeline, her shadow racing across the canopy below. The wind whipped past her ears, and she allowed herself the smallest moment of peace before the inevitable carnage.

It didn’t take long to spot the camp. The smoke was enough. As she flew closer, the voices; shrill, chattering goblin voices, rose in argument. Morgana landed silently in the treeline, one eyebrow lifting.

“Well, would you look at that,” she murmured. “That’s a hell of a lot more than the report said.”

Easily fifty-plus goblins of varying size and shape milled around a cluster of crude huts and tents. She counted at least ten with bows, a handful in crude robes painted with bones and ash, and one much bigger specimen with a jagged crown of scrap metal on its head.

“Guess someone’s been breeding fast,” she said, shrugging. “Oh well. More XP for me.”

She then stopped, having confused herself. "I don't think XP exists in this world. Maybe I should have said 'more skills'?" She then gave a shrug. "Ah, whatever."

Her scythe materialized in a swirl of black mist around her right arm, the heavy weapon solidifying with a satisfying weight in her grip. She rolled her shoulders and stepped forward into the clearing.

The first goblin saw her, screeched, and pointed.

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Sound the alarm. See how much it helps.”

The fight was a total chaos. 

But also mesmerisingly beautiful.

A Moonfang Dash carried her into the first wave, scythe cleaving through three goblins in one sweep. She spun, the blade singing through the air, the curve hooking into an archer’s bow and dragging him straight into her horns. The crunch was… unpleasant.

An Umbral Step slid her through the shadows between huts, emerging behind a shaman mid-chant. Her scythe cut the poor creature diagonally, the dark edge igniting with an Infernal Eclipse that set his hut ablaze.

Two more came at her from the sides. Her wings flared, the claws that are located at the top of her wings lashing out to rake across one’s throat while the scythe’s haft blocked the other’s crude sword. She twisted, kicking the first corpse away, then drove the butt of the scythe into the second goblin’s skull.

The archers tried to get clever, retreating to higher ground. Morgana answered with a Lance of Midnight, black energy coalescing in her grip and spearing through two at once before detonating into smoky fragments.

The shamans hurled curses, green flames, and splintered bones. She responded with Grasp of the Abyss, shadowy hands ripping from the dirt to drag them screaming into darkness.

And the big guy, oh, he was fun. Taller than the rest, wearing a jagged breastplate, and wielding a cleaver as big as her leg. He bellowed a challenge; she just smirked and stepped into his swing, catching the blade with the shaft of her scythe.

“Nice try,” she said, and in one smooth motion she hooked the scythe behind his knee, yanked, and sent him sprawling, while also cutting his leg in the process. One downward chop later, his head rolled free.

When the last goblin dropped, the clearing was a butcher’s nightmare. Bodies, severed limbs, and spilled innards littered the dirt. Morgana stood in the center, scythe balanced on her shoulder, one hand on her hip.

“Lovely,” she muttered flatly. “Nothing like standing ankle-deep in goblin soup to make you appreciate life.”

She inhaled deeply as her eyes started to follow the orbs that slowly raised up in the air from the corpses and drifted towards her, their faint light sliding into her chest. 

Five came from the regular goblins, five from the archers, five from the shamans, and one — larger and brighter than the rest — from the big bastard she’d just beheaded.

She didn’t stop to check what they were. That could wait until later. For now, the important thing was that they were hers.

The rest of the souls, too weak to offer anything new, she guessed, flowed into the scythe, its runes pulsing before fading again.

She looked around at the carnage and sighed. “And now for the worst part.”

Pulling a knife from her belt, she knelt by the nearest corpse. “Why does it always have to be the ears?” she grumbled, sawing one free and tossing it into a pouch. 

“Couldn’t be something easy, like ‘bring back their belt buckles.’ Nooo, it’s gotta be something you have to cut off.”

By the time she was done slicing off every last ear, her gloves were slick and sticky, and her patience was paper-thin. She dumped the grisly trophies into a pouch, grimacing at the wet sound they made as they landed together.

With one last glance at the ruined camp, Morgana got to work on the other important part; looting. She moved methodically, rifling through every filthy pouch, cracked chest, and overturned tent. 

A handful of gold coins, some silver, a few rough-cut gemstones, and a couple of trinkets that looked like they might be worth something, she stuffed it all into her pack without a second thought.

“Always loot before you leave,” she muttered. “Rule number one of adventuring. Dumbasses leave gold on the table, I collect it.”

Once she was sure she’d stripped the place of anything valuable, she started on the second unpleasant task; dealing with the bodies.

The quest had been very clear: no corpses left behind. Grumbling under her breath, she dragged the goblins into a massive heap in the middle of the camp, stacking them like firewood. 

The smell was already rancid, and it only got worse when she summoned a burst of dark fire. Flames roared to life, consuming flesh and bone alike until the whole pile was a raging, stinking bonfire.

“Yup,” she said, backing away from the heat. “That’s gonna haunt my nose for a week.”

Satisfied, she stepped back, adjusted her cloak so it still draped over her left shoulder only, leaving her wings free, and launched herself into the sky. The wind caught her immediately, cool against the lingering heat from the pyre, and she angled toward the city in the distance.