Chapter 41 Traumatizing Paralysis

Morning arrived, and I stirred from my slumber as I felt a tiny hand shaking me. Groggily, I opened my eyes to see Tinker and others with leaves strapped to their backs. Squeak whispered, "Hermit, let's go get some num-nums and surprise the fellow gobbies and Kaka with a tasty morsel in the morning."

 My belly, feeling empty, welcomed the idea. With leaves on our backs, we slowly crawled out of Kaka's tent. As we crossed the goblin camp on the muddy ground, our eyes widened at a pile of discarded food - scraps so vile that they were deemed unworthy even for goblin slave consumption.

Scratchy, filled with enthusiasm, whispered, "Look at these num-nums, Hermit! Stink bad but we can make something tasty for everyone."

The morning remained quiet and peaceful, with even the guards sleeping in their posts. Feeling somewhat safe, we decided to make haste and transport the filthy edible morsels back to the tent. With makeshift tiny baskets crafted from leaves, we gathered the meager offerings - a mishmash of discarded feed.

With no signs of the guards, we launched into a desperate scuttle, our tiny feet clapping against the wet mud, a piter-pater of hasty footsteps sounding through the ominous stillness. However, just as the tent came into view, a guard, emerging from behind the tent, disrupted our fragile sense of security. Without a moment's hesitation, we dropped to the ground, our bodies contorting into feeble imitations of leaves, hoping to escape notice.

The guard, seemingly unaware of our existence, strolled into our path, his bulky figure casting a looming shadow over us. As he continued on, minding his own business, relief washed over us - until a sudden and horrifying event unfolded.

Time seemed to freeze as Squabble's small body bore the crushing weight of an adult goblin guard. In an instant, his fragile form succumbed to the relentless pressure, and a grotesque scene unfolded before our horrified eyes. Guts shot from his mouth, and his head burst like an overinflated balloon meeting the needle. A rivulet of shit streamed from the tiny hatchling's butt, the gruesome aftermath painting the guard's already filthy feet with the remnants of Squabble's innards.

The gruesome scene left us paralyzed in terror. Initially unaware of the calamity beneath his foot, the goblin guard heard a distinctive popping sound. He halted abruptly, looking around in confusion while unwittingly crushing Squabble to death. Upon realization, he looked down, lifted his foot, and peeled off what remained of the unfortunate goblin hatchling.

 For a brief moment, confusion etched across his face, but then, as if struck by the most absurd comedy act, he burst into laughter. The guard's laughter echoed through the grim field of the goblin farm, creating a chilling racket of amusement at the tragic fate that had befallen Squabble.

The raucous laughter acted as a siren call, drawing in two more goblin guards who rushed to the scene. Intrigued by the prospect of breaking the monotony of their day, they arrived eager to join in the morbid spectacle. The guard who had unwittingly crushed Squabble was still chuckling, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

 One of the guards cackled, "Well, well, look what we got here! A tiny green pancake! Are you gonna eat that? Or just having fun? Either way, let us in on your fun!"

"Hahaha! It was fun! I squashed it like a bug, I did! It has been a while since I heard a hatchling make such a spectacular pop!"

The third guard chuckled, "Look at his squishy insides! Bet it makes a good stew!"

The guards reveled in their callous amusement, their laughter echoing through the grim surroundings of the breeding farm. Meanwhile, we, the tiny goblin hatchlings, huddled together in fear, our eyes wide with a mix of horror and dread.

The guard who crushed our friend pointed a finger at our leafy disguises and snortled, "Oi, look! More of these little pests! Should we have some fun with 'em?"

"Why not? Keeps things interesting." The third guard said. 

Amid their cruel laughter, a guard named Slasher who crushed our friend, kicked what was left of Squibble's tiny corpse like a discarded toy with a mocking tone, "Oi, look at this! I reckon this shit hatchling got a new job as a kick doll!" He cackled, and his comrade joined in, finding dark amusement in the gruesome aftermath as they started kicking the lifeless corps of our fried between themselves, squealing and laughing as their filthy feet met with our friend's corpse.

One of the guards missed their kick and a mangled corps of Squabble flopped right in front of us. We screeched in terror and burst into a frenzied scuttle but the guards, devoid of mercy, were unrelenting.

"Reeeee! No, please, no!" wailed Scratchy, his voice a trembling mixture of fear and desperation.

"Bad guard! Bad guard! We scuttle away! Away! No hurt us! No hurt!" squealed Tinker, his eyes wide with terror.

"Squeak, run! Run, Scratchy! Tinker go! Gobbies run!" I screeched, my tiny goblin heart pounding in panic.

 The guard wielding a crude spear, advanced menacingly toward us. With a sinister threat, he impaled Squeak on the spear, the sharp tip penetrating the tiny goblin's body.

 The guard bellowed, "You little shits! Stop squirming or we kill all of you!" The fear that gripped us was paralyzing, and we froze in place, helpless witnesses to the horror that unfolded before our terrified eyes.

Squeak's tiny body hung floppy on the makeshift spear, his mouth gasping for screams that would never escape, only emitting blood-soaked gurgles and bloody vomits. His scrawny limbs flailed in a futile attempt to escape the merciless grip of death. But after a harrowing moment, he slumped lifelessly, his limp body now a gruesome decoration on the cruel guard's spear. With a callous shake, the guard dislodged the poor hatchling from his weapon, the limp form now discarded as if it were nothing more than a piece of shit. 

Amidst the grim view, our trembling voices collectively spoke in panicked goblin tones, tears streaming in rivers from our bulbous eyes.

"Reeeeee! Squeak, no! No, no, no!"

"Bad guards, bad! Leave us alone! We are good gobbies! We harm no one, we make no trouble! Why do us so?"

"We hide, we hide! Don't hurt us! Don't hurt us!"

"Gobbos scared, gobbos scared! Leave us alone!"

The guard's attention shifted to the trembling form of Scratchy. A wicked smirk played on the guard's face as he picked up a massive rock, a weight that dwarfed the scrawny Scratchy. Holding the rock aloft, the guard, reveling in his newfound sense of generosity, offered a chance, "Listen up, you piece of garbage. Feeling a bit generous today, I am. Got an offer for ya - hold this boulder above your noggin until your pals lick up the shit your squished hatchling buddy left on my filthy feet. Do that, and maybe, just maybe, you all scurry away alive. Refuse, and I'll flatten the lot of ya right here, right now."

Scratchy, faced with the grim reality of the choice thrust upon him, had no option but to comply. The rest of us, filled with dread, scuttled toward Slasher's filthy feet, where the noxious remnants of Squabble's guts awaited our reluctant tongues. With a twisted sense of compliance, we began the grotesque task of licking clean the guard's foul-smelling feet. Our extinguished friend's poop smearing our lips.

Meanwhile, Scratchy, with scrawny and trembling hands, touched the colossal rock above his head and attempted to lift it. The guard, savoring every moment of the dreadful spectacle, released his grip on the rock.

 For a split second, it seemed as though Scratchy might defy the odds, holding the weight above him. But as time unfroze and seconds cruelly ticked away, the illusion shattered. In a heart-wrenching yell, a horrific scream tore through the air, "WRAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" echoing the cruel fate that befell Scratchy. 

The scene unfolded in gruesome detail before our horrified eyes. In an instant, Scratchy's belly bulged like an overinflated balloon, the skin stretched to its limit before finally tearing open and exploding into a mess of guts and innards. His ruptured intestines spilled out onto the ground, a vile display of the brutality that befell the goblin hatchling. Simultaneously, his gut explosion was accompanied by burst-vomited blood from his gaping maw, a gruesome fountain that painted the surroundings in shades of goblin blood. 

But the nightmare didn't end there. Scratchy's spindly legs and bones shattered, breaking and bursting from the flesh in a sickening display of mutilation. The cruel culmination came when a heavy rock descended upon him. The rock crushed his scrawny arms, flattened his head into a grotesque pancake, and mercilessly continued its descent until the rest of his body was obliterated under its weight. The guards squealed with delight in the gruesome spectacle, their laughter echoing through the grim landscape.

Driven by a desperate instinct, we sprinted toward the horrific scene, our tiny goblin hearts pounding with terror. Screaming and crying, we threw ourselves at Scratchy's mangled form, desperate to rescue him from the clutches of this brutal fate. 

In our frenzied attempt, we grabbed at his crushed legs, which protruded from under the rock, hoping against hope to pull him free from the nightmarish trap. However, our efforts only resulted in tearing his legs off, the traumatic scene freezing us in a state of shock. 

Our nut-sized brains, unable to endure the torment unfolding before us, left us sitting on our small buttocks in a state of traumatized paralysis. The cruel laughter of the guards, ringing in our ears, served as a haunting reminder of the merciless reality that ruled our existence in the heart of the goblin breeding farm.