For the next hour or so, the goblin Burrowers set to work like a small army of ants. They picked up the dead bodies of their comrades, stripped them of armor, and placed them in a rear compartment in the huge drill vehicle. From there, they began picking up loose coins and pieces of shrapnel scattered around the area, along with anything else of value.
Pete and Sam watched in amusement at the pure efficiency of the goblin Burrowers. They moved like a single unit, like the fingers of a single hand, ripping pieces of twisted metal out of the ground with their pincers, recovering spent arrows and other objects, and amassing everything in a large hopper on one side of their vehicle.
“I guess we should just leave them to it?” Pete mused.
“Wrong!” Coop barked. “This was our victory, and this is our loot. We should be the ones cleaning up. We’re leaving money on the table by letting these little green bastards take everything.”
Pete turned to face the little ferret. “What the hell is up with you lately? Is it because you got stuck on top of the kiosk?”
She turned, gazing up at him with flinty eyes. “I almost died!” she spat. “I told you I didn’t want to go up there, but you made me go anyway and then refused to get me down!”
“I didn’t force you to do anything!”
“YOU THREW ME UP THERE!”
“Yes, but I asked you first, didn’t I? I didn’t just grab you and toss you up there!”
Sam chuckled, drawing a withering look from Coop as the little ferret spun around. “And you! You sent that demon wolf to shove me off the roof! It could have killed me!”
Sam rolled her eyes. “First, it wouldn’t have killed you unless I asked it to kill you. Second, you have two shields, don’t you? So, even if you fell and landed right on your head, as long as you had one of those shields, you wouldn’t take any damage at all. Plus, you’re a ferret! You’re not exactly the heaviest thing in the universe. You’re probably light enough that you’d survive that jump unscathed even without a shield.”
Sitting patiently next to Sam, his eyes slowly drawing apart a little as though they naturally drifted left and right without him willing them straight again, Wolfy barked in agreement, or excitement. Sam patted the summoned wolf on the head, and it nuzzled her hand.
“Just keep that thing away from me!” Coop spat, turning to face Pete. “And next time you need someone to go climbing to the top of some impossibly high building, you can do it!”
She punctuated the statement by spitting a gob of Copper Chew onto the ground and then spinning around to face away from the pair. Pete frowned down at her, resisting the urge to correct the ‘impossibly high building’ statement and just letting it lie.
The death wolf barked again, a gentle yap signaling his displeasure when Sam pulled her hand away. She bent down, rubbing the fur under his chin, those swirling crimson eyes locked on her as the hellhound panted happily.
Pete smelled the scent of rotten eggs again, wafting up from the creature, and waved a hand in front of his face.
“Jesus, can you do anything about that smell?”
“What smell?” Sam asked.
“The smell of burning ass coming off that thing. Isn’t there something you can do to stop it?”
She shrugged. “He’s a Lesser Hellion. The lowest level minion I can summon at the moment. I can’t change anything about him until I level up.”
She turned back to the wolf, scratching under his chin.
“But you don’t smell that bad, do you, Wolfy?”
The dog barked, and a wolfish stink filled the air around him as his paws filled with molten light and his eyes blazed like the fires of hell itself. Sam backed away, chuckling as she waved her hand in front of her face.
“Okay, yeah, that reeks. I’ll see what I can do as soon as I level up.”
The dog barked again as Glek approached, holding a bundle of arrows in his arms. He walked up to Pete, bowing and offering him what looked like four or five fairly damaged arrows. He’d already lost two arrows during the earlier fight, and now it appeared as though he’d lost at least three more. That was going to become a problem if he intended to use the bow as a primary weapon.
“We are getting other ones,” Glek said. “Other ones that have bad damage.”
Pete took the offered arrows with a smile, noting that there was still blood on the tips and shafts of some of them. Goblin blood. It really was amazing that these little creatures were so willing to offer him deference considering how many of their kind lay dead at his feet.
“We can make more!” Glek said, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “Yes, yes. We will make you more. Good arrows. Fast arrows. Drilly drill arrows!”
Pete frowned. “Honestly, that would be great. I don’t have many arrows to begin with, so anything you could give me would be amazing.”
The little goblin clapped and jumped up and down in delight, his pointy ears flapping up and down as he bounced on the spot.
“Yes, yes. We will make you good arrows.”
Sam leaned forward, grinning as she spoke. “There’s something else we might need a hand with too.” She turned and pointed to the image of Tongsly Belch on top of the Vend-o-matic machine. “We need to get that sign down but without causing any damage to it. Is that something you could help us with?”
The little goblin looked up at the image of Tongsly Belch and nodded slowly. “Yes, yes. We can help. For sure we can help.”
He shouted a few goblin names, waving a few of his comrades over as he called them out. Glip and Marv were among the first, as well as two mechanics and one of the larger armored Burrowers with what looked like a welding torch attached to his right arm.
“We will help with Vault Breaker.” He pointed up to the image of Tongsly Belch. “We are getting the big boss sign down and helping with plans. We will make new arrows. Drill arrows.”
He received a few nods by way of reply and then turned back to Pete and Sam. Pete explained what they were planning to do, and the goblins listened eagerly, nodding and muttering amongst themselves as he explained. They were effusive in their willingness to help and seemed to understand what was required immediately.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“It is taking some time,” Glek explained. “We’re working quickly, but it’s taking some time still. You rest. We will make a sleepy sleep place for you.”
And with that said, the little goblin turned around and began issuing orders to those gathered nearby. Pete and Sam watched as they quickly went about their work, shouting at one another in a growling, guttural speech that neither of them understood.
“I still don’t trust them,” Coop offered.
Pete shrugged. “At this stage, we’ll take all the help we can get. There’s no telling what other obstacles the System is going to throw in our way. It’s good to have some allies for once.”
“That may be, but I still don’t trust them.”
“Well, that’s probably not a bad thing. Just keep your eyes open, I guess. They turned pretty quickly from enemies to friends, so maybe they could swap back the other way if ‘Mammy’ told them to or they found a different master.”
Sam snorted. “Is that what you are now, their master?”
“No idea, but they don’t call me Vault Breaker for nothing, right? Actually, Nero? How do titles work in this game? Do they mean anything, or are they basically worthless?”
[Nero] Titles earned in battle or bestowed by enemies or allies such as these Burrowers can serve a number of functions, but they rarely come with any kind of passive bonus or perk. In this case, the title of Vault Breaker may be beneficial when dealing with other goblin species and subspecies. The lesser goblins in particular and Burrowers specifically will recognize the nature of the title and the fact that it was bestowed by a goblin clan. This will serve to either increase the chances of a benign goblin group dealing favorably with you or adding to your Fearsome status with goblin enemies.
“And what does Fearsome get me?”
[Nero] It is not a clearly defined state within the Mammon System. It is linked more to emotion than to an actual physical state or ability. Higher levels of fearsomeness with a given race will increase the likelihood that any enemies you face are more willing to flee from battle. It is difficult to quantify, but in your case, the shrunken goblin skull pendant hanging from your bow may have assisted you in some small way in your battle with these Burrowers. They might have been slightly less willing to forge a contract with you if it weren’t for your increased level of Fearsomeness. As I have said, however, this is difficult to quantify given that there is not officially a Fearsome status within the System at this time.
“Okay, but I should keep the title nice and prominent, though, right? If there’s a chance it could help us when we encounter more goblins.”
[Nero] Correct. By default, the title has been applied to you and will be displayed to any NPCs you make contact with, as well as other players. You can choose to change or remove the title if you wish, but having a title already at this early stage of the contest is quite impressive, so I would suggest keeping it visible. In addition, the title Vault Breaker may prove beneficial even when fighting non-goblin species, given that it suggests a roguish character and hints at your ability to breach impenetrable defenses. It is a good title.
“What about the goblins?” Sam asked. “Are they going to be all the way through the contest? Like, at this novice arena, is that who we’re going to be fighting? More goblins?”
[Nero] While I am forbidden from divulging specific details of the novice arena, I can say that goblins are most prevalent in the novice and initiate regions of the contest. In truth, they are found throughout the entire length and breadth of the Dominion Ultrimax Contest, but they are more prevalent here. You will find that goblins found in higher-level areas will also be significantly more cunning and powerful than those you have faced thus far. But there are a plethora of other races represented in the contest. Some of the worlds used to stage the contest in past seasons include a variety of animal life and sentient beings that have been carried forward into subsequent seasons. You will face those beings as you progress; if you reach a high enough arena, you may also come up against existing gladiators that have joined this season either by winning the lottery or at the behest of one of the more powerful corporations or royal families.
“People can choose to enter the contest?” Pete asked.
[Nero] Indeed. The contest represents a profound opportunity to gain wealth and status within the Dominion. Every season a lottery is held, and a few individuals are chosen to enter the contest grounds at different levels. Depending on who they are and what wealth they bring with them, they may enter the contest with nothing or with a full suite of armor, a soul-bound weapon, and more.
“But the chances of dying are still super high, right?” Pete pressed. “I mean, they’re gambling with their life.”
“Maybe they don’t have a choice,” Sam suggested. “Maybe fighting in the contest is still better than whatever shitty existence they had before?”
[Nero] A cogent point, Sam. Indeed, many of those who enter the lottery are desperate to escape their particular life circumstances. Some work in the factories and mines that fuel the Dominion. They live hard lives with very little chance of advancement and under brutal conditions. Every season millions of souls in this position attempt to enter the contest for the chance to achieve something better. Only a thousand are chosen, and most of those die swiftly, but each season some resourceful individuals do typically survive to the later levels of the game.
“But you said there were others, right?” Pete said. “I’m guessing if you’ve got enough coin, you could buy your way into the contest.”
[Nero] True enough. There are those among the more privileged classes, typically younger sons of Managing Directors and Corporate Overlords, who express a desire to enter the contest and show their worth. As you say, these are able to buy their way into the game; however, their numbers are limited, and the gear and experience they bring with them are limited to a few basic items and skills. Once they are in the contest, they are subject to the same whims and rules as every other player. All are governed by the will of the Mammon System.
Glek came waddling over at that moment, holding out a hand towards Pete.
“We take your bowy bow. Make improvings. Make more damages.”
The little goblin stood expectantly as Pete debated the wisdom of handing over his primary weapon like this. Having the goblins put together some new arrows was one thing, but this was something else entirely. It was a leap of faith he wasn’t sure he was ready to make just yet.
[Pete] Nero, can I trust these guys? I mean, in terms of the contract that we now have, are they likely to run off with my weapons?
[Nero] Not without officially breaking the contract that binds you both. They would need to declare this publicly before acting directly against you. They have marked themselves with your symbol, or at least a symbol they have assigned to you, and thus symbolize publicly that you are bound together. They would not do anything to harm you or your party or to disadvantage you in any way while this contract stands. And, as I have said, they would need to publicly break this contract prior to taking any action against you.
Pete pulled the bow and quiver from his inventory.
[Coop] Don’t do it, Pete. I’m telling you, there’s something up with these little green gremlins.
[Pete] Sometimes you have to take a risk, Coop.
He handed the weapons over to Glek, and the little goblin bowed as he took the bow and quiver, as though he were receiving some precious relic.
“How long do you think it’s going to take?” Pete asked. “We’re kind of on the clock here, is all.”
Glek nodded, holding up two fingers. “Two hours. Maybe less. We make quick workings, but good workings.”
“Okay, well…”
Before Pete could finish the sentiment, the little goblin darted off, firing gibberish words in his goblin tongue at his fellow Burrowers. That was the sound of creaking that drew their attention up to the top of the Vend-o-matic machine. Several goblins were huddled around the sign of Tongsly Belch, which had already been removed from the larger kiosk structure and was being lowered by means of a series of wires, a hastily constructed metal arm, and a winch of some sort that happened to be connected to the torso of one of the Burrowers.
A noticeably shorter goblin appeared in front of them, looking up at Pete, its eyes obscured by glinting, thick goggles. The little guy didn’t speak but motioned towards the large drill vehicle and waved an arm, beckoning the group to follow.
“What the hell is this now?” Sam asked.
Coop grunted. “This is the part where they stick us in their cook pot and make us into stew or grind us up to make sausages.”
Pete laughed at that. “Jesus, Coop, we’re not in a fairy tale for God’s sake.”
Sam shrugged at that. “I mean, we’re not far off. Just throw in the odd witch or two, a gingerbread house, and a creepy-ass forest, and we’re pretty much there.”
The little goblin kept motioning for them to follow, so Pete started walking after him, with Coop still around his neck and Sam and her wolf following after.
