One of the blue-skinned women screamed, voice sharp and terrified, echoing through the dark forest camp.
"...Well. So much for a quiet rescue."
He turned, putting a finger to his lips.
"Shhh. Don’t be too loud," he whispered, giving the universal ’quiet-down’ hand gesture.
The women fell silent, but the damage was done.
Something stirred in the dark.
Footsteps echoed from deep within the cave — heavier, sharper.
Dirga turned toward it.
A new figure emerged — hunched, thin, but radiating menace.
A female goblin, cloaked in dark leathers, a crooked staff in one clawed hand. Her skin was ash green, her eyes glowing like lanterns. Runes shimmered faintly along the staff’s shaft.
Dirga narrowed his eyes. "You’re new."
He had never fought a magic-user goblin before.
The goblin sorceress raised her staff — lips curling in a hissed chant.
"Go!" Dirga barked, eyes never leaving the cave.
With a sharp flick of his fingers, he shifted the center of gravity toward the front gate of the camp. The air distorted — and the gate collapsed inward, crushed as if the weight of the world had dropped on it.
The women screamed, but Dirga reached out with his telekinesis, wrapping them in a protective push, nudging their bodies gently toward the forest beyond the shattered wall.
But The golden-eyed girl didn’t scream. She just watched Dirga, quietly — like she recognized something.
"Keep running," he muttered.
He barely had time to turn.
A fireball cut through the night like a comet. The heat kissed his skin as he twisted aside, air hissing past his cheek.
The orb slammed into the ground behind him, sending up a fountain of fire and smoke. Ash rained down, and cinders danced in the dark like red snow.
Dirga narrowed his gaze.
There she was — the goblin sorceress — now fully revealed.
Her hunched frame floated just above the dirt, toes dangling like a broken marionette. Runes etched across her gnarled staff pulsed with sickly green light. Her eyes blazed molten gold, leaking arcane smoke, and her hair, a mass of dried moss and twisted bone charms, rustled in the wind like dying vines.
And she was chanting again.
Faster. More chaotic. She wasn’t casting a spell — she was vomiting magic.
Dirga’s grip on the Crimson Core tightened. It morphed into a long, jagged blade, vibrating in tune with his pulse.
"Figures," he muttered. "Of course she casts."
The wind thickened between them — laced with ash, blood, and the faint stench of rotting parchment.
Dirga stepped forward, boots cracking dry twigs beneath him.
Eyes locked. Magic whirling. Blades humming.
"Okay," he said, settling into a low stance.
And the battle ignited.
Dirga weaved through the air, dodging fire lances and razorwind curses, his body moving like a flame in the wind. Each step a calculation. Each dodge, a brush with death.
He could’ve ended it already.
But part of him... was distracted.
What is this goblin sorceress using?
Or something else entirely?
Are there more ways to harness power in this world?
Questions spiraled. But answers could wait.
He’d saved those women — maybe one of them knew.
First, end the sorceress.
Dirga surged forward, narrowing the gap — five meters.
He shifted the gravity center beside the goblin, twisting the very air around her.
Then — in one motion — the Crimson Core morphed into a massive, floating crimson halberd, hovering above her head like the sword of divine judgment.
Dirga snapped his hand downward.
Gravity: 100 percent pull.
The goblin screamed as the air bent — her body yanked upward, drawn toward the halberd like a metal to a magnet.
Dirga launched the halberd with a violent snap of his arm.
The weapon, guided by both telekinetic will and the crushing pull of gravity, pierced the goblin sorceress mid-torso with a sickening—
The spell on her lips turned to a choking cough. Her molten gold eyes bulged. Her limbs spasmed once—then went limp.
She crumpled in the air and collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
Dust curled around his boots. The halberd dripped with dark green blood, steam rising from the wound like toxic mist.
His eyes narrowed, scanning the fallen goblin. Her staff still pulsed faintly — but the magic inside it was flickering, like a dying ember.
Maybe this final lesson... won’t be as hard as I thought.
But then — the fire caught.
The remnants of the battle — flaming tents, spilled oils, and shattered enchantments — had begun to rage out of control. The dry forest brush didn’t help.
Flames licked the treetops.
A sharp gust sent embers swirling toward the sky.
Dirga turned, eyes sharp.
He rushed into the goblin cave, ducking under crumbling stone. The air inside was damp and foul — filled with rot and smoke. He moved quickly, boots splashing through shallow pools of grime.
And there — among the shadows — he found them.
Men. Women. Twisted limbs. Empty eyes. Some fresh. Some already decayed. This was the goblins’ pantry.
Dirga forced the bile down and pressed forward.
Near the back of the cave, he spotted a stash — a pile of crates, satchels, torn packs and half-buried gear.
He found a durable leather bag, half-burned but usable. Inside:
– A metal match striker
– A compass, cracked but spinning
– A compact sleeping bag
– Dried jerky, a half-filled water flask, a flask of oil
Dirga packed it all quickly.
The fire outside was getting worse.
By the time he exited the cave, the wind had shifted — and the flames were growing louder. Trees crackled. Ash filled the air.
That’s when he saw them.
Three women emerging from the brush, blinking through smoke.
One had glowing blue skin, her eyes wide with panic.
Another bore slender pointed ears, skin pale and ethereal — a classic elf.
The last looked human... until Dirga saw her eyes — golden, like molten suns.
The same women he had freed from the goblin cage.
They stared at him, stunned. But Dirga didn’t speak.
No time for explanations.
He flicked his fingers — a gesture of silence — and lifted them into the air with telekinesis, keeping them aloft just above the treeline.
Full speed through the woods, survival pack slung on his back, smoke biting at his lungs.
The fire roared behind him, devouring everything in its path.
And above, the Eye in the sky blinked
Dirga didn’t know what was ahead.
Survival was all that mattered.