Goblins 3

The remaining three pseudo seven-stars were a symphony of deadly coordination. One, a hulking brute, stood back, channeling a steady flow of energy that augmented his comrades. Another, a lithe and silent assassin, materialized from the shadows, striking at Nevaeh from unpredictable angles. The last, perhaps the leader, pressed the attack from the front, his aura-coated sword flashing with lethal intent.

They were powerful, undeniably so, but lacked the sheer ferocity of the fallen chieftain. However, what they lacked in individual strength, they made up for in teamwork. Their eyes, burning with a mix of hate, rage, and… something else, something Neveah couldn't decipher, flickered between him and one another. Grief? Was it grief for their fallen leader?

The fight became a bloody dance. Nevaeh parried, dodged, and countered, his movements a blur of desperate survival. He recognized the assassin's pattern, the flicker before a strike, and the support goblin's role in channeling the brute's strength. He yearned to eliminate the support first, sever the flow of power, but the assassin was a persistent gnat, disrupting his attempts.

With a surge of determination, Nevaeh decided to end this ballet of blades. He feigned a move towards the brute, drawing the assassin out of hiding. Just as the assassin lunged, Nevaeh with inhuman speed, grabbed the creature's head, twisting it in a grotesque maneuver. The brute, unable to stop his momentum, charged forward, his aura-coated blade a lethal arc of destruction.

Nevaeh used the assassin as a shield, the brute's blade cleaving cleanly through both their bodies in a sickening display of violence. In the same instant, Nevaeh's remaining hand lashed out, an ice spike forming mid-air and piercing the support goblin's chest in a single, brutal motion.

Silence descended for a heartbeat. The remaining pseudo seven-star, his face contorted in a mask of fury and despair, roared a challenge. Grief, raw and unadulterated, burned in his eyes now. Blinded by rage, he charged, a predictable onslaught fueled by pure emotion.

Nevaeh, his body a canvas of raw wounds, saw the opening. With a snarl, he conjured an ice spear, not from his hand, but from the shadows behind the charging goblin. The spear materialized silently, a deadly whisper through the air, and pierced the goblin's heart with chilling precision.

Three down. The cave floor was slick with blood, the air thick with the stench of death and raw power. Nevaeh, his body a testament to his tenacity, stood amidst the carnage. He was battered, bruised, and missing a limb( that was regenerating), yet his eyes still held that icy glint, a warrior's fire unyielding.

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My body screamed in protest as I leaned against the damp cave wall. Every muscle screamed, every bone ached, and the phantom sting of severed flesh pulsed with a dull rhythm. This fight had pushed me to the very edge, and I knew pushing any further would be foolish.

As if echoing my thoughts, Mother's voice resonated within my head, clear and strong despite the telepathic distance. "Nevaeh," she warned, "don't proceed further. You're too weak. Inside lies an eighth star and a couple of fully formed seven-stars. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Disappointment gnawed at me, but I conceded the point. My body was a testament to that. Fighting the three pseudo seven-stars had been a desperate gamble, one that had nearly cost me my life. Taking on even one true seven-star, let alone an eight, was pure suicide.

"Alright," I rasped back, the exertion leaving my voice raw. I knew the limitations of my current strength. Even the standard seven-stars were said to be monstrous, wielding powers beyond anything I had yet to encounter.

But curiosity, ever a persistent itch, gnawed at me. "Why are these disgusting creatures in your garden?" I inquired, "And why are they so strong?"

There was a pause, then Verona's voice returned, laced with a hint of weariness. "I've been asleep for many years, Nevaeh. The garden was neglected, left untended. Those who dared enter were driven back by the creatures that infested it. So thr the goblins got stronger to survive in this garden.And there's also the issue of vampires. They brought these goblins to this continent, drawn by their… unique blood composition."

Disgust rose in my throat. "Vampires drink… from such filth?"

"Some vampires have rather… eccentric tastes," Verona admitted. "But think on it, child. Do not humans feed on pigs? Are they not considered filthy by others?" Her voice held a strange amusement.

A snort escaped my lips. "Point taken," I conceded. But right now, bigger problems loomed.

"Regardless, you've done well. Come back home. It's time to focus on mastering your other elements."

Just as I began to push myself away from the wall, a guttural roar echoed from the deeper recesses of the cave. A shiver ran down my spine, not from fear, but from anticipation. There, bathed in the dim light filtering through cracks in the rock, stood a figure clad in crude armor. A goblin, yes, but not one I'd ever seen before.

This one was different. Taller, broader, and radiating a raw power that sent shivers down my spine. It surveyed the carnage – the bodies of its brethren laid out gruesomely around me. Then, its gaze settled on me, the murderer.

No wasted words. No taunts or mockery. Just pure, primal anger. It charged with a ferocity that took my breath away. Its armored leg slammed into my chest, caving it in with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded, white-hot and blinding. Broken ribs speared at my lungs, making every breath an agony.

This was a seven-star, no doubt. And as it loomed over me, its face contorted in a snarl, I finally saw a flicker of something familiar in its eyes – the same contempt, the same disgust I felt towards them.

The last thing I managed, before the darkness claimed me, was a defiant snarl. "Alright, you filthy creature," I rasped. "I'll be back in a few years. You better keep that same energy when I return."

Then, blessed oblivion. I was ripped away from the cave, the goblin's furious roar echoing after me.