The night clouds hung heavy over the skies of the Goblin Clan—dark, roaring, and chasing with faint, restless lightning.
The shouts of the raucous goblin crowds echoed over the land, their green skin glistening under the night winds as their feet drummed against the ground, retreating to their wood-built huts. Cealen and Garric's unconscious bodies were carried away by several goblins, led by a relatively larger one—each of them entrusted with the task of keeping the prisoners, whether for food… or as puppets for their master.
Then, from the shadows, a dark, swirling mist coiled into existence before the goblin party.
Their steps halted in caution as Allen stepped out, confidence radiating from his posture in a way that sent shivers down their spines.
"Two choices," Allen smirked, one hand resting casually on his waist. "Hand them over the easy way… or I'll take them in exchange for bruises."
