(Book One Complete!) Friendly Neighbourhood Goblin (Mercenary Company LitRPG)

The clocks struck six-twenty five, and the Man of Iron waited.

Thunder rolled with the smell of ozone as Jason stepped outside.

His fingers warmed around a venti chai latte, his elbow struggled to clutch his size eleven tennis shoes against his ribs, while his free hand dangled the freshly baked goods he'd purchased for his mom. Wedged between his ear and shoulder was a phone, her voice leaking through.

He looked up at the first raindrop hitting his forehead, and groaned.

But that was the least of his worries.

"What? Is it something I said?" His mom veered swiftly from idle chatter about Cass' upcoming science project exhibition—she'd made a lava lamp out of water, oil, and food colouring.

"No, no, no, it's just raining," said Jason, quick to disarm her concern. "What were you saying? The fifteenth?"

"At six-thirty. Do you think you could get off work?"

"Uh…" He paused, glancing for turning cars before he crossed the street. Another raindrop, then another. "Six? Yeah, probably. Could I call you back? I gotta fish my umbrella outta my backpack."

"Six-thirty. Are you outside? I hear honking."

"Yeah," he appeased, only half listening.

The rest of his attention was snagged by the two figures across the street.

They stood like statues, swaddled in black robes. The shorter one donned an Ironman knock-off mask, while the other opted for what looked to be Goku. Or Vegeta. The design was poor and obviously homemade, and the hair stuck out in crooked tufts, like a broom that had seen better days.

"Jace? Jace, are you listening?" said his mom.

"Sorry, yeah," he said, navigating between pedestrians rushing from the oncoming storm. "There's just, like, a convention or something? These guys have some pretty shitty costumes, though."

"Hey!"

"What? You've heard me swear before."

"Not in front of your sister."

"She can't hear me."

"You're on speakerphone."

"Oh. Hi Cass."

"Hiiiiiiii." It came out of Cass like a sigh, which meant she was deep in homework, and not enjoying it.

"Your sister wants Thai tonight. Will you be home soon?"

The next time Jason looked across the street, the cosplayers were gone. "Uh, yeah. I'm on my way home now. I got some danishes," he said in that sing-song sort of way, and rattled the bag, not that she could hear it.

She went on for a while about the exhaustion from her new pills, and Cass' friend's upcoming birthday party, and she wondered if Jason could take Max to the vet on Saturday.

Slowly the drizzle began in earnest. He thought he caught a flash of lightning. Delayed thunder confirmed his suspicion.

"Yeah… yup. Mhmm. Oh, definitely. Have you… right. Yeah," Jason was saying as he stood on the curb. The light was red. He looked up, and a drop hit his eye. When he blinked it away, the light had turned green.

"Sure. Okay, yeah. I can do that. Tomorrow, maybe?" he said and stepped into the road. "I will. I will. Tomorrow, I promise. I'll—"

Someone yelled. Maybe it was a warning from across the street, but there was no time to put words to faces—the truck was already roaring through the intersection.

Jason froze, halfway between curbs, and gawked at the two figures in the window. Ironman and Goku. Vegeta. Whoever.

"Mom—"

"Attack!"

It wasn't Ergul who ordered the ambush. It wasn't even Thrung, though he'd shouted the word and leapt from his bush, spear in hand. No, it was the bloodlust. It was Grumul.

And Thrung was his chosen.

Yes! Yes! Me! My time! My warname! he thought as he kicked dust behind him. This will slow them. I'll be on the tall men first. Me!

He wished he could look over his shoulder and spot the stupid face of Ergul behind his rock. The coward must've been spewing his bloodlust into the dirt at the horror of the raid slipping from his stubby little fingers and into the hands of Thrung, to whom it rightly belonged.

But he couldn't look back. This was his moment. His time. The matrons had fumbled gravely in their decision, and he would show them with the blood and guts and golden gifts of their enemies.

The wagon had creaked to a halt and the tall man at the reins turned away. He drew a sword, and the wagon shook. What are they looking at? Look at me!

Thrung weaved between the pale horses and ducked beneath their hooves as they stirred at his approach. A hum sounded around him, the hum of battle. Of Blood. He echoed the music with a battlecry and leapt, vaulting into the seat next to the driver and thrusting his spear into the man's leg.

The weapon squelched into flesh. Blood splattered Thrung's eyes, and the pain of the tall man spurred him to screech with joy and drive the point deeper. The others in the wagon struggled with their metal sticks, eyes white with terror. But Thrung wasn't their only fear.

This-Spear-Is-Going-Down-Your-Throat clambered up the side of the vehicle. It rocked as Gorm landed, knives in hand. Pig-Shit-Thrower's scream sounded all around.

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I must kill! Kill! Thrung tore the spear free and threw his shoulder into his victim. The driver collapsed, knocking over one of his allies. Thrung scampered up his body, thrusting the point through gaps in the armour.

Goblins climbed over goblins. Tall men swung their weapons aimlessly. Mad-Wolf spun from a blade, his jaw dangling by a bloody thread. Hatchets came down. Fallen goblins and fallen tall men, but Thrung stood through it all, and the wagon turned red. Screams. Shrieks. Blood—the nectar of their glorious god.

He sucked in air at the heat cutting across his ankle. His nose cracked against the wagon, and when he rolled onto his side, he found the eyes of a gagged man staring back at him.

There's no fear in his face, Thrung realized, and the thought made him angry. He surged to his feet with the butt of his spear and spread his legs wide, kicking open a book embossed with a red stone.

A gift for the matrons!

The treasure pulled him briefly from his kill. He fell to his knees, flipping through the pages of the tome. I should destroy it, burn it, eat it, he thought, knowing it would drive Ergul mad to see him do so. I should—

A hum rattled his bones. Heat passed through his fingertips and settled heavy behind his eyes. Thrung looked down at the sketch of a figure, arms wide, with penned fire curling around his hands.

But there was a second, deeper hum, and it was coming from the tall man who showed no fear.

How dare he? HOW DARE HE!

Thrung brought the spear up for a mighty plunge. "Fear me!"

A long flash of purple preceded his strike. When it faded, the man was gone and his spear sunk into wood.

Where did he go?

The sound came first—a thunderous crack. Fire consumed the wagon, and Thrung was no more.

Darkness.

His stomach lurched at the plunge, but his feet were on solid ground. Weren't they?

He reached for the floor to find out, but he had no arms. No legs, either.

"Where am I?" he said. At least, he thought he did. There was no sound, and he had no mouth, but the thought escaped him all the same, like words in a dream.

"With me," It said, from everywhere and nowhere, from the here and now and the there and then.

It reached him not as sound but emotion, so precise in its intent that the words could not be interpreted any other way.

"Me? Who's me? Where are you? Can you help me? I… I don't know… who I am..."

"You were Jason, but not the first," It offered.

"Jason…" he didn't believe It at first, but a collage of moments drifted in from the darkness.

A home. Yellow rain boots and muddy puddles. Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? Rana kissed me—is it supposed to taste like that? 'F' on a science quiz. No PS3 for two weeks. Dominic's hot, but is it okay to feel that way? What do you mean gingivitis doesn't just happen to redheads? Thirty Love! You'll go far, son. Dad's gone now, and he's never coming back. Mom's sick, but they have pills for that. That smell… cinnamon. Another smell… ozone. Six-thirty. Gohan! That's who it was! It was Gohan!

"That's me?" said Jason. He felt like he'd been run over by a… what were those things called?

"It was. You're dead."

If Jason had a brow he would have furrowed it. "Dead?"

He had the distinct feeling the darkness was nodding solemnly.

"Oh," he said, surprising himself. "Death isn't so bad, I guess. It's quiet."

"You'd like to live again." It could've been a question, but Jason knew it wasn't, because that would imply there were things It did not know.

"Yeah…" he said. He fought back whatever passed for tears in this place. "Mom…"

"You won't be going back there."

"But I have to be somewhere on the fifteenth. At six."

"Six-thirty," It said in tones as sharp and certain as time's arrow.

Jason didn't believe that either, but belief was only an opinion, and he was in a realm of Is and Is Not.

Scattered memories whisked past again, but they were of another life.

A home. Dark and cold. An axe, thunking into a tree—this is easier than I thought. Why does she like him and not me? Yes, white matron, of course white matron. Stonecrawlers eat you if you wander too far, you know.

"Who is this?" said Jason, as life stretched by in colourful strands. He reached out to touch them, but remembered he had no arms.

"He was Thrung. He too would like to live."

"Thrung…"

A green face captured in a glint of steel. Is that me? Am I ugly? The stars are flames from the afterworld.

"You'll have to share the same form," It said.

There was no arguing with words of such cosmic certainty, but Jason tried anyway. "I don't want to be a goblin, they're so short. I want to be me."

It's my turn! Dirt feels nice between your fingers. Vorng will now be known as Mad-Wolf.

"I have good news and bad news," It said. "You won't be the shortest of goblinkind."

Why isn't he ordering the attack? FEAR ME!

The memories vanished, and black became white.

"Is that the good news or the—"

Breath hissed down what remained of Thrung's throat, stoking embers in his lungs. He blinked ash and soot out of his eyes and tried to move, but a heaviness held him down.

It was dark all around, except for slivers speared by daylight. Thrung tried again, shifting towards one of the pinholes. He groaned as his skin chafed against something sharp, but that only stirred the bloodlust back to life. He pushed hard, reaching for the light, shrieking against the pain, and punched a blackened plank of wood away.

Thrung hissed at the sudden bath of sunlight. "Nailtooth…" he croaked.

All that replied was the crackling of a dying fire.

He dug his fingers into dirt and pulled himself forward, tearing away skin that had melted into the remains of the wagon. Smoke and bodies met him on the other side. His tribesmen, or what was left of them. A tall man, his armour half scorched.

What happened?

New Skill Learned

Thermalurgy

New Inherent Ability Unlocked

Manipulate Heat

New Class Unlocked

Thermalurgist

The Words From The Sky! He looked up against the pain to thank Grumul, but billowing smoke hindered his view. How am I alive? he tried to ask, but his god gave no answer.

New Class Unlocked

Paladin of Thermanus

"You have been selected as one of the dead god's chosen, unbound by natural oaths. Fire does not affect you the way it does others."

Thrung pushed himself up with gritted teeth, and found the pain to be less than expected. Half his body was charred and smoking, but the burning didn't sting. It didn't hurt at all. It felt good. Powerful.

He looked at his hands, turning over the blackened one as easily as the other, and then gazed at the scattered remains of the goblins around him. I survived, and they didn't, he thought. Grumul chose me…

But there were other thoughts beneath the surface, foggy and immaterial. And they were rapidly approaching with an anguished roar. Thrung doubled over, gripping his face as the headache rattled his skull. Memories rushed from some forgotten place, speeding towards him like a…

Truck?

New Inherent Ability Unlocked

Jaessun

"Your origin from the plane of Shekago grants unique benefits. There is no virtue limit, and you suffer no consequences from virtue accumulation."

"What… what is…" Thrung wheezed, but he could no longer hear his own voice. All sound came from within. A powerful rumble wracked his eyes, shooting white stars and blurry patches across his vision. He dug his nails into his head, clawing until blood spilled over his fingers to ground himself to that lesser pain.

But the hurricane was here, and Thrung was swept in its terrible arms. A second world took shape, far beyond his own, delivered in bursts of lighting bright flashes and sharp peals of electric pain.

Towers of glass. Metal. Stone rising from the earth in geometric perfection. Six-thirty. A man chooses, a slave obeys. Iron carriages and great silver-spoked wheels. Six-thirty. Streets of rock, smoothed and baking under sunlight. Lights of red, green, purple. Six-thirty. Buy two get the third fifty perc—Six-thirty. Cass. Boxes of—sixthir—Rain. Cinnamon. SIXTH—A man of Iro—SIXTHIRTYSIXTHIR—Look out!—SIXTHIRTYSIXTHIRTYMOM!SIXTHIRTYSIXTHMOM!SIXTHIRTSIXTHSIXTHMOM!SIXSIXXXISITHRY—

Thrung screamed until his throat bled, but Jaessun screamed louder.