Chapter 2: Reclaiming The Timeline: The Goblin's Gold.
Azrael sprinted through the village streets, the faces of familiar strangers flashing past him like ghosts. He had seen these people die before—plague, fire, claws. The timeline was fragile, held together by threads he could barely keep intact. One truth remained constant: the first tragedy always started here.
His boots skidded to a stop at the forest's edge. The cold, damp air clung to him, and his sharp eyes scanned the darkness ahead. Shadows shifted among the trees. He whispered to himself, "I'm not too late this time."
A rustling sound came from the thicket. Then a snap. A low growl broke the stillness, and hideous figures emerged from the foliage. Their grey skin shimmered with a sickly pallor, their bodies hunched and malformed. Their claws scraped the ground as they moved, their grotesque mouths filled with jagged, mismatched teeth.
[YOU HAVE ENCOUNTERED AN AURUM GOBLIN.]
[D-RANK.]
Azrael read the words as they floated in his vision, glowing faintly. Aurum goblins. Greedy creatures, more drawn to gold than blood, but no less deadly. They had a particular fame for plundering gold and jewelry, and they'd do anything to secure their treasures—murder included.
Screams echoed from the village behind him. Women clutched their children, scrambling to hide in their homes. Others froze, their faces pale and their breaths shallow. A few men grabbed what weapons they could—pitchforks, rusty axes, knives—and prepared to defend their families.
Among them was an old man with a grime-covered beard and a thin, battered sword. His face was set with grim determination, though his trembling hands betrayed his fear. He stepped forward, glaring at the goblins.
"Stay back, son," the man warned Azrael, his voice steady despite his unsteady stance. "You'll get yourself killed."
Azrael didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze shifted to the man's sword. It was poorly crafted, the blade chipped and dull. It wouldn't last seven strikes, Azrael calculated. Even if the old man managed to land a few hits, it wouldn't be enough to take out the entire pack.
There were fourteen goblins in total. Their thick hides gleamed under the dim light filtering through the trees. Killing them with such a weapon would be nearly impossible.
Before Azrael could speak, the man charged.
"You bastards!" the old man roared, gripping his sword with both hands. "You keep coming back to destroy us! Why won't you die already?!"
The goblin pack leader—a larger, meaner creature with an almost human-like sneer—sidestepped the man's clumsy attack. With a guttural growl, it struck back, sending the old man sprawling to the ground.
The sword clattered from his grip as he landed hard. Groaning, he struggled to rise, but the goblin leader leapt into the air, claws outstretched, ready to finish the job.
Azrael moved before he could think. Grabbing a thick branch from the ground, he swung with all his strength, smashing the goblin mid-leap. The creature stumbled back with a yelp, momentarily dazed.
"Sorry, old timer," Azrael said, tossing the broken branch aside. He picked up the old man's sword, testing its weight. "I'm going to need this."
The goblin leader snarled, shaking off its disorientation. Its movements were faster, angrier now, and it charged at Azrael with twice the ferocity.
Azrael raised the sword, staring at his reflection in its dull surface. A young face looked back at him—a face too young to carry the weight of countless lifetimes. He was only eighteen, but his eyes held the weariness of someone far older.
"Seven strikes, huh?" he muttered. His grip tightened on the hilt. "That's more than enough."
The goblin lunged, claws slashing through the air. Azrael stepped to the side, pivoting smoothly as his sword arced downward. The blade sliced cleanly through the goblin, splitting it in two.
[PLAYER HAS KILLED AN AURUM GOBLIN.]
[16 EXP POINTS ACHIEVED.]
Azrael exhaled slowly, inspecting the sword. The edge had dulled even further, the weapon's already frail structure weakening. Six strikes remained, and thirteen goblins still stood.
The pack growled in unison, their rage palpable. They charged as one, a mass of claws and teeth.
"Good," Azrael muttered, a faint smirk on his lips. "You're making it easy for me."
His figure blurred as he dashed forward, his movements impossibly fast. The first strike cut through seven goblins at once, the force of the blow shaking the air around him. Before their bodies hit the ground, he spun, delivering a second strike. The remaining goblins fell in a flurry of blood and gore.
[TITLE OBTAINED: CAVERN BUTCHER.]
[208 EXP POINTS ACHIEVED.]
Azrael stood amidst the carnage, his breathing steady. The black interface hovered before him, its text glowing faintly.
"So this thing monitors everything I do?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "EXP points… What even are those?"
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. His eyes were drawn to something shiny in the goblin leader's claws. Kneeling, he pried the object free—a golden medallion.
The intricate design on its surface made his stomach twist: the symbol of a winged giant.
Memories he'd tried to suppress crashed over him in waves. He remembered the destruction, the chaos. The same symbol had been carved into the banners of his enemies. The winged giants had been orchestrating humanity's downfall for centuries, their plans unfolding like a slow-burning fuse.
Five years. That's how long he had until their invasion began.
Azrael clenched the medallion tightly, his resolve hardening. He didn't know where to start, but he didn't need to. This time, he wouldn't fail.
"Five years," he whispered to himself. His gaze turned toward the horizon, where the forest met the sky. "Five years to get it right."
And this time, Azrael swore, he would change the fate of the timeline.