[VotA] Chapter 4 - Four Against Four (Patreon)

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While momentarily dumbfounded by his own carelessness, Mark didn’t let a single mistake put him off track.

After all, only the gods knew how many times he had tried—and failed—to escape the Demon Princess’s prison.

But no failure changed his goals.

As the four goblins charged toward him, he adjusted his glasses with two bloody, skinless fingers, unknowingly smearing red across the cracked lenses. His gaze flicked to the rune circle he had just modified.

One won’t be enough.

His cold eyes followed the goblins as they trampled over the roots.

This just means I will need to improvise.

They were close now. The moment they reached the tree, they clenched their bony daggers between yellow, rotting teeth and leaped.

Mark’s eyes widened slightly as they latched onto the bark with ease.

Their thin, wiry fingers twitched, and with a sickening sound, dirty claws extended from beneath their nails, giving them a firm grip on the wood.

With a cat’s agility, they climbed.

Damn it.

Mark didn’t consider himself stupid.

But this had caught him off guard.

It wasn’t surprising that these filthy, stinking goblins could scale the tree. Whoever carved that rune had to get up here somehow.

No. What surprised him was the two goblins who hadn’t climbed.

They stood below, eyes locked onto him, watching. 

They aren’t complete idiots… I can use that!

The tree shook violently.

A pulse of red and green energy rippled from the bark, spreading like an infection.

Mark acted instantly, wrapping both arms around the trunk and glancing at the climbing goblins.

The wave of power pulsed outward.

The goblins froze. The ones climbing hesitated, glancing at their companions below, then at each other.

A moment passed, and nothing happened.

Blinking at each other, they shrugged.

Their yellow eyes snapped back to Mark, still clinging to the bark. They tilted their heads, puzzled.

Then, saliva dripped from their mouths as they grinned and moved again.

The tree groaned.

A chunk of bark, just inches above them, cracked.

The roots below pulsed with crimson light.

Then, the ground trembled.

The earth split as thick, gnarled roots wrenched free from the ground, tearing through soil and dead leaves. They twisted unnaturally, striking against nearby trees, sending shattered bark and branches flying.

Below, the two goblins shrieked, barking in their twisted language, a mixture of growls and snake-like hissing. They scrambled toward the trunk, pressing their backs against it, fearful eyes darting between the writhing roots.

The climbers, meanwhile, turned to look down at them, then back at Mark.

He was still hugging the tree.

Their eyes glinted with intelligence.

Mimicking him, they scurried onto a branch and clung to the bark, tightening their grips.

The roots below thrashed wildly, slamming against trunks and snapping branches, yet never coming close to this particular tree.

The two goblins on the ground crouched lower, daggers in hand, eyes filled with caution.

The climbers looked around, confused. Their sharp nails dug deeper into the bark, their bodies tensing as they stole a glance at Mark.

He was still there.

Still hugging the tree.

As Mark glanced at them, he lifted a hand and struck the trunk lightly, just enough to be noticed.

The goblins blinked.

They saw the wide-eyed fear in his expression, the tremble in his fingers.

They exchanged looks.

They chuckled, making sharp clicking noises as they muttered to one another in their foul tongue. Their mocking laughter echoed through the branches.

The tree shuddered.

They flinched, pressing themselves tighter against the bark.

A sudden gust of wind rushed past them.

Mark was gone.

Their heads snapped downward.

He had jumped.

Their eyes bulged.

Instinct kicked in. They clutched the tree even tighter.

And the bark beneath their fingers cracked.

A sickening green glow spread through the fractures in the trunk, swirling with red.

The tree let out a final groan.

Then it exploded.

Shrapnel tore through the air, slicing into their frail, sickly bodies. Wooden shards ripped through muscle and skin.

Their bodies were sent flying.

Branches snapped as they crashed through them, limbs twisting at unnatural angles as they hit the ground with sickening crunches.

And they did not move.

The goblins on the ground managed to crouch, shielding themselves just in time. For them, the impact was nothing more than a burst of heat and flying splinters.

It did hurt and make them bleed, but it wasn’t lethal.

Mark’s situation wasn’t as good, unfortunately.

Even though he had planned for this moment, he had still underestimated the sheer force behind the explosion.

How much lifeforce did that freaking tree still had?

Thrown forward, his body crashed against the dirt, rolling over the now-still roots and broken branches before slamming into the base of another tree. His glasses were gone, his vision a blur of light and motion, and a sharp pain throbbed in his left arm.

The explosion, despite its force, didn’t have any fire, a mild heatwave caused by the tree’s sudden ignition of its vitality.

Mark, having lost his glasses, was filled with scratches and feeling a spike of pain in his right arm. He stood up, dirty and fallen leaves covering his eyes.

Are they all dead?

Breathing heavily, he clutched his arm, ignoring the pain.

He had felt worse. Much worse.

The forest was still. A few branches cracked and fell, dust and leaves swirling in the aftermath. The ground was littered with debris, but the place hadn’t changed much.

Then came the sound of coughing.

Mark’s eyes narrowed.

Two goblins, both bloodied, their yellow eyes squinting against the dust, one of them waving a hand to clear the air. They were still alive, their small, wiry forms hunched forward as they struggled to find their footing. They looked weak, but not weak enough.

Mark exhaled, keeping his breathing even as his gaze darted around, searching.

What about the other two?

A flicker of golden text appeared in his vision.

[Killed: Scout Forest Goblin (F) x2]

His fingers curled into a fist, his body already moving before the letters even faded. 

There was no time to celebrate. 

Holding his injured arm, he moved quickly to the side, stepping carefully over broken twigs and loose leaves, making as little noise as possible. His destination was clear—the corpses of the fallen goblins. He didn’t care how badly they were mangled; their weapons were still intact.

A sharp whistling sound cut through the air, and something thunked into the tree beside him.

His eyes flicked to the side. A dagger made of bone was buried deep in the bark, still vibrating from the force of the throw.

He dropped to the ground.

Another whistle.

A second dagger zipped past, cutting through the space his chest had occupied a second earlier.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself back to his feet, sprinting toward the corpses. His legs burned, but he pushed forward, his gaze flicking to the side.

The goblins had spotted him.

Even wounded, their movements were fast, their sharp claws digging into the dirt as they rushed toward him, their thin, gangly limbs propelling them forward at terrifying speed.

Mark knew instantly. He wouldn’t outrun them.

His only advantage was ahead of him.

The corpses.

His fingers reached forward, stretching toward one of the bloodied daggers lodged on the monster’s jaw. 

A sharp pain tore through his heel.

His leg buckled.

His balance was gone before he even realized what had happened.

Mark fell forward, barely catching himself before his chest hit the ground, his outstretched fingers brushing against the corpse’s foot instead of the weapon he had been aiming for.

Then, his head slammed against the dirt.

A wet crunch echoed through his skull, a fresh burst of pain flaring from his already broken nose.

His breath caught.

Something pulled at his injured leg.

Behind him, a goblin had grabbed his heel, its yellow eyes wild, sharp nails digging into his flesh. It pulled again, dragging him backward.

Mark gritted his teeth, reaching for the corpse.

The other goblin was on his back and slammed his head into the dirt again.

His vision blurred.

The goblin on his back let out a raspy laugh.

The one at his leg opened its mouth.

Jagged, yellowed teeth sank into his calf, tearing flesh.

Mark shuddered, his muscles jerking at the sensation of his own body being ripped apart.

His fingers tightened.

He reached the corpse’s foot.

Then it's arm.

The dead goblin’s stiff body was slick with blood, the texture almost making him lose his grip.

Mark’s head was slammed again.

His calf was ripped into.

The laughter above him grew louder.

His fingers moved.

Finally, he reached the corpse’s mouth.

Yes.

His grip locked around something small but firm.

A bony dagger, buried in the corpse’s cheek.

His right hand seized the handle, his bloodied fingers wrapping around it tightly.

A black and purple glow shimmered around his arm.

His head was slammed again.

He ignored it.

His body shifted.

The goblins didn’t even notice.

To them, he was already as good as dead.

Mark’s dagger-wielding hand shot backward, plunging the weapon into the goblin clinging to his back.

A shriek tore through the air, as the goblin’s body jerked violently.

Mark didn’t stop, and he kicked the goblin that was chewing his leg, pushing the creature away.

Then his fingers released the handle, his right arm pulsing with purple and black mana, reaching his back and grabbing the goblin’s frail wrist.

With a burst of strength, he ripped the monster off him and slammed it into the ground.

The goblin yelled, its small body twitching against the dirt.

Mark straddled its chest, his fist smashing into its face. The goblin’s screech cut off, its skull bouncing against the floor.

His fingers wrapped around the dagger again, and he tore it free from the goblin’s ribs.

And stabbed.

Once at the goblin’s gut.

Twice at its chest.

Then, a final thrust in the creature’s eye.

The goblin’s body twitched and then stilled.

At this moment, Mark heard another shriek from behind him.

The second goblin, blood still dripping from its mouth, had recovered. 

It lunged at Mark before he could turn, its claws piercing into his shoulders, as its teeth lunged for his neck.

Mark grunted, twisting with dagger in hand.

He drove it into the goblin’s face, hitting its eye in a struck of luck.

The creature froze.

Its body slackened as its grip on his shoulders loosened.

Mark exhaled in relief.

His fingers pried open the dead monster’s mouth, forcing it off him.

Then, with a weak shove, he threw the corpse aside.

Mark’s entire body trembled, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, as he slowly crawled forward.

Dragging himself toward the nearby tree the first two goblins had crashed into before dying, he let his back hit the bark, his chest heaving, heart pounding.

A weak chuckle slipped from his lips.

His blood-stained hand pressed against his chest.

"This…" his voice came hoarse, heavy with exhaustion, the taste of iron thick on his tongue. "This feels good."

Golden light shimmered in his vision.

[Mana Points: 100/300 → 10/300]

[Hit Points: 90/140 → 5/140]

[Killed: Scout Forest Goblin (F) x2]

[Battle Ended]

[Total Battle EXP Gained: 40 EXP]

System… Ignore my previous orders. Show me my mana and hit points whenever necessary.

Then, Mark focused on the last line.

How many levels will I gain?

Another golden text appeared.

[New Trait Acquired]

[Vessel of the Abyss: Every point of experience gained will be divided by four before being given to the user]

Mark’s smile froze.

And more texts hovered in his vision.

[Total Battle EXP Gained: 40 EXP]

[Trait: Vessel of the Abyss Activated]

[Total EXP Gained: 10 XP]

“…Are you kidding me?”

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