Work Text:
-=No Longer For Science=-
In a dark cavern, with the blood of innocent men and women darkening the ground, there stands a Priestess of the Earth Mother. Her body is sore and weak - her mind shaken by fear, despair, and the first seeds of hatred. But an ember of determination bades her to stand and walk. She follows quietly behind a man who smells of death, her eyes averted from his back - struggling to see into the darkness past his torch, hoping that there will not come another ambush from all sides.
He guides her, answering her questions and explaining the mistakes she made. The blood of a new friend coats his blade, but it is soon covered with the blood of despicable, small beasts. Goblins. Though they walk on two legs and wield tools and weapons, she can hardly look into their eyes and believe that they are like her in any way at all. She can hardly believe she thought them to be little more than pests, just a few short hours ago.
They are goblins, and the man she follows is the Goblin Slayer.
He counts as he kills, tearing holes in throat or stomach, methodically ensuring each goblin they encounter is dead. Some twitch and roll their eyes in panic even as they bleed out upon the ground, but there is no second thought or hesitation to his actions. He kills, and he kills, and he kills. And when the divine magic gifted to her by the Earth Mother herself serves, he uses it to kill again, a soothing light meant to guide and comfort twisted to blind the vile creatures they face. Soon they have reached the back of the cave and the young Priestess hugs a martial companion, a woman who'd seemed so confident and strong. Now the martial artist suffers, and part of the Priestess wants to recoil, while the rest merely cries out that something be done. That there must be some way to fix this horrible place and these horrible actions.
But there is not.
Minutes pass, and the Priestess leaves the martial artist to wash and redress herself with what little water and cloth is available. The attention of the Priestess is drawn to the Slayer, who has cast aside a throne made from the bones of the dead with contemptuous ease, revealing a secret passage, barely visible in the light of burning corpses.
"Typical goblin trick," he explains, gesturing to the scratches and indentations that evidenced the tunnel. It is barely tall enough for a human to fit through, so long as they crouch, but he passes through it and the crude door it holds with the ease of long practice. As they move forward, she hears sounds - the small press of flesh against stone, claws and nails tapping against hard surfaces. And then they find them.
Children. Infants. Three of them, huddled together and staring with fear in their eyes. The Goblin Slayer stands to his full height and the Priestess cannot help but look at him - with grime-coated and blood-spattered armor, standing tall over such small creatures, club in hand... and she feels a primal sort of terror. The flickering flames and darkness of the cavern converge upon his form, leaving his helm nothing but a disturbing mockery of a face. He does not look like a person. He looks like the kind of monster that adventurers are sent out to kill.
The illusion is broken with his voice, as quiet and steady as ever. "They multiply quickly. Given more time, they would have become a horde and boldly attacked villages. It is lucky we were here." His boots strike the ground. His fist is tight against the club in his hand.
"You'll... kill the children too?" The Priestess wants him to. She wants to know that there are no more goblins. She wants to know that she will never see something like this again. But the teachings of the Earth Mother are of love and mercy and good. Is this the right thing to do?
"Not this time." And she blinks, vision blurred from the tears that have been coming and going for the past hour. "The only good goblin is a dead goblin. But I take the children to study." And indeed, when the children jump out at the Goblin Slayer, rather than crushing them with the same brutal efficiency as he had all the others, he systematically pins and ties them down together. Soon there are three tiny goblin children trussed up and the Goblin Slayer packs them together in a bag which he tosses over his shoulder.
The Priestess furrows her brow, keeping silent as she turns around and leaves the secret passage to tend to her friend. But the question boils in her chest and she cannot help but wonder - what does a man like the Goblin Slayer do with those he takes?
=-=-=
Days later, when the martial artist has been given to the care of the church and the Priestess has recovered from her ordeal, she finds the Goblin Slayer at the Guild. He looks much the same as he did before, his equipment cleaned only to the degree that it not degrade, little done about the smells and stains that still remain. Adventurers' near him recoil, rookies much like herself look at him with disdain, the common people wonder why anyone allow this disgusting bandit to wander the place.
But her thoughts are on a bag filled with wriggling, gagged creatures. And so she approaches him at the end of a long day, meeting him for the first time in daylight, and asks to see what he has done. She waits, tense, as he looks down at her with that blank helmet inscrutable, nothing but darkness behind the slats of his face. And with a short nod, he turns around.
She follows. What else is there to do?
His home is hours away and the sun begins to set as they arrive. At first she believes the farmland they approach is their destination and she finds herself relaxing - it is a beautiful place of animals and fields, clearly worked with love and attention. A woman, clearly her senior notices them from where she works with a cow and raises her hand, approaching quickly and exuberantly. The Priestess bows her head in greeting, only to find her lips downturned when she finds the woman has slowed and lost her energy rapidly. She misses what the farmhand girl says at first, but as her attention sharpens, finds that the Goblin Slayer is her subject.
"- does she need with you?" The woman is tense, her shoulders squared and she stares head-on into the helm of the Goblin Slayer.
And yet strangely, there is no ill manner in the air about the two of them - rather, she feels as though she is looking upon two close family members. Could the farmhand girl be Goblin Slayers' sister? She wonders, and feels hesitant to speak up, as though there were a bubble of familiarity she has no right to intrude upon.
"She asked to see the study hall." His voice is as measured as always, to the point.
The cow girl looks to the Priestess, who nods, and her face does a complicated dance - as though she has just witnessed something distasteful but does not wish to comment upon it. The Priestess of the Earth Mother feels a flicker of doubt - is this truly the right decision? Should she follow the lead of her seniors and distance herself from a filthy man who hunts only goblins and takes their children for some mysterious purpose? Is this safe? ...but he saved her, and though his actions were cruel, his bearing with the martial artist and the wizard had been soft and gentle. Her group had suffered and died to goblins because they had been hasty and arrogant - but this man made it his work to kill goblins. She had to know more. It was her duty to know more, and to know what it was he did with the children.
"I want to know more about goblins!" The Priestess says, loudly and clearly, looking the farmhand in the face. The silence stretches on and the Priestess is intimidated by the frustrated and measuring look she is levelled with, but she stands her ground. Finally, after several moments, she is answered.
"Look, just... don't jump to conclusions, alright?"
She nods, ignoring whatever second (or third) thoughts those words bring to mind. It isn't long before the Goblin Slayer has finished speaking to his companion, informing her that he would be returning late after escorting her back to town. The Priestess is surprised - she hadn't really considered that it may take so long that she would be returning to the church in darkness, once the Goblin Slayer had told her how close to town his... 'study hall' was. As they walked past the farm, along a marked path that led through the fields and past the barn, she looked back and saw only the shaking head of the cow girl. It was not a comforting sight.
=-=-=
"This is... where you bring goblins?"
It's not at all what she expected. In some ways, it looks like a fortress in miniature - a tall fence, a ditch dug out, only one way in or out. But as they pass the wall, she finds the ditch is only on the inside, with no steps or easy slope, and there are a series of small, sharp studs facing inwards at the top. This is a place meant to keep something within, not out. Yet it does not resemble any jailhouse she has ever seen - there are no cages filled with goblins nor pillory, and indeed the central building itself looked more like a manor than some dungeon or small farmhouse. It was set low to the ground, clearly at least partially buried, but the tops of the walls held thin holes through which the sun could shine and the wood and stone was remarkably well-maintained and clean, as though by a team of servants.
Surrounding the manor were some small fields which held not the typical farm staples such as grain or fruit, but higher value plants - things she could not immediately name, but knew could be found by those valuing beauty or smells. She pauses by one such garden - too small to be called a field - and observes with curiosity how clean and orderly the rows are, with a network of small, hand-crafted wooden rails leading from each plant inwards and towards the manor. She crouches, and finds they are about at a height with....
"Goblin Slayer," she asks, dread in her voice. "Are... are you using the goblins as servants?"
And he nods. She doesn't ask anything else.
They follow the knee-height railing inwards, the sun setting on the horizon casting the fields of flowers in sharp red relief. There is only one door into the building and it is locked - from the outside. Through the door is a narrow hall. The Priestess breathes in sharply as she realizes the border between wall and ceiling is lined with expensive crystalline lightstones - far safer to leave unattended than flames, with a brighter and steadier shine than torches and lanterns. It is so bright, in fact, that she has to squint her eyes as they adjust.
The hall is long and lined with doors, all of them bound by locks and with handles much higher than normal, easily level to the chest of the Goblin Slayer. He leads them past most towards the rear of the building, where he unlocks a small room that is clearly where the building gets its’ name. It has several overtall desks and shelves filled with books and scrolls, most of them clearly bound and written by the Goblin Slayers’ own hand. An assortment of trinkets and contraptions with no clear purpose lay in rows upon one wall and the Priestess can see several weapons scattered.
The Goblin Slayer raises a hand and searches through his documents with clear purpose, before selecting one and handing it to the Priestess. Upon the cover she finds a simplistic, crude drawing of a goblin and a simple, straightforward title.
“Goblin Studies Volume One.”
Opening the book reveals a series of dates coupled to observations and remarks. They are from several years prior, and are mostly straightforward with the occasional unanswered question from the Goblin Slayer himself. They detail his first fights with goblins, how he questioned their behaviors and actions.
Before she can read too far in, more journals are handed over - these ones dozens of generations past that first, simple notebook.
“Goblin Development Chain,” “Goblin Anatomy,” “Goblin Maturation Process,” and more. Glancing through each one finds more recent dates and far more detailed explorations of goblins, from the names of specific bones and organs to precise detailings of how their bodies and minds change as they grow.
“In order to kill them,” the Goblin Slayer explains, “I need to know more about them. So I learn. And as I learn, I understand them more and more, until I can afford to take risks so that I can learn even more - even if I have to let some of them live longer than I’d like.”
“But isn’t that dangerous? And illegal?”
The Goblin Slayer pulls a small sheef of papers from one of his many packs, showing her a stamped copy of - a license to raise and transport monsters. And then he puts it back and leaves the room, leading her on. They approach another, around a bend in the manor - where she hears scuffling and growls which send her lungs rattling and her fists growing tight. Here he has Goblins, clearly still alive.
When he opens the door, there is a sudden hush - and the Priestess cannot help but drop her staff as horror strikes her.
The room is indeed filled with goblins. They are disgusting and as vicious-looking as ever, but these are not the predatory, monstrous things she saw in the cavern, preying upon people. These are stick-thin, grotesque mockeries - with hollow eye sockets and stumps for legs, they drag themselves through a filth-ridden with no windows and inhumane light, making scratched and violated walls plain and clear. A hole in the corner is filled with waste, dragged out in disgusting lines and sweeps, and in the opposite corner is a trough for pigs, filled with water and some bare provisions. Their heads perk at the sound of the door, but as the Goblin Slayer strides forth, his boots making great thuds upon the floor, they shy away from his presence and tremble from their places on the floor, dragging themselves away from his presence.
“I ensure they cannot escape,” the Goblin Slayer says. She can do nothing but nod, for how anything as small and weak as a goblin could even survive the mutilation he has put them through, much less escape this prison of a building afterwards, shocks her to the core. “If they do not follow the rails when I take them out, then they’ll only hurt themselves. I only bring the children - grown goblins have too many ideas they think are clever.”
He replaces the food and grabs a bucket from up high on the wall, leaving the small room and locking it behind him. She is stuck rooted to the spot as the door closes on their forms, feeble as they are, and she cannot think of anything as he shows her room after room.
A well-lit station with knives and glasses for the cutting and study of goblins. The Goblin Slayer points out a series of fluids specifically meant to help eradicate the stain and taint of blood and gore.
A storage chamber filled with chains and tools and locks just large enough for children. The Goblin Slayer shows her how they can be interlocked with eachother or used on individuals, and explains that they allow just enough reach for the goblins to tend to plants without being able to move themselves.
A chamber filled with jars which contain pieces from animals and goblins alike. The Goblin Slayer explains that he has heard of diseases and corruptions which harm only certain creatures, and hopes to find one solely effective against Goblins.
Every word, every motion is clinical and detached, the epitome of efficiency. The Goblin Slayer sounds to her more like a merchant explaining the numbers of business to an apprentice than a killer of monsters. The sun steadily goes down, leaving only the sterile light of dead crystals to shine, and still he shows her more.
Until he comes upon a small room where he shows her the children from three days past.
They are thinner than before, but also clearly more grown. They look less like children and more like the adults of their race. They still have their legs and their eyes, but there is raw terror in them at the sight of the Goblin Slayer. They pay her no mind as he strides into their dismal chamber, backs pressed against their cages.
There is no struggle this time. Their bodies are wracked with bruises, and two of them have broken fingers or toes. One is missing half an ear. Their claws are chipped and bloody from attempted escape. They are raw, primal fear and terror etched in every inch of their bodies. She notes these things mechanically, some central piece of her chipped away by the workmanlike torture she has witnessed today.
The Goblin Slayer claims one of the children and brings it with him.
They go through room after room, the light of the sun outside having now faded entirely. There is nothing but white, brighter than any building she has ever stayed within before, and the darkness past it. But her eyes have long since adjusted to this harshness and she sees the plain terror in the eyes of the goblin child within its’ cage.
Its’ goat-like eyes find her, walking behind the Goblin Slayer. It looks to her and stretches out a single hand and she finds herself suddenly struck by how small it is. How child-like. She can see no humanity within that gaze - but there is pain and fear nonetheless, and the desire to be rescued.
She is a Priestess of the Earth Mother. How can she stand here while these creatures suffer? How can she listen to this - this monster as he dispassionately describes the torture and enslavement of living beings? Is preventing evil not the purpose of her magic? Is helping the downtrodden not the exact reason she became an adventurer!?
Thud.
She breathes heavily as the Goblin Slayer collapses. She just - she just struck him! Oh, Earth-Mother, what is she doing? But she is not very large, and though she hit him upon the head with all her might, she doubts he will be waylaid for long. She places a smile upon her tear-struck face and reaches out to the cage the goblin is held within.
Unlocking it is a matter of seconds, and though she cannot understand the barely-coherent babbling it avails upon her, she understands gratitude well enough. “Go on,” she tells it, “Follow the rails and go. I have to help the others.”
Then she turns around, grabbing the keyring from the Goblin Slayers’ body and intending to release the other mutilated goblins - though she is unsure how she will bring them from this place, as crippled as they are. Just as she takes her first few steps away, however - that is when she feels something odd.
A sharp, sudden pain in the back of her thigh - and then another, and then another. She collapses to her knees only to feel something slip into her back, and when she finally turns her head around she finds the goblin she just saved armed with a dagger stolen from the Goblin Slayer.
It reaches out, clearly intending to end her life - only for a gauntlet-clad fist to grab hold of its’ neck. Her breath rattles as the Goblin Slayer rises from the ground, a dent visible in his helmet, lifting the goblin into the air. The Goblin Slayer glares down at her as the goblin in its’ hand struggles and for a moment she can swear the light leaves the room, casting his body in shadow with a single, malevolent red glow within.
And then the goblin is smashed against the wall. The dagger drops only to find its’ way back into the Goblin Slayers’ sheathe, and he grabs hold of its’ kicking legs before wrenching them sharply to the side. Both its’ ankles are shattered and twisted and the goblin releases a screeching keen, filled with absolute agony, for a long moment.
The Goblin Slayer drops its’ prey to the ground and the screaming goes on and on even as he turns away from it.
Towards her.
“The only good goblin,” he says, “is a dead goblin.”
As she sits there on the ground, blood pooling around her and staining her robes, an endless screaming the only thing she can hear, she can do nothing but nod.
The next hour is a blur. She is efficiently stripped and her wounds bound, a health potion given to her alongside simple but filling food. She is in a daze and only remembers her own holy magic of healing long after the Goblin Slayer has left her alone within a bed. Locked within.
Soon sleep takes her and it is plagued with dreams of bloody, laughing goblins in armor.
When she awakes it is to the sound of knocking and a partially open door. The Goblin Slayer wordlessly gives her food and waits for her to finish. Then he leads her somewhere.
A bright, sterilized room with a plain table in the center. Stands hold instruments of torture and more. The goblin she attempted to free is laid upon the table, its’ legs still twisted and deformed. The Goblin Slayer strips his arms of the armor he has perpetually worn, prepares several long cloths which cover most of his body, and replaces his helmet with a carefully-cleaned headwrap and mask.
It is only then that he speaks, for the first time since he saved her from her own folly. He does not look to her, instead preparing tools for use on the twisted legs of the unconscious goblin.
“Half of the goblins I perform surgery on die soon after. It makes it difficult to conduct my research and limits my ability to expand the gardens here, which help pay for much of the adventuring tools I use. You disagree with what I do with goblins, but they all die in the end. They should all die.”
The Priestess is silent. The Goblin Slayer ignores her as he continues preparing for his work. Minutes pass.
She imagines the eyes of a goblin. The eyes that gleefully violated her allies. The eyes that were focused on her as they attempted to murder her. The eyes that filled her with such fear.
She picks up a scalpel.