The sensation was horrific.
The inside of the goblin was disgusting, or at least, the feeling of being fused to it was. It was completely different from when he was with Martin. With him, it felt like a warm campfire in the middle of a dark forest.
Now, that campfire had not only been extinguished but also destroyed, pissed on, and vandalized to the point of being unrecognizable. The goblin's own body was rejecting him, causing Jarek a deep sense of unease throughout his being.
— Damn it, it looks like we're not compatible at all.
They simply couldn't stand each other. Healing the goblin's broken limbs with the same efficiency as he had with Martin was difficult, and he could feel himself getting sick just from the presence of his symbiotic body.
Still, he wasn't going to abandon it. The outside was a thousand times worse than the inside. He wouldn't survive without a functional host for more than a few hours, and that was being overly optimistic.
¿And was it more likely to survive in a dying body at such low temperatures?
¡Not at all!
Jarek had no plans to move from that spot anyway, so he focused on using a small portion of the goblin's energy to keep both of them at a decent body temperature. The resilience he had copied from Martin's genetic code wasn't working as well as he'd hoped, but it would help him endure the cold more effectively.
¡It was only a matter of time before their little boss came looking for survivors!
At least, that's what the goblin's memories had shown him. Unfortunately, the goblin didn't know the exact purpose of coming here. The only one who knew the details was the squad's captain.
It went without saying why Jarek could no longer access that captain's mind.
Jarek sighed dejectedly.
— I guess it doesn't really matter. I'll keep assuming they just wanted to exterminate everyone.
The rest of the memories weren't exactly helpful. All he saw was a training camp and blurry silhouettes, so blurry they were almost smudges. The poor compatibility was definitely limiting him.
Perhaps too much…
Jarek dragged himself forward with tentacles sprouting from the goblin's chest. He needed to position it somewhere it could be distinguished and not mistaken for just another corpse. It would be bad if their army decided to burn the bodies to avoid the hassle of burying them.
¿Would they leave them to their fate once they confirmed the results of the expedition, without offering help to their comrade, or simply not come at all and assume everyone was dead?
Jarek preferred not to think about that possibility.
.........
The sound of footsteps echoed through the grand hallway, adorned only with a few plants and a handful of peculiar paintings that, contrary to the calming effect they desperately tried to convey, made anyone who glanced at them nervous.
A group of men marched down the hallway, their shirts stained with coffee, a strong damp smell clinging to them, and massive dark circles under their eyes. It was clear they hadn't seen a bed (or a shower) in days, yet they exuded an enviable energy and spirit.
People moved out of their way after bowing respectfully. They passed door after door until they reached a carpeted, impeccably clean room with a massive round wooden table in the center, where they set down the enormous stack of papers they were carrying.
Tension filled the air. The serious expressions on each man's face made the secretaries who had prepared the room beforehand nervous.
Each man took his respective seat and spread out the documents, neatly organized into sections. Each section focused on a specific topic to be discussed at some point during the meeting.
The eldest of them all picked up a folder marked with red dividers and opened it before speaking.
— ¿How's the repair of the Maeham Institute going?
No one wasted time on pointless greetings and got straight to work.
A young man, no older than 31, named Ripley, raised his voice upon hearing the question.
— Progress was going well, but we had to delay the project due to the destruction of the Bentley Bridge by the ultrath after the Mother Moon festival…
Another participant angrily slammed the table.
— I told you to remove the scorpion bells from the parade floats ¡They're the ultrath's favorite food! We basically screamed at them to come destroy everything"
— Ahhh… They ruined my daughter's favorite day. — another added, while the rest grumbled about similar complaints.
The eldest clapped his hands loudly to get everyone's attention and silence them.
— Gentlemen, gentlemen. There's no point complaining about it now. Trusting too much was a mistake that won't happen again. ¿Were there any casualties in the attack?
Ripley grimaced in disgust, a gesture that alarmed the elder.
— Twenty dead and approximately seven missing. The Red Guard and several druz'ya are searching for them as we speak.
The elder allowed himself to relax when he heard the name of the Red Guard. If they were on the case, they'd find them sooner rather than later.
He only hoped they'd find them alive.
— Notify the families of the deceased and provide them with proper compensation. If the widows don't have stable jobs, offer them one.
Twenty was a small number, considering how ferocious the ultrath could be. He silently prayed for the souls of the dead, hoping the Mother Moon would welcome them into eternal rest.
— Mark, I'll give you the resources and funds to repair the bridge. I want it operational as soon as possible to avoid delaying the delivery of goods from Noxville. The last thing we need right now is less food on the shelves.
Mark nodded, placing an arm across his chest. A respectful gesture.
—Mr.Oliver, if possible, I'd like to receive the Garm bones before the repairs.
The elder Oliver smiled at Mark's proposal. The Garm were a dangerous plague. As large as a small car and strong enough to destroy a reinforced concrete house with their own paws. Those foul smelling creatures devoured everything around their homes after their migration every 40 years. Not even poisonous plants survived their rancid arrival.
However, their bodies were incredibly useful for multiple purposes.
Their saliva, for instance, released a spore upon hitting the ground that rendered the soil barren, making it impossible for anything to grow for years. Ironically, this compound was a crucial ingredient in near miraculous medicines that had saved millions of lives. It could also be applied directly to wounds to disinfect them, sometimes even healing them completely. However, using it on humans more than once a month wasn't advisable, as overuse could cause skin cancer.
Their bones could be ground and used in ointments and creams that energized workers, making them highly popular among laborers who spent hours under the sun.
But a plague was still a plague.
Aside from strictly regulated farms, eliminating all wild Garm groups was a priority before their numbers grew too large.
— Of course. We recently sent an armed group to eliminate some wild ones we discovered not long ago. They should be returning soon.
Normally, they'd request the ointments from a pharmacy or directly from the farms, but Oliver had promised Mark the ones from those wild Garms.
Probably so that old man could save on the pharmacy commission.
— "Stingy old fool" — Oliver mocked mentally.
The door burst open violently, startling everyone present, who turned their gazes toward the culprit of such a commotion.
The man who slammed the door didn't apologize for the abrupt interruption or his rude attitude. He immediately tossed a dark tablet embedded with 21 tiny diamonds onto the table.
Everyone in the room, including the secretaries and the female druz'ya accompanying them, let out a small gasp of shock. Only one of the crystals still glowed, while the rest had cracked and turned a dark red.
Oliver stared intensely at his designated secretary. In response, she nodded and led the druz'ya and her colleagues out of the room.
— The raid failed…
The room filled with the worried shouts of the men.
Oliver didn't try to calm them this time, as he could barely keep himself silent.
— ¿Nineteen armed druz'ya were massacred by those wretched creatures?!
— ¡It's impossible!
— They've taken down even larger groups. Another animal must have killed them.
— Maybe we should've taken a few days to study them instead of ordering their elimination the moment we discovered them…
All sorts of wild theories, premonitions of a greater evil approaching, and contingency plans were shouted by the men. The room was filled with panic, each voice trying to be louder than the last. It wasn't until Oliver, overcoming his own fear, slammed the table with force, bringing silence back abruptly.
— ¡Enough! — Oliver roared, his voice echoing through the room. — Shouting and losing our heads won't get us anywhere.
The men looked at each other, some embarrassed, others still frightened, but all fell silent and paid attention.
— Whatever killed them was surely injured by the explosion of the Mogh bombs. It couldn't have gotten far with such wounds.
— With how expensive those things are, they're bound to cause serious damage — another man quipped, trying to lighten the mood.
Oliver, however, had no patience for useless opinions in this critical moment. He turned his head and shot a murderous glare at the man who spoke, a spark of fury in his eyes that made him visibly tremble.
— There's no time to waste. Send the White Guard.
— ¡Oh! — The admiration for such a group was palpable. The White Guard was the elite of the elite when it came to gathering information and intelligence. With them investigating while protected by the Red Guard, there was no longer any need to fear an unprecedented Garm infestation or an even greater evil.
— Ripley, notify everyone.
Ripley stood up immediately and ran to the White Guard's break room.
................
The sun's rays pierced through the numerous holes in the cheap curtain, hitting the face of a grumpy woman directly.
The alarm wasn't loud enough to make her want to get up and turn it off, even though it had been ringing for several minutes. Her overwhelming exhaustion was unusual, but in recent weeks, she had been feeling the same way and was somewhat accustomed to this lack of energy.
She didn't want to get up. really didn't want to. But duty called with its shrill, piercing voice. With a long, heavy "ahh…" she forced herself to throw off the blankets, letting the morning chill help her get up faster.
But her motivation to get out of bed shifted from the cold to a desperate need for a sandwich made of whatever was in the fridge. And if it wasn't spoiled, it could already be considered a delicacy fit for a goddess.
Halfway to the kitchen, the phone mounted on the wall rang. A bad feeling caused a slight pain in her chest, as if it were a warning not to answer the call.
"But if I ignore it and it's the landlord, he'll get mad and start crying…"
She couldn't bear going through that experience twice in one week. It would definitely waste a lot of her time.
— ¡Andy!
The moment she picked up the phone, a powerful shout jolted her awake, shaking her eardrums.
— ¿W-what? — Andy stammered, confused.
The person on the other end was none other than her younger brother. The bad omen that had been nagging at her vanished, along with the hunger, overshadowed by the joy swelling in her heart.
— ¡Oh! What's up? — After recovering from the shock, Andy responded energetically. Hearing her brother's voice always filled her with energy.
— ¡Something really serious is going on! Remember that project I told you about?
— Definitely… — A lie so blatant it was painful. It wasn't that she hadn't paid attention. It was just that he had given her so much unnecessarily detailed information. It was impossible for her to remember even half of it.
— Well, it all went to hell, a total disaster. — His tone turned serious. She had rarely heard him speak like that. — But you don't need to worry about the details. ¡You've got work to do!
Andy nearly spat out the orange juice she was drinking. However, remembering it was the last one she had, she forced herself to swallow it.
"No way, I already have plans" Andy wanted to protest, but her brother, guessing what she was thinking, cut her off.
— I got you a spot on the cleanup team and a seat on the truck. It's too late to back out now.
The bad feeling returned like a kick in the ass. Working cleanup in remote areas wasn't exactly dangerous (most of the time), and it was actually a job where she could make some decent money. But Andy was uneasy about this one in particular.
The little she remembered about this "project" wasn't good, and she assumed the job had something to do with it. But unfortunately, she no longer had any choice but to accept, and the money wouldn't hurt.
— Thanks, I guess… — she accepted her fate with a defeated sigh. — When do I start?
— Tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Get ready.
— Oh, by the way, the rent was a bit higher than usual, and I wanted to ask if you could-
The phone's beeping cut her off.
…
….
…..
— ¿RipleyDoo?