Krim woke up aching everywhere, especially where it mattered.
His whole goblin body felt wrong: short, green, wiry, and sporting a morning salute that belonged on a donkey, not a goblin. Ten thick, veiny inches of rigid green cock jutted straight up from his groin, the fat head already glistening with a bead of pre-cum, throbbing angrily against his belly like it was trying to escape the rest of him.
…Did someone glue a third leg onto me? No, wait. That's mine. Oh lord.
The cave was already busy. A dozen adult goblins had crept close while he slept, forming a silent ring. They didn't leer or laugh; they just stared in open awe, whispering the same word over and over:
"Grikk… grikk…"
Oh fantastic. I'm famous and I haven't even had breakfast.
An old male with half an ear missing leaned in and, using a stick like it was the holiest relic in the world, carefully lifted the edge of Krim's loincloth. The heavy shaft sprang free, slapping loudly against his stomach before standing proud again, bobbing with every heartbeat.
The entire circle inhaled so hard Krim felt the air move.
"Grikk," someone breathed, reverent.
Krim groaned and sat up. The motion made the fat cock sway like a club. Three goblins actually stumbled backward, eyes huge.
Wonderful. I have become a biological hazard.
Then she stepped forward.
Just a regular goblin girl: yellow eyes, crooked little tusks, patchy black hair tied with a rat bone, flat chest, knobby knees. To any normal goblin, probably cute. To Krim's stubbornly human brain, she looked like a moldy pickle that had learned to walk.
She crouched right between his spread knees, head tilted, staring at his towering erection like it was the eighth wonder of the world.
"Grikk?" she asked softly, voice full of innocent fascination.
Wait—wait—WAIT—THIS ISN'T A GOOD IDEA—
Her small, rough green hand wrapped around the base. Her fingers couldn't even meet; the shaft was too thick. She gave it one slow, curious pump from root to leaking tip, smearing that bead of pre-cum down the length.
Krim's mind screamed in pure terror.
Brain: NO.
Body: ABORT.
Dick: Wait, she's not a ten-foot elven goddess with silver hair and—
And then it happened.
Instant, catastrophic failure.
The proud, throbbing tower shriveled like a slug hit with salt. One heartbeat it was steel-hard and dripping; the next it shrank, softened, and flopped over her stunned fingers: small, limp, utterly defeated.
The girl froze. Her hand was still holding what was now a sad, wrinkled green worm.
She looked at her palm. Then at Krim. Then back down.
"Grikk…?" she whispered, voice cracking with genuine worry. She gave the limp thing a tiny, hopeful shake. Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Oh god. No. Anything but this. Revive! Rise! Stand proud! Don't betray me now—
The old crone barreled through the crowd and shrieked like someone had murdered her favorite grandchild.
"WHAT DID YOU DO, SPROUT? YOU BROKE THE GRIKK!"
"I—I barely touched it!" the girl squealed, yanking her hand away like it had burned her. "It was huge and hard and wet and then… it just died!"
Chaos exploded.
"The spirits have abandoned him!"
"It vanished before my eyes!"
"Fetch the shaman, it's a curse!"
"He's too good for us!"
Goblins scattered in every direction, tripping over each other, screaming about omens and offended ancestors.
Krim sat there, legs still spread, staring down at the tiny, harmless nub resting on his thigh like a guilty caterpillar.
He slowly pulled the loincloth back over the crime scene.
Perfect. Day two. I have achieved the legendary feat of going from "tribe treasure" to "tribe tragedy" in under five seconds.
Can I reincarnate again? Refund? Anyone?
He flopped back onto the cold stone, one hand over his eyes.
I wanted dragons. Magic. Glory.
Instead I got performance anxiety in a cave full of gremlins.
This was going to be a long afterlife.