Chapter 36 - Goblins Attack

I appreciate all the kind comments :D

The forest deepened as they walked, canopy stretching above like a tapestry of green and gold. Shadows filtered through the foliage, painting shifting patterns across their path. The air smelled of damp earth and something faintly metallic—blood, perhaps, or expectation.

The tension between Lae'zel and Shadowheart simmered, their mutual dislike as palpable as the rustling leaves underfoot. Fin didn't comment, but he noticed. He always noticed.

They hadn't been walking long when Shadowheart's voice broke the silence.

"So, Gith," she said, her tone laced with sarcasm, "aren't you worried your people might punish you for consorting with us? I hear they don't look too kindly on... mixing with the lesser races."

Lae'zel's eyes flicked toward her without slowing her stride. The disdain was unmistakable.

"My name is Lae'zel, shka'keth. My kin understand the necessity of using servants. Should I require assistance, they will provide it."

Shadowheart's lips curled into a smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure they'd be thrilled to come running to help their wayward warrior. Assuming they're even looking for you. Or maybe they've already decided you're disposable?"

"I do not require rescue," Lae'zel replied coldly. "I will reach the creche myself and prove my strength. Vlaakith will see my worth."

"Ah yes," Shadowheart said with mock sympathy. "The glorious Queen Vlaakith. So warm. So motherly. I'm sure her mercy is legendary."

Lae'zel's hand twitched near her hilt, but she didn't draw. Not yet.

Fin sighed and raised a hand between them.

"Okay. Enough. Both of you. Calm down."

They quieted, though neither backed down. The air between them was charged, brittle with restraint.

From behind, Astarion gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Honestly," he drawled, "it's like watching two cats fight over a mirror. Entertaining for a bit, but it gets repetitive."

Fin shot him a sidelong glance. "You done?"

"For now," Astarion said, smiling. "But do let me know if they start throwing punches. I'd hate to miss it."

Durge walked beside them in silence, her stare fixed ahead. She hadn't spoken since the last fight.

Fin turned slightly toward her. "You good?"

Durge blinked. "No one's dead yet."

He nodded. That was… reassuring, by her standards.

Lae'zel muttered something sharp in Gith, likely a curse. Shadowheart rolled her eyes and looked away. Neither was backing down, but for now, the barbs ceased.

Ali's projection flickered into view beside Fin, reclining in midair with one knee tucked to her chest.

"So," she said, her voice dry, "one ice-cold cleric, one lizard supremacist, one aristocratic vampire, and one unpredictable murder-sorcerer. Is this a party or a confession list?"

Fin exhaled through his nose. "Could be both."

The forest began to thin. Ahead, the trees broke onto a sloping ridge. Smoke curled lazily in the sky—thin, silvery, and numerous.

Not the scent of fire and ash.

Campfires.

People.

Fin slowed, stepping up to the ridge's edge. His eyes narrowed.

The Druid Grove.

"Alright," he said. "We're close."

Lae'zel stepped forward beside him.

"I will find this Zorru. If he lies, I will gut him. If he speaks the truth, the path to the creche opens."

Behind them, Shadowheart scoffed. "Do you ever say anything that doesn't sound like a threat?"

Lae'zel didn't even look at her. "No."

Astarion chuckled. "At least she's consistent. I appreciate that in a psychopath."

Durge came to a stop just behind them, her eyes scanning the treeline.

"There's blood nearby," she said quietly.

The entire group paused.

The wind shifted.

Fin's steps slowed.

A faint pulse rippled across his skin—not of sound, but of presence.

He exhaled quietly, eyes narrowing.

"Stop," he said.

The others paused mid-stride.

Fin's head turned slightly, brows furrowing. His Observation Haki swept outward, a spider-silk web of sensory threads catching distant ripples of bloodlust and movement.

"They're close," he muttered. "Goblins."

Astarion arched a brow. "You can feel them?"

"They're spreading out. Flanking pattern."

Durge's eyes gleamed faintly. "How many?"

"More than a scouting party. And fast." He turned toward the crest of the nearby ridge, where the trees broke. "Come on. We're not the only ones who heard them."

He crept uphill, the others following in silence. Leaves crunched softly underfoot, broken twigs catching briefly under their boots. When they reached the top, they ducked low behind a line of mossy rocks and peered down into the shallow valley beyond.

The gates of the Emerald Grove stood tall and barred, thick timber and metal braces holding firm. At the base of the entrance, three figures stood shouting upward.

A rugged man, muscles tense beneath his torn leather armour, slammed his fist against the wood.

"Open the bloody gate!" he shouted.

Up above, stationed on a narrow wooden platform behind the battlements, a tiefling guard stood with his arms folded, face like carved obsidian.

"Nobody gets in," the guard snapped. "Zevlor's orders."

The man below—Aradin, by the look of it—looked ready to boil over. His two companions, one clutching a broken spear and the other bleeding from a torn shoulder pauldron, shifted uneasily behind him.

"Dammit, listen!" Aradin yelled. "The goblins are coming! They'll be on us in seconds!"

The sound of harsh, guttural voices echoed through the trees now. Goblins barking, shrieking, their crude language bouncing between trunks and stone. The brush trembled in the distance.

From above the gate, another figure emerged, a battle-hardened tiefling with a commanding presence. His dark horns were swept back, and his cloak bore the dust of a long campaign.

"Zevlor..." Shadowheart murmured.

The tiefling's eyes scanned the scene with grim suspicion. He stepped forward, voice sharp and demanding.

"You led goblins here? Where is the druid?"

Aradin reached for the goblin arrow embedded in his companion's shield and yanked it free. He held it high, the jagged tip glinting wet with fresh blood.

"There's no time!" he bellowed. "Let us in, or we're dead!"

Zevlor's eyes locked onto the bloodied arrow. His face shifted. Doubt gave way to urgency.

"...Open the gate," he barked. "Quickly!"

The guard above—Kanon—hesitated only a heartbeat before grabbing the crank and pulling. The wood groaned. Gears clanked. The gate began to rise, slowly, inch by inch.

Fin's eyes snapped toward the trees. His Haki screamed.

"Down!" he shouted.

Too late.

Thwip-thwip-thwip

A volley of arrows tore through the air like angry wasps.

Kanon grunted as three of them buried deep into his chest. He staggered, gasping, blood spilling between his fingers.

One last arrow struck him in the throat.

He collapsed, limbs twitching, his body thudding against the wood.

"No, Kanon!" Zevlor shouted, rushing to the gate.

The gate groaned once more, then slammed shut, the sound like thunder as wood and steel clashed back into place. Zevlor cursed under his breath, rising slowly as the pounding footsteps of goblins grew louder in the trees.

Meanwhile, back up the hill, Fin, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Durge, and Astarion crouched low in the underbrush, hidden behind a thick patch of shrubbery. From their vantage point, they could see everything—Aradin shouting, the gate sealing, Zevlor rising to meet the chaos alone.

Fin exhaled, glancing between the two women on either side of him.

"So," he said in a low voice, "does either of you have a plan?"

Neither responded. Lae'zel's eyes remained fixed on the valley below, jaw tight, her breathing controlled. Shadowheart, too, said nothing, her brow furrowed, hands resting near the handle of her mace. The two of them, so eager to trade barbs earlier, now sat in silence.

Fin rolled his eyes and gave a soft chuckle.

"Funny," he muttered. "You two had so much to say on the way here, but now… nothing?"

Neither woman turned. But after a beat, they both slowly shifted their gazes toward him in perfect synchrony, the two unimpressed, deadly stares meeting his smirk.

Fin raised his hands slightly.

"Okay, alright. Point taken."

A soft shuffle behind him marked Durge shifting her stance. Her voice was flat and thoughtful.

"We have the high ground. We can simply thin them out from here"

Astarion snorted softly.

"Or," Astarion said, "we wait. Let the goblins and those three tear each other apart. Fewer blades, fewer problems. Honestly, what exactly do we gain by helping?"

His voice had barely faded when the treeline below exploded.

Shrieking war cries erupted through the valley as brush and branches were torn aside. Goblins surged forth from the undergrowth in a howling tide—twenty, thirty, maybe more—scrambling over each other like feral dogs.

Aradin flinched, then cursed under his breath. When the gate refused to budge again, he stepped back and planted his feet, gripping his spiked clubs in both hands.

"Form up!" he roared. "Line, now! Hold them here!"

Leading the goblins was a massive warg, its red eyes glowing and saliva frothing from its jaws. Riding on its back was a hunched goblin commander clad in jagged black armour, a wicked scimitar raised high. His voice barked out commands, spurring the horde into formation.

To his left, a masked female goblin perched atop a gnarled tree stump, already loosing arrows with practised rhythm. Behind her, two towering bugbears advanced, their matted fur streaked with old blood, one dragging a flail the size of a cartwheel, the other hefting a jagged iron cleaver that shimmered with residual enchantment. Their roars drowned out even the warg's snarling.

Several masked goblins crept along the flanks—four in total, two per side—disguised beneath bone-white war paint and ragged cloaks. Their eyes gleamed with bloodlust as they slithered through the grass, daggers and shortbows at the ready. One of them vanished behind a rock. The other vanished entirely.

Shadowheart's breath hitched. "There are too many."

More poured in behind, a swarm of at least forty goblins, in various states of armour and madness. Some beat drums crudely slung across their backs, sending an eerie cadence into the trees. Others cackled as they hurled javelins toward the Grove's barricades. A few carried flaming pots, the firelight reflecting in their wild, gleaming eyes.

And then—

Crack!

A violet blast tore through the air like a cannon shot.

One of the backline goblins—an archer mid-draw—was struck square in the chest. Its body convulsed violently before it crumpled into the dirt, smoke rising from the scorched wound.

The battlefield hesitated.

Dozens of goblin heads snapped toward the source of the blast, eyes scanning wildly.

Atop the Grove's gate, a lone figure stood, sword drawn and cloak flaring in the wind. His stance was confident—practised.

Heroic.

"Damnable roach!" the man growled.

He vaulted from the ledge.

Steel sang through the air.

"Provoke the blade…"

He landed with the grace of a trained duelist, his boots kicking up dirt. As a goblin lunged toward him, he stepped aside and ran it through in a single, clean stroke. The creature gasped and slumped against his shoulder before sliding off his blade.

"…and suffer its sting!"

Each hop down the barricades and crates saw another goblin fall, throat slit, chest pierced, spine severed. Every movement was calculated yet theatrical, like a warrior performing for an invisible crowd.

He hit the ground in a low crouch, cloak rippling behind him. Then rose beside Aradin's crew with a flare of steel.

A snarling goblin lunged.

His blade snapped forward with punishing force, driving through the creature's heart.

The goblin gasped, its eyes bulging. Its body went limp, sliding off the sword and landing in the dust with a dull thud.

He whipped his sword to the side, flinging blood from the edge.

Fin, watching from above, raised an eyebrow.

"…Show-off," he muttered.

Durge, flatly: "He's loud."

Shadowheart exhaled through her nose. "We'll see if that flash has any substance."

Lae'zel stared at the scene impassively. "He's killing them. That's enough."

Fin stood slowly.

"Time to join in," he said with a wide, dangerous grin.

Without another word, he launched forward, his legs filled with cursed energy. A shockwave of dirt blasted behind him as he catapulted himself off the hill, his white haori flaring.

All eyes turned—goblins, allies, even Wyll himself—as Fin soared over the battlefield.

Mid-flight, his arm swung out in a wide arc.

Dismantle.

A large slash flung across the battlefield, tearing through goblins like paper. It carved straight through four in a row—limbs and torsos separating with wet, explosive force, then sliced a trench through the earth, gouging a line ten feet long through mud, bone, and fire.

From their hiding spot above, Shadowheart groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"...Idiot," she muttered, already rising.

Lae'zel didn't wait for further instruction. With a snarl, she vaulted from the ridge, not gracefully, her boots slamming into the ground like thunder. Sword drawn, she charged into the thick of the fighting without hesitation, cutting down a goblin before it could react to Fin's arrival.

Durge remained just behind the ridge, her eyes narrowed in quiet calculation.

Astarion sighed dramatically as he reached behind his shoulder and produced a compact hunting bow from beneath his cloak.

"Yes, yes, I do come prepared," he said, nocking an arrow with a flourish. "Don't act so surprised."

He loosened it.

A goblin fell.

Durge crouched beside him, pulling two thin blades from her belt.

"Pick off the ranged ones," she said coldly.

"Gladly," Astarion replied.

And the hill became death's perch.

Below, Fin landed with a crunch, rising from his crouch in the middle of the field with a manic grin still plastered across his face. Around him, goblins screamed, regrouping and turning toward the new threat.

Wyll blinked.

"...Alright then," he muttered. "We're doing that."

Fin turned toward him, still grinning, cursed energy sparking faintly along his fingertips.

"Here to help," he said, stepping back-to-back with Wyll as goblins encircled them. "Introductions can wait."

He rolled his neck with a soft crack.

"For now, let's just destroy these bastards."

Wyll smirked, raising his blade.

"Now that's a plan I can get behind."

Goblins swarmed like rats, snarling and screeching as their numbers closed around the two lone warriors holding the centre line.

Fin spun, white haori streaked with mud and blood, he shifted his weight low. His hand glowed with cursed energy, the black-blue aura pulsing like a heartbeat.

Beside him, Wyll grinned like a man born for the stage, sword gleaming with magical runes, coat flapping behind him with every precise slash.

"For the Absolute!" came the screech of a war-leader, mounted atop the snarling warg.

"BLEED 'EM! BLEED 'EM GOOD!" another goblin howled, its painted face streaked in drying crimson.

Fin surged forward, a blur. His hand snapped up, and another Dismantle whistled through the air, cleaving the front ranks apart. Three goblins exploded mid-sprint, chunks of meat and tattered cloth flying as the cursed arc tore straight through a fourth's shield and arm, leaving behind a smoking stump.

The survivors paused. Just for a second.

Then they roared.

"FOR THE ABSOLUTE!" dozens screamed.

They came with rusted blades, curved daggers, and jagged bone spears. Fin ducked low beneath the first swing and drove his palm into a goblin's chest. Ribs crunched. The body was flung backwards with a sickening crack, crashing into its kin like a thrown rock.

"Careful," Wyll warned, parrying two short swords in a single flourish. "They love overwhelming you with numbers."

"Then I'll take them faster than they come!" Fin growled, snapping a goblin's leg with a swift kick before spinning into a knee that shattered its jaw.

Ali's face materialised for one moment, "Pause!"

To the left, Wyll's blade moved like a conductor's baton—elegant, smooth, but merciless. A goblin lunged, only to find its gut split open, intestines spilling out as Wyll stepped cleanly around the falling corpse.

"Come on, you ugly lot!" Wyll shouted, eyes alight. "You've got numbers, don't you?"

"FOR THE ABSOLUTE!" came another chorus, this time from the right.

Fin turned just as two masked goblins launched themselves into the air. They came in low arcs, daggers gleaming.

Too slow.

Fin weaved between them, grabbing one mid-air by the neck and slamming it into the ground with bone-crunching force. The second sliced at his side, only to find her dagger sliced in half. Fin's foot lashed out, catching her in the ribs and sending her tumbling into a nearby rock wall.

She didn't scream long.

"Watch the flanks!" Wyll called, sidestepping another charge. A goblin with a flaming pot ran at him, laughing madly.

"BOOM TIME FOR THE BLADE MAN!"

Wyll flicked a single Eldritch Blast into the pot.

Boom.

The explosion lit up the twilight, sending two nearby goblins screaming and flailing as their skin was consumed by fire.

Another goblin—not masked, but larger than most—lunged at Fin with a rusted glaive, howling in Goblin-tongue.

"You die now! Skull boy dies!"

Fin caught the shaft, twisted it free, and drove the iron butt of the weapon into the goblin's eye socket with a wet crunch.

"Wrong," Fin hissed, yanking the glaive away. "You die loud."

He turned just in time to catch a goblin with a jagged axe barreling toward Wyll's exposed flank.

"Behind!" Fin shouted.

Wyll spun mid-swing and ducked, narrowly avoiding decapitation. The goblin's axe whooshed over him, embedding itself in the dirt.

"Thanks!" Wyll said, driving his boot into the goblin's knee, making it buckle.

His blade came up.

The goblin's head came off.

All around them, the battle roared on. Aradin and his crew were holding, but barely. One of his companions—spear girl—had a deep cut along her thigh and was limping. The other had lost an axe and was grappling barehanded with a snarling goblin, teeth bared, eyes wide with desperation.

"Push forward!" Aradin bellowed, knocking a goblin off its feet with a shoulder bash. "Hold the gate!"

"NO ESCAPE FOR YOU!" a bugbear roared, lumbering toward Fin and Wyll with murder in its eyes.

Its cleaver was massive, easily the length of Fin's body.

"Oh, great," Fin muttered.

The bugbear lifted the cleaver overhead.

Fin moved first, charging straight at it.

"Wait—!" Wyll started.

Too late.

The cleaver swung down, slamming into the earth where Fin had just been.

He was already above the beast's arm.

"Try this," Fin snarled.

CRACK.

His elbow smashed into the bugbear's jaw with a sound like shattering granite. The beast reeled—staggered—until Fin grabbed its matted fur and twisted violently.

The bugbear slammed face-first into the ground, its nose flattened, eyes rolling back.

Still breathing.

Not for long.

Fin placed his foot on the back of its skull and crushed it.

The ground trembled from the force.

Behind him, Wyll whistled.

"Remind me not to spar with you."

"Remind me not to miss," Fin said, turning back toward the next wave.

More goblins were climbing over their dead now. The masked archers in the back were fanning out, repositioning. More bugbears were moving in. And the war-leader on the warg was circling wide, barking orders with shrill fury.

A new volley of arrows rained down from the treeline, black-fletched and poisoned. One struck the armored man beside Aradin in the shoulder, punching through the pauldron's crack and spinning him backward with a shout.

"I'm hit—fuck, I'm hit!"

"Fall back!" Aradin snapped. "Rosa, cover!"

The woman with the spear—Rosa—limped forward despite her injury, planting her weapon in the ground and using it as a brace. Her free hand reached into a pouch and lobbed a small vial that shattered in front of an approaching goblin. The creature screamed as acid melted through its chest plate.

To their right, Fin and Wyll continued to cut a brutal path through the horde—but it wouldn't be enough. The tide kept coming.

Then—

Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

Three goblins dropped in rapid succession, each with a crossbow bolt planted neatly in its neck or eye.

High above, Zevlor leaned over the gate's battlements, loading another bolt into his weapon. Blood still soaked his gloves from Kanon's death, but his aim was calm. Precise.

"Hold the line!" he called down. "We're covering you!"

A few more tiefling guards appeared beside him, raising bows and javelins to provide suppressing fire from above.

"Make every shot count!" Zevlor barked. "No mercy!"

Another goblin dropped, twitching, as his bolt buried itself in its thigh, severing a tendon. The creature collapsed mid-sprint and was trampled by its kin.

Back on the ridge, Astarion loosed another arrow, his expression annoyingly calm.

"Oh dear," he said as another shot whistled past his cheek. "They're getting better at this."

"You're in my spot," Durge muttered coldly, crouched beside him.

"Then shoot faster," he replied.

Durge didn't argue.

She stood halfway up from her crouch and, with no visible emotion, hurled a dagger across the battlefield. It spun clean through the air—schlick—and embedded itself directly in the throat of a goblin archer who had just drawn a bead on Shadowheart.

"Down," Durge said.

Shadowheart didn't hear her.

She was already moving.

A goblin leapt at her. She slammed her mace into its chest, sending the creature flying backward, its body smoking and twitching.

Lae'zel was to her right, a whirlwind of fury and muscle. Her silver blade flashed as she carved a goblin in half from shoulder to hip, never slowing her stride.

She caught a second goblin's weapon mid-swing with the flat of her blade, twisted, and headbutted the smaller creature with a snarl. Bone cracked. The goblin fell.

"Too slow," she spat, spinning to meet the next.

"Don't get too far ahead!" Shadowheart called. "You're not invincible!"

"Speak for yourself," Lae'zel growled, plunging her blade through the belly of a shrieking goblin.

High above, Astarion sent another arrow into a masked goblin preparing to launch a javelin at Wyll. The creature spun in midair and collapsed without a sound.

"You're welcome!" he shouted down.

Fin didn't look back. He just raised a hand in silent thanks and slashed another pair of goblins into bloody ruin with a sweeping arc.

Meanwhile, Durge hadn't stopped firing.

She was now descending from the ridge slowly, calmly walking between trees like a shadow given flesh. Goblins hadn't noticed her yet, not until one unfortunate brute turned and found a dagger buried in his chest.

He gasped.

She pressed close.

"No screaming," she whispered.

He didn't get the chance.

Down by the gate, Aradin's second fighter—Lukas—struggled to keep pressure on his bleeding shoulder. He was fading fast.

"I can't… I can't hold this!"

"Stay behind me!" Rosa shouted, putting herself between him and a charging goblin.

The goblin lunged with a rusted cleaver, but before it could connect—

Thwip.

A bolt from Zevlor's crossbow caught it in the mouth, dropping it instantly.

"Keep breathing, soldier!" Zevlor yelled. "You die when I say you do!"

Lukas groaned. "Noted…"

Wyll moved into position behind Rosa, giving her a nod of respect.

"Good stance," he said. "Let's hold this line."

She nodded back, pale but firm. She quickly gave herself and her companion a healing potion. 

"NO RETREAT! KILL FOR THE ABSOLUTE! KILL!"

Durge stepped into the centre of the ridge.

Her eyes gleamed with a cold, inhuman light.

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't warn them.

She extended her arm, and the frost answered.

A blast of ice exploded outward from her palm, shrieking across the battlefield and tearing through the second warg mid-charge. The beast froze mid-snarl, its limbs stiffening as the ice climbed over its body—and then, with a brittle crack, it shattered like porcelain.

Shards of bone and fur were scattered across the blood-soaked ground.

The goblins screamed. A few even tried to run.

Too late.

Fin was already moving.

His gaze locked onto the enormous bugbear charging toward Aradin, mace raised. He sprinted, cursed energy roaring through his limbs.

The bugbear turned to meet him, but Fin didn't slow.

He jumped. One hand gripped the monster's jaw, and his other planted against the top of its head.

"Let's try something new," Fin whispered.

"Cleave."

There was no sound. In the blink of an eye, the bugbear's form shuddered, then fell apart into dozens of clean, wet cubes.

Chunks of muscle and armour tumbled to the ground in geometric slabs, steam rising from every exposed cut.

Fin landed hard, breathing heavily, knees slightly buckling. That single move had taken a massive toll; he could feel the energy drain like blood leaving a wound.

"Macte virtute"

Shadowheart's hand shot forward from across the field, casting Bless, a radiant shimmer burst over Fin, Wyll, and Lae'zel.

"Now finish this!" she called. 

The warmth flowed into Fin's limbs, chasing away the creeping cold from the cursed backlash.

"Much appreciated," he muttered.

From the ridge, Durge's voice rang out sharply. "Fin!"

He turned toward her.

Their eyes met.

No words.

No plan.

Just synchrony.

Durge raised both arms and slammed her hands into the ground. Frost surged across the terrain and erupted into a towering wall of jagged ice, cutting across the field like a blade. It split the battlefield and then pushed, forcing the remaining enemies backward in a shattering roar of frozen force.

The goblins scrambled, tripping over each other, packed together.

Wargs bucked and snapped, unable to escape.

The last ogre roared in confusion.

All of them clustered.

Fin's hands lit with black-blue energy.

He didn't think, as he sent out two slashes simultaneously, they exploded from his palms, crisscrossing like twin scythes through the wall of enemies.

The first arc tore through the goblins and wargs, slicing through bone and steel like paper. Heads dropped. Limbs flew.

The second arrow arced higher, perfectly aligned, and sliced straight through the ogre's chest and remaining bugbears, cutting them all in half mid-roar.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then—

Everything fell.

The goblins dropped in clumps.

The ogre's torso slid backward, steaming as it collapsed.

The battlefield went dead.

Fin exhaled, his body shaking, arms slowly falling to his sides. Cursed energy flickered and hissed off his skin, retreating into silence.

Durge lowered her arms and straightened, her expression unreadable.

From the ridge, Astarion lowered his bow.

"Well," he said. "That was efficient."

Wyll sheathed his blade and exhaled a breathless laugh.

"Lae'zel!" Fin called.

She stomped over a corpse, crushing its skull and nodded. "I'm fine."

"Good."

Shadowheart knelt beside Rosa and her injured companion, beginning quick healing chants.

From the gate above, Zevlor's voice rang out.

"...They're down! Every last one!"

A cheer erupted from the tiefling guards.

Zevlor's hand fell to his chest, heart thundering. "You bought us time. Quickly, everyone inside before more come!"

Fin didn't answer.

He just stood there, in the blood and silence, grinning faintly.

The Grove was safe.

—for now.

...

[End of Chapter]