The Chosen Pervert

Chapter 7: The Goblin Horde Unleashed

It happened three weeks later.

I was in the garden with Rue, sitting by her cage with a plate of food, when I heard the first scream.

It was distant. Faint. But unmistakable.

A woman's scream.

I froze, my hand halfway to the cage bars.

Rue's ears shot up, swiveling toward the sound. Her entire body went rigid, her golden eyes narrowing.

"What—" I started to say.

And then I heard it again.

Closer this time.

Screaming.

Multiple voices. Men shouting. Women shrieking. The clash of metal on metal.

And then, cutting through it all, a sound that made my blood run cold:

Laughter.

High-pitched, cackling, inhuman laughter.

"Goblins," I whispered.

Rue's lips pulled back in a snarl, her claws digging into the dirt floor of her cage.

I dropped the plate and ran.

The village was chaos.

Pure, unfiltered chaos.

I burst out of the garden and into the main square, and the sight that greeted me was something out of a nightmare.

Goblins.

Dozens of them.

Short, filthy creatures with mottled green-grey skin, jagged teeth, and eyes that gleamed with malice and hunger. They poured through the streets like a plague, wielding crude weapons—rusted swords, spiked clubs, jagged daggers.

And they were killing.

A man—one of the blacksmiths—was dragged down by three goblins. They stabbed him over and over, laughing as blood pooled beneath him.

A woman ran past me, screaming, her dress torn. Two goblins chased her, cackling, their claws reaching for her.

One of them caught her.

She went down hard, and I heard her scream cut off abruptly as they dragged her into an alley.

Oh god.

Oh f**k.

I'd read about goblins in my past life. D&D lore. Fantasy novels. Video games.

But this wasn't a game.

This was real.

And it was horrifying.

A goblin spotted me.

Its eyes locked onto mine, and it grinned—a wide, toothy grin that made my stomach turn.

It started toward me, raising a blood-stained club.

Move. MOVE.

I turned and ran.

I didn't know where I was going.

My legs just carried me, my five-year-old body pumping as fast as it could.

Rue.

The thought hit me like a lightning bolt.

Rue's still in the cage.

If the goblins found her—

No.

I changed direction, sprinting back toward the garden.

Behind me, I could hear the goblin chasing, its footsteps heavy and uneven, its laughter echoing in my ears.

I burst through the garden gate and skidded to a halt in front of Rue's cage.

She was pressed against the bars, her eyes wild, her body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

"Rue!" I gasped, fumbling with the lock.

She snarled, but it wasn't directed at me.

Her eyes were fixed on something behind me.

I glanced back.

The goblin had followed me.

It stood at the garden entrance, club raised, grinning that horrible grin.

Fuck.

My hands shook as I worked the lock.

Come on. Come on. COME ON.

The lock clicked.

The cage door swung open.

Rue didn't move.

She just stared at me, her golden eyes wide.

"Get out of here!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "You're free! Go to safety!"

She hesitated.

For one agonizing moment, she just stared at me.

And then she bolted.

She shot past me like a shadow, her body low to the ground, her movements fluid and impossibly fast.

The goblin tried to intercept her.

She dodged, slipping past it with ease, and disappeared into the trees beyond the garden.

I watched her go, my heart pounding.

She's safe. She's safe. She's—

The goblin turned its attention back to me.

Oh. Right.

I'm f****d.

I ran again.

This time, I ran toward the village square, toward the sounds of fighting.

Mom. Dad. Where are you?

I rounded a corner and nearly collided with a group of villagers—men and women armed with pitchforks, axes, anything they could grab.

They were fighting back.

And then I saw them.

My parents.

They were in the center of the square, back-to-back, surrounded by goblins.

My father had his sword drawn—a sleek, elegant blade that gleamed in the firelight. He moved with surprising grace, parrying strikes, slashing throats, kicking goblins back with practiced ease.

Holy s**t. Dad's actually good at this.

I'd always thought of him as a Bard—a charmer, a womanizer, someone who talked his way out of trouble.

But watching him fight?

He was skilled.

Quick. Precise. Deadly.

And my mother?

My mother was a f*****g goddess.

She stood beside him, her hands glowing with golden light, her voice ringing out as she chanted spells.

A goblin lunged at her.

She flicked her wrist, and a bolt of pure energy shot from her palm, obliterating the creature in an instant.

Another goblin tried to flank her.

She spun, her hand slicing through the air, and a blade of wind cut the goblin in half.

She's amazing.

She's absolutely amazing.

They fought together like they'd done this a thousand times before—moving in sync, covering each other's blind spots, protecting each other without a word.

They were adventurers, I realized. Before I was born. They did this for a living.

I stood there, frozen, watching them.

And that's when I felt it.

A presence behind me.

I turned.

Too late.

The goblin's club slammed into my side, and I went down hard.

Pain exploded through my ribs. The world spun. I hit the ground, gasping, my vision blurring.

The goblin loomed over me, raising its club for another strike.

This is it.

I'm going to die.

Again.

I threw my arms up, shielding my face, squeezing my eyes shut.

Please. Please. Please.

And then I heard it.

A wet, gurgling sound.

I opened my eyes.

The goblin was still standing over me.

But its eyes were wide.

Blood poured from its mouth, thick and dark, dripping onto the ground.

And then I saw it.

A hand.

A small, clawed, bloody hand.

It was reaching through the goblin's chest from behind, fingers wrapped around something wet and pulsing.

The goblin's heart.

Still beating.

The hand pulled back, ripping the heart free.

The goblin's body collapsed, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

And standing behind it, covered in blood, her golden eyes blazing with feral intensity, was Rue.

She came back.

She came back for me.

I stared at her, my mouth hanging open.

She didn't look at me.

Not yet.

Her eyes were locked on something else.

Another goblin.

It was dragging a woman—one of the village mothers—toward an alley, its claws digging into her arm.

Rue's lips pulled back in a snarl.

And then she moved.

She was a blur.

One moment she was standing over me. The next, she was on the goblin, her fist driving through its chest with a sickening crunch.

The goblin didn't even have time to scream.

Rue ripped her hand back, tearing through flesh and bone, and the goblin collapsed in a heap.

The woman scrambled away, sobbing, and Rue turned.

Another goblin.

She pounced on it, her claws tearing into its throat, her teeth sinking into its shoulder.

It was brutal.

Savage.

Beautiful.

She moved like a wild animal—no hesitation, no mercy, just pure, primal violence.

But every few seconds, she glanced back at me.

Checking.

Making sure I was okay.

She's protecting me.

The realization hit me like a freight train.

She came back. She could have run. She could have escaped. But she came back.

For me.

And then I saw it.

A goblin—larger than the others, wielding a massive axe—charging straight at her.

Rue didn't see it.

She was too focused on the goblin in front of her.

No.

NO.

Something inside me snapped.

It wasn't a conscious decision.

It wasn't a thought.

It was pure, raw instinct.

I won't let her die.

Magic surged through me.

Not the careful, controlled magic I'd been practicing in secret.

This was different.

This was everything.

Every ounce of power I had, every drop of mana, every fragment of energy—it all came flooding out at once.

I didn't speak.

I didn't use a conduit.

I just willed it.

Destroy them.

All of them.

The air around me exploded.

A wave of pure, golden energy erupted from my body, expanding outward in a massive sphere.

It swept through the village square like a tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path.

The goblins didn't even have time to scream.

They simply disintegrated.

Flesh. Bone. Weapons. Armor.

All of it turned to ash in an instant.

The wave expanded further, sweeping through the streets, the alleys, the gardens.

Every goblin in the village was caught in it.

And every single one of them died.

The light faded.

The air stilled.

And then there was silence.

I collapsed.

My legs gave out, and I hit the ground hard, gasping for breath.

What... what the hell was that?

My entire body felt like it was on fire.

My head was spinning.

My vision was blurry.

But I was alive.

And so was Rue.

I looked up.

She was standing a few feet away, staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes.

Her body was covered in blood—goblin blood—but she was unharmed.

And she was staring at me.

Not with fear.

Not with confusion.

With awe.

Around us, the village was silent.

The goblins were gone.

Every single one of them.

And everyone—everyone—was staring at me.

My parents.

The villagers.

The servants.

All of them.

My father's sword was still raised, his mouth hanging open.

My mother's hands were still glowing with magic, but she'd frozen mid-cast.

"Wyatt," she whispered.

Her voice was trembling.

"What... what did you just do?"

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

I didn't even know.

The next few minutes were a blur.

People rushed toward me, shouting, asking if I was okay.

My mother dropped to her knees beside me, her hands running over my body, checking for injuries.

My father stood over us, his sword still drawn, his eyes scanning the area for threats.

But there were no threats.

Not anymore.

The goblins were gone.

I killed them all.

The thought should have terrified me.

But all I felt was exhaustion.

"He's fine," my mother said, her voice shaking. "He's not hurt. He's—"

"What the hell was that?" one of the villagers shouted.

"That power—"

"Did you see—"

"He's just a child—"

"That wasn't normal—"

"He saved us—"

The voices overlapped, blending together into a cacophony of shock and awe and fear.

I tuned them out.

My eyes were fixed on Rue.

She was still standing a few feet away, watching me.

And then, slowly, she started moving.

Not away.

Toward me.

She dropped to all fours, her movements cautious, hesitant.

She crawled closer, her golden eyes never leaving mine.

The crowd fell silent.

Everyone watched as she approached.

My mother tensed, her hand moving toward her wand.

"It's okay," I said softly.

Rue stopped a few inches away.

She was close enough that I could see the blood on her hands, the dirt on her face, the way her ears twitched nervously.

I reached out.

Slowly.

So slowly.

My hand extended toward her, palm up.

She flinched.

Her entire body tensed, her ears flattening back.

Old trauma. Old fear.

But she didn't run.

She leaned forward.

Hesitantly.

Her nose twitched as she sniffed my hand, her breath warm against my skin.

And then, slowly—so slowly—she pressed her head against my palm.

She rubbed her cheek against my hand, her eyes closing, a soft, rumbling sound escaping her throat.

A purr.

She's purring.

Tears stung my eyes.

She trusts me.

She came back for me. She fought for me. She chose me.

I ran my fingers through her hair, careful, gentle.

She leaned into the touch, her body relaxing, her tail—now whole and healthy—swishing once behind her.

Around us, the crowd was silent.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

They just watched as the feral beast-girl who'd been caged for weeks pressed her head into the hand of the five-year-old boy who'd just annihilated an entire goblin horde.

My mother's hand found my shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Wyatt," she whispered.

I looked up at her.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

"What are you?" she asked softly.

I didn't have an answer.

I looked back at Rue, at the way she was curled against me, her head in my palm, her eyes closed.

I don't know what I am, I thought.

But I know what she is.

She's mine.

And I'm hers.

The bond was real now.

Unbreakable.

Forged in blood and fire and trust.

And nothing—nothing—would ever take her from me again.