The air was cool and damp, smelling of pine needles and wet earth. Garruk hunkered down beside a thick-trunked oak, its rough bark pressing against his worn leather armor. Below, nestled in a shallow depression, the goblin village was a collection of crude burrows and slapdash huts, smoke curling lazily from a few central fires. A pathetic sight, easy prey. His men, a dozen rough-looking sorts, shifted impatiently around him, weapons held ready.

  "Alright, listen up," Garruk growled, keeping his voice low. "Plan's simple. We hit 'em hard and fast. Don't waste time with the adults more'n you have to – just keep 'em busy, make noise, cause chaos." He gestured towards the village with a calloused thumb. "The real prize are the brats. Soon as we break in, they'll panic, same as always." He paused, a glint in his eye under the dim forest canopy. "Scouts say they been bolting like scared rabbits this way." He pointed deeper into the woods, towards a tangled, rocky section of terrain away from the main village paths. "All of 'em, every damn time. Like they got a favorite hiding spot."

  A few of the men exchanged glances. It was odd. Usually, goblin young scattered like startled birds in every direction. But Garruk shrugged inwardly. Odd didn't matter. Easy did. "Could be a rabbit warren they use, or just goblin stupidly bein' predictable for once," he muttered, loud enough for his men. "Don't matter why. Point is, they'll funnel straight there." He looked around at the faces of his men, settling on a burly brute named Rik. "Rik, Gorn, you two take point on the distraction. Make 'em think we're here for a full-on slaughter. Me, you, and the rest," he pointed to six others, including a wiry fellow named Kael, "we peel off soon as they scatter and run that way." He gestured again towards the planned escape route. "Grab every brat you can. Hogtie 'em, gag 'em, quick and quiet. Meet back at the southern marker stone by sun-up."

  A few nods. The men knew their roles. Capture, not kill, was the order. Live goblin brats fetched a far better price than hides or heads. There was a simplicity to it, a brutal efficiency. It felt like it was going to be an easy night's work. Odd that the brats were so predictable, but fortunate. Very fortunate indeed.

  "Alright," Garruk said, gripping the haft of his axe. "On my mark. Remember the prize."

  He waited, listening to the low sounds of the village, the rustle of leaves around them, the pounding of his own blood in his ears. The anticipation was a familiar ache. Easy money, maybe a few laughs along the way. What could go wrong?

  "Mark!"

  With a roar that tore through the quiet night, Garruk and his men burst from the tree line and charged down the slight slope towards the goblin village.

  Garruk's roar was echoed by the shouts of his men as they hit the village edge. The flimsy outer palisades, little more than sharpened sticks woven together, offered no resistance. They poured into the settlement, axes and clubs swinging. The scene erupted into chaotic noise and motion – the guttural barks of alarmed goblins, the clang of crude weapons on armor, the sounds of their own men laying about.

  Adult goblins boiled out of burrows and huts, armed with sharpened sticks, stone knives, and desperate courage. They were small, but surprisingly fierce when cornered, snapping and biting like cornered rats. Rik and Gorn, the designated distracters, immediately engaged the nearest groups, drawing their attention with loud challenges and brutal efficiency. The air filled with the smell of their musk and the sharper scent of blood.

  Just as expected, the plan worked. Amidst the chaos, the smaller forms of the goblin children appeared, wide-eyed with terror. With panicked squeaks and cries, they turned and fled, a scattering stream of tiny bodies. And just as the scouts had predicted, they ran in one specific direction – away from the main fight, deeper into the woods Garruk had pointed towards.

  "Now!" Garruk bellowed, pulling his group of six, including Kael, away from the central melee. They didn't linger to engage the adults; their focus was solely on the fleeing children. They plunged into the woods at the edge of the village, following the panicked sounds ahead.

  The terrain immediately changed. The relatively clear ground of the village gave way to the tangled undergrowth of the forest. Branches clawed at their armor, roots snaked across the path, threatening to trip them. The sounds of the main fight faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of leaves under their heavy boots and the fading cries of the fleeing children.

  Garruk kept his eyes fixed on the shapes ahead, glimpsing them between the trees. Tiny figures, scrambling over logs, ducking under bushes. They were fast for their size, driven by pure fear. But his men were relentless. They were bigger, stronger, and knew how to push through the difficult ground. He heard Kael breathing heavily beside him, the scrape of his boots on stone.

  Easy work, Garruk thought again, a grim smile touching his lips. They're funneling just like they were supposed to. The predictability was still uncanny, but he shoved the thought aside. Focus. Run. The prizes were just ahead. He pushed harder, the thrill of the chase overriding the ache in his lungs. The children were getting closer.

  The woods thickened as they ran, just as the scouts' rough maps had indicated. The ground became more uneven, studded with loose rocks hidden beneath damp leaves. Low-hanging branches whipped at Garruk's face, and he stumbled once, cursing under his breath, regaining his balance before he lost sight of the forms ahead. The sounds of the children's panicked flight, though still audible, were closer now, laced with gasping breaths and whimpers.

  Kael grunted beside him, pushing a thick bush aside with a grunt. "They're slowing, boss!" he rasped, his own breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Garruk saw it too. The tight knot of fleeing children was beginning to string out, their short legs struggling with the increasingly difficult terrain. One tripped and fell, immediately scrambling back up, urged on by the others. Fear was still their primary engine, but exhaustion was starting to catch up. This was it.

  They burst into a small, relatively clear area nestled between a cluster of large, moss-covered boulders and a tangle of ancient, gnarled roots that formed a natural wall. The children were trapped. They had run exactly where they were expected to. Garruk and his men fanned out slightly, blocking the open sides of the makeshift arena.

  The children huddled together near the base of the largest boulder, their small bodies trembling. Their earlier cries had subsided into whimpering and ragged, terrified breaths. Their eyes, wide and dark in their small, smudged faces, were fixed on the slavers with pure, unadulterated fear. They clutched at each other, helpless and cornered.

  Garruk lowered his axe, the familiar weight a comfort in his hand. His men did the same, their weapons no longer needed for the chase. A few wore hungry grins – anticipating the easy task of binding their prizes. The hard part of the raid was over. The adults were dealt with back at the village, the children were trapped. Simple. Clean. Fortunate.

  Garruk took a step forward, reaching out a hand towards the trembling group. "Alright, brats, easy now," he said, his voice rough but lacking the immediate violence of the earlier charge. There was no need for it now. They were caught.

  As he took that step, a low rumble started beneath his feet.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  As he took that step, a low rumble started beneath his feet. It wasn't a tremor like the earth settling. It felt... wrong. Alive. It grew rapidly, a deep vibration that seemed to resonate in his bones. The goblin children, huddled by the rock, let out new cries, this time not just of fear of the slavers, but of terror at the ground itself.

  Then, the earth broke.

  Not in one neat spot, but in half a dozen places around the small clearing. Dirt, rocks, and tangled roots were thrown upwards with surprising force. Dark, gaping holes appeared in the ground where solid earth had been moments before. And from these holes, they came.

  First, a surging mass of smaller shapes – pale, writhing bodies that boiled out of the ground like some foul, liquid sickness. Worms. Millions of them, it seemed, though his panicked mind couldn't count. Just a tide of small, segmented forms spilling onto the forest floor.

  But they weren't alone. Pushing up from the larger ruptures were bigger things. Hard-shelled, segmented creatures that looked like nightmares pulled from a beetle's fever dream. Dark, rounded carapaces, multiple legs scrabbling for purchase on the loose earth, powerful mandibles clicking silently. The Adults.

  Garruk froze, his axe half-raised. Kael stumbled back with a choked cry. The other men stared, their earlier confidence dissolving into stunned disbelief. What in the hells were these things? They weren't spiders, weren't beetles they knew, weren't burrowing animals. They were... something else. Something wrong.

  And they weren't running away.

  With a speed that defied their appearance, the swarming tide of smaller worms surged forward. They poured over roots and rocks, heading directly for the slavers' boots. Garruk felt them first – a disturbing tickle, then sharp, insistent bites through his worn leather. They were swarming over his boots, his greaves, a living carpet climbing his legs. He lashed out with his axe handle, crushing dozens, but more kept coming, their numbers overwhelming.

  Then the larger ones hit. An Adult scuttled forward with surprising speed, its multiple legs a blur. One of his men, Torvin, raised his shield. The creature didn't stop; it slammed into the shield with enough force to stagger the man, its mandibles snapping inches from his face. Another Adult darted low, its rounded carapace a dark blur against the earth, aiming for legs.

  Panic flared, raw and primal. This wasn't a fight they understood. These weren't goblins or beasts they could butcher or capture. These were... things... erupting from the earth, immune to fear, driven by an unseen, terrifying purpose. The air filled with the slavers' shouts of pain, terror, and confusion as the swarm attacked.

  Okay, I will revise Part 5 of Chapter 13 to include the emphasis on the swarm's surprising toughness given their small size, clarify the size of the Adult units, and add the detail about an Adult using its uncurling motion for launching.

  Here is the revised Chapter 13, Part 5:

  Chapter 13: The Earth Opens (Part 5 - Revised)

  Garruk swung his axe, the heavy blade cleaving through the air, crushing the smaller worms that swarmed his legs, sparking off the tough carapace of an Adult that darted too close. But there were too many. For every dozen worms he pulped under his boot, a hundred more boiled up from the ground or poured over the roots. His legs were covered in the biting, writhing mass. The tiny, sharp nips were an unbearable itch, a constant, maddening distraction. How could something so small be so damn insistent, so tough?

  Kael yelled, a sharp, desperate sound. Garruk saw him stumble back, swatting frantically at the smaller things covering him, his face contorted in disgust and fear. An Adult, quick as thought, darted in and its mandibles clamped onto Kael's ankle. Kael screamed, a raw sound of agony, and went down, immediately swallowed by the seething tide of smaller worms that poured over him. Even the big ones – these armored pill-bugs, maybe the size of a small mouse – were impossibly tough for their bulk.

  Another man yelled, swinging his club wildly. An Adult curled into a ball as the blow landed, the impact echoing dully off its armored shell. The man staggered back, surprised, and the creature instantly uncurled, scuttling forward to nip at his exposed shins. These things didn't fight fair, didn't have predictable movements, didn't break when hit. Out of the corner of his eye, Garruk saw something impossible – one of the armored ones curled up tight, then suddenly snapped open with a violent force, launching itself across the ground towards another slaver, hitting with the force of a hurled rock.

  Garruk felt a sudden, burning sensation on his hand – a droplet of the smaller worm's [Caustic Secretion] had landed on his skin, searing like acid. He swore, wiping frantically, but the swarm didn't relent. An Adult charged him, low to the ground. He tried to step back, but his legs were heavy, weighed down and bitten by the swarming worms. He brought his axe down, aiming for the creature's center.

  The Adult curled instantly, a perfect, dark sphere of armor. Garruk's axe bounced off the carapace with a jarring impact that sent a shockwave up his arm. He staggered, his balance compromised. The Adult didn't pause. It uncurled, its legs scrabbling for purchase, and launched itself forward with surprising force. Mandibles, strong and sharp, closed on Garruk's forearm, seeking weak points in his armor.

  Pain flared, hot and searing. He roared, bringing his free hand down to try and tear the thing off, but his fingers slipped on the smooth, curved carapace. More of the smaller worms poured over him, seeking entry points, their tiny bites adding to the agony. The smell of crushed insects filled the air, mingling with the sharp, fear-induced scent of his own sweat and something else… a faint, unpleasant odor, a [Repugnant Puff] from a corner, adding to the disorientation.

  His vision swam. He saw his men, isolated pockets of desperate struggle, being systematically overwhelmed. No retreat, no regrouping, just being consumed by the relentless, alien tide. These weren't beasts; they were a force of nature, or something worse. How could they lose to bugs?

  Through the haze of pain and terror, his eyes flickered towards the boulder where the goblin children huddled. They were still there, wide-eyed and trembling, but… some of the worms were near them. Not attacking. Just... present. And one, a small, pale worm, was emitting a soft, strange light. A [Bioluminescent Spot]. A calm, otherworldly glow amidst the brutal chaos. The children seemed to be staring at the worms, not just in terror, but with a strange stillness. They weren't being swarmed. They were... soothed? Protected? The thought, alien and impossible, flickered through Garruk's mind.

  His axe slipped from his numb fingers. The Adult on his arm tightened its grip, its mandibles tearing deeper into the leather and flesh beneath. More Adults were closing in, their dark forms relentless, their clicking mandibles the last sound he heard. The swarming worms were everywhere, covering his face, entering his mouth, his nose.

  The last sensation was the overwhelming, suffocating press of countless tiny bodies, and the fading, impossible image of a calm, glowing worm among the terrified but unharmed children.

  Back at the village proper, the fighting raged. Garruk's main raiding party, unaware of the swift, brutal fate that had befallen the group pursuing the children, continued to engage the adult goblins. They expected a signal – a shout, a whistle – indicating the children were secured, the primary objective achieved, and it was time to consolidate or withdraw. That signal never came.

  Without their leader's group peeling off effectively, and without the key objective secured, the main raiders fought on, growing increasingly frustrated by the tenacity of the defending goblins. The adults, desperate to protect their homes and filled with a fierce panic for their young who had fled into the woods, fought with a ferocity born of desperation. Their crude weapons found marks, their numbers, however small, were thrown into a desperate defense. Eventually, worn down by unexpected resistance and the lack of communication from Garruk's group, the remaining raiders broke. Some fled back into the forest, but a few, wounded and cornered, were overwhelmed and captured by the victorious, though battered, adult goblins.

  Leaving guards to watch over the few prisoners and tend to their wounded, the main body of adult goblins, their immediate home secured but their hearts heavy with worry for their scattered young, cautiously followed the path the children had taken into the woods. They moved with weapons ready, fearing they would find a scene of slaughter, dreading what the slavers might have done.

  They found the clearing.

  The air here was still, carrying only the scent of overturned earth, spilled human blood, and a faint, strange odor they didn't recognize. Bodies lay scattered – the forms of the human slavers, twisted and lifeless, their weapons dropped, their faces frozen in masks of terror and disbelief. The ground was churned up in several places, looking as though something had violently erupted from beneath. And covering many of the bodies, in a horrifying, disturbing tableau, were the swarm units. The tough, armored Adults and the smaller, pale Juveniles crawled over the defeated forms, their mandibles working, diligently consuming the fallen flesh, a grim, silent cleanup crew.

  And then they saw their children. Huddled near the base of the large boulder, wide-eyed and trembling, but alive. Unharmed.

  The adult goblins, a mixture of horror at the sight of the consuming bugs and overwhelming relief at finding their young safe, took hesitant steps forward. As they approached, the swarm units nearest their path, those covering the bodies between the goblins and their children, ceased their consumption. With a silent, coordinated movement, they parted, the dense mass of chitin and worm-forms splitting and receding to create an open lane, a clear, if gruesome, path directly to where the children sat.

  The adults rushed forward, pushing past the edges of the still-consuming swarm, their eyes fixed only on their young. Among the children, moving slowly or standing still like small, dark sentinels, were more swarm units. The very bugs their children collected, the ones they saw crawling in the dirt, the ones that sometimes glowed faintly in the dark corners of their burrows. They were there, surrounding the children, silent and watchful amidst the scene of carnage. Some of the smaller worms near the children pulsed with a soft, familiar light – the [Bioluminescent Spot], a calm, alien glow in the bloody clearing.

  Disbelief warred with a surge of overwhelming relief in the adult goblins' minds. They looked at the dead raiders, then at their unharmed children, then at the swarm units present – some still consuming, others standing guard, some softly glowing beside their young. The realization, impossible yet undeniable, settled upon them. The bugs. These strange, living things from the earth... they had saved their young. They had consumed their enemies.

  The strategic implications resonated in Swarmaster's awareness, clear and profound. The risk taken by directing the ambush was immense, but the reward was immeasurable. Subtle influence and useful traits were valuable, but the public, visceral display of the swarm's power, its terrifying efficiency in combat, its alien nature, and its unmistakable role as protector of the goblin young was a game-changer. The goblin adults' perception of the swarm had been utterly transformed. They were no longer just simple bugs or children's toys. They were powerful. They were alien. They were protectors. And they had just proven, in the most visceral way possible, that they were allies. A deep, new layer of symbiosis, forged in blood and terror and consumption, had just been cemented.