The forest was alive.
Not in the peaceful, storybook sense.
In the eyes-watching-you-from-every-angle, something-here-wants-to-wear-your-skin kind of way.
Alex and Riley moved in practiced sync—boots crunching against twigs, visors scanning, hands on weapons. The smoke of their earlier carnage still lingered in the air behind them like a trophy.
Alex tapped his wrist screen, flipping open the comms.
📱 GROUP CHAT: JIGGLYPUFFS
🟢 Status: Active
👥 Members: Jax, Alex, Riley, Kael, Dane (recently unbanned)
Alex: Just cleared a goblin camp. Me and Riley are going goblin hunting.
🖼 Sent image: mangled goblin corpse, still twitching, captioned "clean up aisle 3"
Dane: The heck?! You didn't even invite us to the goblin killing spree? Rude.
Kael: Careful now, Dane. Didn't Lady Virellia give you that adorable nickname? What was it again… Chaos Goblin?
Jax: SON OF A— 😤 You're already getting a nickname from the noblewoman??I'm still trying to find that sword girl with trauma. 💔
Dane: Jealous, bro? ;>She said I was "interesting." That's basically marriage material here. 😎
Riley:🔊 In Arnold voice: "We're in the forest. Hunting goblins. Send backup... or more one-liners."
Kael: If y'all leave me out again, I'm spawning THE TANK and rolling through the capital. Try me.
Jax: Seconded. Also, save me a boss. I got this new grenade mod that makes them implode inside out. 💥
Alex: Alright, alright. Sounds like everyone's got side quests going on, so here's the plan:⏳ Let's all regroup in a week back at the Minecraft base. We restock, trade loot, maybe… not explode each other for five minutes?
Dane: Define "maybe."
Kael: Wait, which Minecraft base? The ice one or the one we accidentally turned into a creeper cult shrine?
Riley: The ice one. The other's haunted. By Kael's dignity.
Kael:😐 That was ONE time. And I was drunk. On potions. And hope.
📍Meanwhile, in the Forest…
Alex and Riley crouched on a ridge, observing the goblin camp ahead. Smoke rose from the crude huts. Several goblins danced around a fire pit, some trying to cook a boar leg and mostly succeeding in setting themselves ablaze.
Riley zoomed in with his drone.
"That's at least twenty. Couple of armored ones too. Looks like a minor warband."
Alex adjusted his scope. "We take out the leaders, and the rest scatter. Classic destabilize-and-clear op."
"Or…" Riley smirked, pulling out a small device the size of a soda can. "We drop Gary in the middle and watch the fireworks."
Alex arched an eyebrow. "Gary?"
Riley pressed a button. The device beeped, then opened its top. A tiny robotic gremlin unfolded with a happy chirp.
"Gary is a walking bomb with anger issues. Say hi, Gary."
Gary chirped again and hissed at a nearby squirrel.
"…He's adorable," Alex deadpanned. "Fine. You breach with your murder pet. I'll cover you from the ridge."
"Copy that." Riley activated his camo cloak and crept forward, while Gary rolled beside him like a demented hamster.
Back at the Group Chat...
Jax: So uh... when you say "meet in a week," is that a hard deadline or more of a soft maybe we forget and accidentally nuke a dungeon instead kinda thing?
Kael: I'm bringing snacks. And a bear.
Dane: I'm bringing fire. And trauma.
Riley (typing): Currently mid-infiltration. Gary is making threatening noises at goblins. If I die, clear my browser history.
Alex (typing): Confirmed. His last words were "delete my cookies."
📍 Goblin Encampment
Riley crouched just outside the perimeter, watching Gary inch closer to the cluster of goblins still preoccupied with their wildly unsuccessful barbecue.
Alex's voice crackled softly in his ear. "Ready on your mark. Take out the big one with the bone helm first."
Riley nodded, finger poised over the detonation trigger. "Copy. Gary's locking in—"
THWUMP.
A low tremor rippled through the ground.
Then another.
And another.
Riley paused, eyes narrowing. "...You feel that?"
Alex answered, voice tense. "Yeah. Something's coming from the northeast."
The goblins sensed it too. One by one, they stopped dancing, looking around with alarm. Their shaman barked something guttural just before the treeline exploded.
BOOM.
A wall of dense underbrush exploded as something massive charged from the treeline. A flash of steel and silver crashed into the first row of goblins like divine judgment.
A towering woman—nearly seven feet tall—with dusky gray skin and sweeping wolf ears rising from a mane of raven-black hair. Fur-lined pauldrons, silver tattoos glowing faintly beneath her skin, runes pulsing on her veins like molten circuitry.
And in her hands?
A greatsword—a slab of rune-etched metal easily the size of a grown man. Its edge shimmered not with enchantment, but intent.
This was Aerin of the Hollowclaw, and she came to cleanse.
⚔️ The Butchery Begins
The first goblin didn't even scream. Aerin's upward cleave vaporized the wretch—splitting him in two, the impact shockwave blowing two more into the air like ragdolls. Her footwork was brutal and elegant; each step was a deliberate commitment to violence.
Another charged her with a rusted axe.
She turned into the swing and brought the greatsword down like a god slamming a gavel.
CRACK!
the axe shattered. The goblin followed, reduced to a wet smear beneath her cleave.
A trio tried to flank her.
One leapt—
She twisted her hips and brought the blade around in a wide arc.
WHOOSH.
Three bodies fell in pieces. Their torsos slid from their hips before they even realized they were dead.
The greatsword should've been too heavy to swing with such fluidity—but it moved as though alive, bonded to her aura. The runes along its flat blazed with every motion, absorbing her magical augmentation and channeling it into sheer kinetic destruction.
One goblin—bold or brain-dead—tried to stab her from behind.
Without looking, she reversed her grip and drove the sword straight backward, impaling the creature through the chest. She yanked it out with a grunt and turned to the rest.
Her face was calm. Controlled. Cold.
The goblin warband's leader—a massive brute with mottled skin, jagged armor, and a crude bone crown—bellowed in rage from atop a wooden watchtower. He slammed a spiked totem into the ground, rallying the surviving goblins.
Dozens remained, snarling and frothing, desperate and cornered.
Aerin didn't wait.
She exhaled deeply.
Her fingers gripped the sword's hilt tighter.
The runes glowed brighter.
Then—she ran.
Her feet thundered across the dirt as she charged through the swarm, every swing of her greatsword a miniature apocalypse:
A downward cleave crushed two goblins into a crater.
A spinning slash severed four at once—limbs and blood arcing through the air like paint.
A parry transitioned into a shoulder-check, sending one flying into the fire pit.
The world blurred around her. Each kill fed her focus. Each rune etched into her skin hummed with power.
Then she saw him.
The Chieftain. Coward that he was, already retreating back into his crude watchtower, snarling orders to the last defenders.
Aerin slowed. Her greatsword—coated in viscera—rested on her shoulder.
She stared up at him.
Then, with fluid precision, she heaved the greatsword over her head—runes flaring to full brightness.
Her voice was low. Commanding.
"You defile this forest. You die in it."
And she threw it.
The blade tore through the air like a meteor, trailing a comet-tail of magical energy and blood-soaked wind.
The goblin chieftain turned just in time to see his death.
CRACK—
The greatsword punched through the tower's wooden wall, through his armor, and pinned him into the totem behind him like a moth to a board.
The entire structure shuddered… then collapsed.
Silence.
Aerin walked slowly through the ruined camp, smoke curling from the shattered tower behind her.
Her boots crunched over blackened earth and blood-soaked soil as she reached the collapsed structure. Goblin corpses lay scattered in heaps, twisted and broken like discarded dolls. Her greatsword—taller than most men and twice as heavy—jutted out from the rubble like a monument. She grasped the hilt and pulled.
With a low groan of stone and steel, the blade came free.
Aerin wiped its edge clean on the furred corpse of a goblin shaman, the blade's runes still faintly pulsing from its final impact. With a practiced motion, she slung it onto her back, the metal locking into the runic clamps along her armored spine.
In the treeline, hidden among the shadows, Riley exhaled sharply—part sigh, part strangled whisper.
"…She just threw a bus-sized blade like it was a javelin. I need her to ruin my life."
Alex didn't even look at him. "You're becoming a simp, man. Get your act together."
"I am already ruined, Alex," Riley murmured, eyes wide. "She can throw me next."
Aerin froze mid-step. Her ears twitched once.
Her head turned—slow, predatory, precise.
Those silver irises locked on the treeline like searchlights. The runes on her gauntlets pulsed again, faint but steady—like a heartbeat behind a threat.
Her hand hovered near her hilt.
Alex, now very aware of who Riley was simping for, muttered, "Dumbass, you said that out loud."
Riley, undeterred, stepped out of the foliage with both hands up and a grin like a bard begging to be stabbed.
"Hey there, war goddess! That was some incredible technique. The way you launched that sword—pure art. I'd die happy if you hurled me at something like that."
Aerin didn't move.
She stared.
Unblinking.
Judging.
Riley took another step, still grinning. "You ever… uh… throw guys recreationally? No? We could work something out—consensual yeeting? I'm very aerodynamic."
Alex slowly crouched lower in the bushes, barely breathing. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he reached into the void of his Garry's Mod inventory and pulled out a camera—sleek, hovering slightly above his palm like it weighed nothing in this reality. He thumbed the record button.
Click.
"I'm gonna send this to the group chat later," he whispered gleefully. "Hashtag: RILEY-SIMP."
A small interface bloomed above the camera, tagging Riley's position automatically. A live feed began streaming with a custom caption overlay:
"Riley 'Death by Mommy' Simpstream: LIVE"
Aerin's silver eyes narrowed into blades.
"Explain yourselves."
Her voice was low, but it cracked like distant thunder. It carried an ancient weight—each word shaped with an accent that was half-forgotten war hymns and half brutal pragmatism. Even the air around her seemed to hush, waiting for blood or answers.
Riley stepped forward with all the confidence of a man about to ask a dragon out for coffee.
"Greetings, Ma'am—warrior—devastating goddess of bloodshed. First of all, allow me to say—outstanding blade work. The spinning cleave? The backward impale? That overhead finisher where you turned a dude into soup? Chef's kiss. You're basically a one-woman highlight reel."
He gave her two enthusiastic thumbs up, then slowly transitioned one into finger guns.
Aerin didn't blink.
Unfazed, Riley kept going. "Anyway, we're just humble travelers. Multiversal misfits, sandbox anomalies, GMod physics victims—y'know, the usual. Definitely not goblins. Zero interest in pillaging forests or disrespecting your whole Dark Souls cosplay vibe. I mean that with love."
A pause. He leaned in, voice dropping to a hopeful lilt.
"Also I… might've been accidentally stalking you a little. Just a tiny bit. But respectfully."
Silence.
Alex couldn't take it anymore. "Respectfully? You said—and I quote—'I need her to ruin my life.'"
Riley shot a hand back toward the bushes. "Snitches get stitches, Alex!"
Aerin's expression didn't change—but the greatsword pulsed once on her back.
She exhaled through her nose. "You are idiots."
Riley lit up. "So… not enemies?"
She tilted her head. "You are not yet corpses. That is all I've decided."
Alex finally stood, brushing leaves from his coat. "We're actually travelers, and we were about to kill the goblins but you beat us to it."
Aerin stared at him blankly.
Riley nodded quickly. "We're good guys. Swear on Alex's kidneys."
Alex frowned. "Hey! why mine?"
"Because I need mine to simp."
Aerin finally shifted. The towering woman walked toward them—each step measured, her greatsword clicking against the clamps on her back with a rhythmic metallic echo. When she stopped barely a foot from Riley, she looked down at him, the shadows of firelight dancing off her steel-lined tattoos and molten runes.
"You saw the carnage I wrought," she said, voice cold and distant. "And your first thought was to compliment my blade technique?"
Riley straightened. "Well, that and the way you tore a dude in half with a backhand. Very cinematic. Like—God of War, but taller. And prettier."
Her glowing silver eyes blinked once. "You are either incredibly brave… or unspeakably stupid."
"…Can I be both?"
Aerin stared at him.
Then—
Without warning, Aerin's fist moved. Fast. Brutal.
CRACK.
Riley crumpled like a folding chair in a hurricane. One second he was grinning with all the misplaced confidence of a man flirting with death, the next—lights out. He dropped flat to the ground with a thud, limbs twitching slightly like a rebooting NPC.
Alex blinked. "Riley?"
Aerin turned her head.
"…Oh no," Alex said.
WHUMP.
Her elbow found his temple with clinical precision. Alex dropped beside Riley in a tangled heap of limbs, the last thing he muttered being something about "not fair, I didn't simp that hard…"
Silence reclaimed the clearing. Only the crackle of fire and distant wind through the trees remained.
Aerin sighed.
She crouched down, easily hoisting Riley over her right shoulder with one arm. Then Alex with the other. Two full-grown men—one armed with a GMod inventory, the other with an endless supply of secondhand embarrassment—dangling limply like sacks of potatoes.
She glanced at the wreckage of goblin corpses scattered around her kill site.
"Idiots," she muttered again, then turned and disappeared into the treeline, the forest parting around her like it knew better than to argue