Ancestral Lineage

Chapter 143 War With the Goblin Clans (2).

Smoke, smoke, smoke, smoke, and smoke—this was all the green-skinned goblins of the Tree Clan could see. Their world, once vibrant with the lush greens of their mighty oak tree homes, was now consumed by a blinding white haze. These goblins, who prided themselves on their cunning and agility, had prepared for an inevitable battle, sharpening spears and arrows crafted from the sacred wood of their oaks. Yet, none of that mattered against this suffocating fog that crept into their lungs and minds.

The Tree Clan's village spanned the colossal branches of ancient oak trees, interconnected by a maze of wooden bridges and ladders. Their homes were hollowed trunks and suspended platforms, a marvel of natural architecture. But now, the sturdy branches swayed not with the wind but with the weight of lifeless bodies as the smoke claimed more lives. Some goblins fell screaming into the depths below, their minds fractured by the illusions of the mist. Others swung their weapons wildly at shadows or even allies, their perception twisted beyond recognition.

Chief Gobji crouched on one of the higher branches, his green skin shimmering faintly with an aura of vibrant green laced with flickers of gold—a mark of his affinity with nature and his rank as a Gold-rank beast. His green-red eyes glimmered with rage and despair, a heavy contrast to the dull white fog suffocating his clan. He clutched a branch, his clawed fingers digging into the bark.

"Kriek vriek! (Hold the line!)" Gobji roared, his voice reverberating through the dense smoke. The oak beneath him responded to his command, its roots erupting from the tree's sides like writhing serpents, tearing through the mist in search of the enemy.

But his commands were futile. The smoke was alive, shifting and weaving between the attacks with unnerving precision. His people were dying, and he couldn't even see their foe. His hands trembled, not with fear but with the helpless fury of a leader watching his people fall.

Trevor perched on a high branch, his silhouette barely visible as the smoke swirled protectively around him. He leaned lazily against the trunk, his sharp features illuminated by the dim light filtering through the canopy. His calm demeanor belied the tension of the moment.

The goblins were resilient, and far more organized than he had expected, but their tactics were useless against him. The smoke was his domain, and here, amidst the choking fog, he was untouchable—or so he thought.

His gaze fell to the object in his hand, a statue carved intricately with symbols of reverence. A faint silvery-blue glow pulsed from it, evidence of its identity as a hidden item. "They spoke of packs," Trevor mused aloud, his voice smooth and mocking, "but I didn't expect a functioning society. Weaklings, overall, but..." His gaze drifted downwards, to the aura of the goblin chief glowing faintly through the mist. "...perhaps there's one worth my time."@@@@

Trevor stored the statue in his spatial ring and stood, the smoke curling tighter around him. "Let's see how a Gold-rank fares against me," he muttered, leaping silently through the canopy, his movements fluid as a shadow.

Gobji's ears twitched, catching the faint sound of rustling leaves. His golden eyes darted to the source, and his muscles tensed. "Kriek! Keek vrak krrii? (Coward! Won't you face me?)" he bellowed into the void, his guttural voice carrying the weight of command.

Trevor's voice echoed from all directions, a taunting whisper that sent shivers down the goblin's spine. "I'm right here, Chief. You just can't see me."

The taunt worked. Gobji snarled, slamming his fist into the bark of the oak. Roots burst forth in every direction, a chaotic storm of thorn-covered vines lashing through the fog. The mighty oak groaned under the strain, its branches quivering as if alive. One of the roots snagged Trevor's smoky form, but it passed through harmlessly, dissolving on contact.

"Kriek, vrak krieek! (Show yourself, human!)" Gobji roared, his voice a mix of frustration and defiance.

With a burst of speed, Trevor closed the gap, his body dissolving into smoke one final time before reappearing behind the goblin. His hand, now a dagger-like spear of smoke, plunged into Gobji's side, piercing through the golden aura.

Gobji froze, his green-red eyes wide with shock. He let out a guttural growl, his body trembling as his aura flickered and faded. He collapsed to one knee, his breath ragged as blood seeped from the wound.

Trevor staggered back, his own body barely holding together. "That..." he panted, a weak grin on his face, "was a fight."

Gobji glared at him, his voice a low, guttural curse in his native tongue. Trevor tilted his head, smirking. "Whatever you said, I'm sure it was dramatic." With that, the smoke dagger dissolved, and Gobji's body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

...

The Earth Clan's cavern quaked under the relentless exchange of blows between Godfred and Gorbu. Each strike seemed to crack the very air, their auras clashing violently—Godfred's rock-laden fists against Gorbu's golden power. Gorbu's overwhelming strength gave him the upper hand, his blows breaking through Godfred's stone armor and sending him reeling multiple times.

But Godfred wasn't fighting recklessly; every retreat was calculated. He observed Gorbu's movements, looking for openings and patterns. When Gorbu lunged forward, aiming a devastating punch, Godfred sidestepped and used the goblin chief's momentum against him. Slamming his hands onto the cavern floor, Godfred summoned a massive stone spike that erupted beneath Gorbu, piercing through his golden aura.

Gorbu roared in fury, breaking the spike with sheer force, but the damage was done. Godfred capitalized on the moment, leaping forward and delivering a crushing blow with both fists to Gorbu's skull, shattering his defenses. The goblin chief crumpled, unconscious but alive, his body glowing faintly as his rank's energy dispersed.

Among the debris, Godfred uncovered what he was seeking: a large rocky club embedded with glowing blue gems, pulsing with raw power. He hefted it onto his shoulder, a victorious smirk playing across his lips.

...

The battle between Timothy and Gaburi was a spectacle of sound and water, their clashing powers turning the Mist Clan's foggy domain into a chaotic battlefield. Gaburi's cunning tactics pushed Timothy to his limits as the goblin leader used the mist and his serpent-like water constructs to launch unpredictable assaults.

Despite the ferocity of Gaburi's attacks, Timothy maintained his calm. Every movement was deliberate, every sound a weapon. As Gaburi's massive water serpent lunged, Timothy unleashed a resonating wave of sound, shattering the construct into harmless droplets. The goblin leader retaliated, summoning a torrential downpour that sought to drown Timothy, but the human countered with a burst of sound that carved a protective dome around him.

Timothy's precision eventually proved too much for Gaburi. With a deafening sonic boom, he shattered the goblin's defenses, leaving Gaburi vulnerable. In a final clash, Timothy struck with a concentrated blast of sound directly at Gaburi's glowing horn. The goblin chief fell, his aura extinguished as he slumped to the ground.

Amid the dissipating mist, Timothy approached a small pedestal hidden behind a dense thicket. There, he found a blue calabash, radiating with mystical energy. He picked it up, giving a soft chuckle. "A worthy prize for a hard-fought battle."