The sky split in two as twin streaks of light tore across the horizon, carving lazy arcs above the emerald sea of trees. Wings of woven leather and alloy—elytras—glinted beneath the golden afternoon sun, catching thermals with a gentle rise and fall. From a distance, the two figures looked like diving hawks dancing with gravity.
"Wooo!" Riley whooped, twisting into a corkscrew mid-air. Sparks exploded behind him as another firework ignited from his belt rig, propelling him forward in a spiraling flourish. "I will never get tired of this, man. Peak GMod vibes—like I modded Breath of the Wild with the Source Engine and forgot to tell the devs."
Beside him, Alex flew straighter—his trajectory precise, calculated, cold. Every adjustment was minimal, exacting, like he was plotting a scouting run in Arma 3.
"Ease up on the rolls," Alex said through their comms, voice clipped. "We're here to scan, not showcase your aerial pirouettes."
"Style points matter," Riley countered. "If this is an isekai server now, I want the demi-human village to remember me as the cool guy who fell from the sky. Not some airborne tax auditor crunching spreadsheets."
"If a demi-human village exists, the last thing we need is you crash-landing into their reservoir."
As they dipped lower, the forest changed. The trees grew thicker, ancient. Trunks as wide as boulders rose high into the air, wrapped in silver-veined vines. No repeating textures here—every bark unique, every knot a fingerprint. Birds scattered in their wake, startled from nests woven into high branches.
"You seeing this?" Riley pulled up a holo-display from his wrist-link and pinged a glade below. "Thermal signature. Cluster of heat spots. Fires. Ovens. Chimneys, maybe. Could be a village."
Alex adjusted his angle, gliding in a clean half-circle above the location. "I see it. Huts, fencing, smoke columns. Layout's organic—not prefab or grid-based. That's homegrown."
"Thinking humans?"
"Unclear. Rooftops don't match standard design. Door frames vary too much. Some are huge."
Riley's eyes lit up. "Giant demi-humans?"
"Or ogre blacksmiths. Or just... tall people. Don't jump to furry conclusions."
"Let me dream, man."
Alex sighed. "Stick to protocol. No direct contact until we've established linguistic parameters—"
He paused.
"—Actually, scratch that. Everyone's been speaking English so far, so logic's already out the window."
The two descended, coasting along the last row of treetops before landing in a small clearing just outside the village perimeter. Their boots crunched against moss and dry leaves.
Riley stretched, popping his joints. "Every time I touch the ground, I miss noclip."
Alex didn't respond. His gaze was already scanning. "High alert. If they're friendly, we engage. If hostile, we evac. You've got the smoke burst?"
Riley patted the canister at his hip. "Loaded. Also packed the translator drone. In case they speak... you know, catgirl."
Alex gave him a flat look. "Let's move. Eyes open—for mutated animals, cursed relics, or anime logic."
"Bet. Dibs on the first screenshot if it's a centaur blacksmith."
They moved through the treeline like shadows, the village slowly coming into focus. But as they crept closer, the mood shifted. The forest's peaceful hum gave way to an eerie stillness. Even the birds had stopped singing.
And then the smell hit them.
Rot. Waste. Something fouler beneath it all.
"Contact," Riley said, pulling up his wrist-link again. "Thermals confirm multiple bodies. Moving in clusters. Erratic. Hunched. Not human."
Alex's jaw clenched. "Zoom in."
The HUD flickered.
"Goblin camp," Riley muttered.
"Of course. Always goblins."
Riley gave a grim chuckle. "Fantasy's favorite starter mob."
They circled wide, staying in the treeline's shadow. From above, the camp sprawled like a wound on the forest floor. Ramshackle huts built from scrap wood, animal bones, and stolen cloth. Fences made of splintered spears and barbed wire. Fires crackled in pits, belching greasy smoke into the sky.
Alex flicked his fingers, launching two canisters into the air. Mid-flight, they unfolded into sleek recon drones—silent, predatory, and armed.
Riley mirrored the move.
"Feeding live data," he muttered in a perfect Terminator accent. "Forty-three life forms. Mostly goblins. One big ugly. Center hut."
Alex cracked his neck. "Let me guess. Signal distortion?"
Riley nodded, grinning. "Like looking through a pile of hot garbage... with heat vision."
Alex smirked. "So it's ugly and stupid. We're dealing with Predator goblins now?"
"More like Predator's ugly cousin."
Alex tapped his wrist-link. "Confirm kill-zone?"
"Confirmed," Riley said. "Minimal collateral. Maximum overkill."
They exchanged a look.
Then launched.
Twin bursts of propulsion kicked behind them. Their armor locked into dive mode, wings retracting. They dropped like precision-guided death.
The first hit was the drones—surgical laser fire slicing through goblin ranks. Screams rose like a twisted symphony.
Alex landed with silent intent. His Ultimate AK-47 sprang to life—too large, too loud, too perfect for what came next.
BRRRRT—BRRRRT—BRRRRRRT.
Three-round bursts turned goblins into vapor. Their crude weapons clattered to the dirt before their bodies hit the ground.
Riley dropped like a war god. He didn't land—he slammed into the earth, crushing one unfortunate goblin underfoot. His Minigun spun up with that iconic electric whine.
"Say hello to my little friend!" he shouted—wrong movie, but the timing was perfect.
The weapon roared.
Everything died.
The Minigun tore through huts, goblins, trees—reality itself seemed to glitch under its power. Wooden structures exploded into flaming shrapnel. Goblins didn't even have time to scream—they just ceased.
"Hasta la vista, goblin!" Riley laughed, sweeping his fire arc like a lawn mower through weeds.
"You keep quoting Terminator," Alex called over the noise, "but this is looking more like Doom with mods."
Riley cackled. "Don't tempt me to spawn the BFG!"
A trio of goblins charged Alex, flailing machetes.
Bad idea.
Alex spun, dropped into a slide, and unloaded half a mag point-blank into their legs. They flew backward like bowling pins.
"Yippee-ki-yay, motherfu—" BLAM. A goblin's head popped before he finished.
"Wrong movie!" Riley called out.
Alex shrugged. "Still counts."
Suddenly, a horn blared from the central hut.
A massive goblin chieftain burst forth—seven feet tall, wearing plate armor cobbled together from scrap metal and bones. It roared and pointed a jagged spear.
"Looks like the mini-boss," Riley muttered. "Any final words, Alex?"
Alex stepped forward, activating a GMod Slow-Mo Bubble around himself.
He walked through it like a god. Bullets floated. Sparks shimmered.
He raised his AK and whispered, "I am the law."
Then opened fire.
Time snapped back. The chieftain was ripped apart in mid-charge, reduced to flaming pieces. One horn landed at Riley's feet.
"Guess he couldn't handle the truth," Riley said, lifting his Minigun again. "You want more movie quotes, or just more dead goblins?"
Alex reloaded, dry. "Why not both?"
The remaining goblins broke ranks, panicking, retreating.
Riley stepped forward and yelled in full Arnold voice, "Wrong move, little men! You can't run from judgment day!"
WHRRRRRRRRRRRR—BRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!
He shredded the retreating horde like paper mâché.
Within minutes, the village was ash.
Huts burned. Smoke curled. The only sound was the crackle of fire—and the dull hum of Riley's Minigun powering down.
Alex stood at the center, shoulders relaxed, gun cooling.
"Well," he said, "they definitely won't be back."
Riley walked past him, stepping over goblin corpses like they were speedbumps.
"I'm hungry."
"You always say that after massacres."
Riley grinned. "It's tradition."
"Let me guess—you want to spawn a burger stand now?"
Riley already had the GMod spawn menu open.
"You can't fight on an empty stomach," he said.
Behind them, the burning village collapsed.
Above them, drones circled.
And in front of them, Riley spawned a vending machine that fell directly onto a still-twitching goblin.
"Oops," he said, grabbing a soda. "Collateral."
Alex sighed. "We're professionals."
Riley chugged. "Professional badasses. There's a difference."
Alex reluctantly grabbed a soda too. He took a long swig, wiped his mouth—
Burp.
He exhaled, a smirk forming.
"Okay," he said, voice low and hungry. "I'm not satisfied yet."
He cocked his rifle with a satisfying click.
"Let's go goblin hunting."
Riley grinned. "Now you're speaking my language."
And just like that, they walked back into the fire.