Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

Gobbo’s eyes widened, but before he could wrench the weapon free, Amon’s other hand snapped out like a viper.

He seized Gobbo’s wrist, twisted with brutal precision, and then, with a violent surge from his core, flipped the massive goblin bodily over his shoulder.

The impact shook the clearing.

Gobbo slammed into the dirt with bone-jarring force, the ground cracking beneath his weight as blood sprayed from his lips. His shield clattered aside, useless, as his body writhed from the shock.

Amon wrenched the axe free from his arm with a wet tear, gripping it in his blood-slicked hand. He raised it high, ready to split Gobbo’s skull.

But Dribb barreled back into the fight.

The shield-bearer wrapped his thick arms around Amon’s torso, driving forward with sheer bulk, shoving him off balance and forcing him back a step.

And that was when Thok struck.

He appeared out of nowhere, a blur of wiry muscle and shadow, leaping onto Amon’s back with both daggers flashing. His blades drove into the corrupted shaman’s head and neck in a relentless flurry, stabbing again and again, each strike spraying blood in thin crimson arcs across the dirt.

But Amon only grinned, teeth bared in a feral smile, despite the daggers driving into his skull. The sight alone sent a chill down the spines of those watching.

His hand shot up with frightening speed, fingers locking around Thok’s thin frame. With a violent twist of his arm, he tore the wiry assassin free and hurled him aside.

Thok hit the ground hard, tumbling across the dirt before rolling back to his feet, his chest heaving as he tried to recover.

Amon wasted no time.

Both of his hands clasped together into a single, sledgehammer-like fist, and he drove it down onto Dribb’s broad back. The shield-bearer grunted, the air forced from his lungs as his knees buckled, his massive frame collapsing under the sheer force.

Then the real punishment began.

Amon’s fists blurred, raining down blow after blow. Each strike cracked bone and split flesh, until Dribb’s face was left a bloody ruin, his body twitching limply beneath the onslaught.

It was Zarah who saved him.

Her bowstring sang, and multiple arrows slammed into Amon’s back in quick succession, the shafts jutting deep into his flesh. The corrupted shaman froze mid-swing, his head snapping up, red eyes narrowing. He turned slowly, just in time for another arrow to whistle through the air and bury itself deep into his skull.

The moment staggered him.

Then the world lit up.

Narg’s fireball struck from the flank, exploding against Amon’s side in a bloom of searing flame and concussive force. The impact tore him from his stance, hurling him sideways through smoke and fire. He crashed into the dirt, rolling once before catching himself, crouched low like a beast.

As the haze cleared, the goblins saw the truth and their hearts sank.

The wounds were closing. The arrows that had pierced him slid free as the flesh knitted shut, the burns fading to nothing as a red aura shimmered over his body. Every drop of blood spilled only seemed to feed the unnatural energy swirling around him, knitting him back together stronger than before.

And still, he grinned.

Amon’s head snapped toward the source of the fireball.

Through the thinning smoke he saw Narg, still standing—bloodied, staggering, but alive. Beside him crouched Flogga, her trembling hands clutching an empty vial, another already uncorked and pressed to his lips.

She had rushed to him the moment she saw him collapse, pouring potion after potion down his throat in a desperate bid to keep him alive.

Amon’s snarl rolled low and savage from his throat.

He crouched, aura flaring, and then launched himself toward them with a burst of speed that churned the dirt beneath his feet.

”Go!” Narg bellowed, shoving Flogga aside as he raised his staff. The wood trembled in his grip, mana sputtering weakly at the tip. He tried to summon another fireball, but his core felt like a dried husk, nearly wrung empty. The spell fizzled, heat barely forming before flickering out.

Flogga squeaked in fright and scrambled away, clutching her stick of a weapon close to her chest as she darted toward cover.

Zonk threw himself into Amon’s path, blade flashing. For a heartbeat it looked as if he might hold him—then Amon’s fist crashed into his chest, sending the warrior cartwheeling through the air. He hit the dirt face-first, his body skidding and bouncing until he came to rest in an awkward heap, limbs splayed unnaturally.

”Damn it!” Zarah hissed through her teeth.

She loosed arrow after arrow in rapid succession, each shaft hissing through the air and slamming into Amon’s advancing form. One buried deep into his shoulder, another into his thigh, and a third punched clean through his forearm.

But he did not slow.

The corrupted shaman barreled forward undeterred, arrows jutting grotesquely from his body, crimson aura already working to force the shafts back out as the wounds closed behind them. His red-tinged skin glistened, his eyes blazing with feral hunger as he closed the distance between himself and the shaman who had dared to wound him.

Narg gritted his teeth, his body still wracked with pain, and forced the last dregs of mana he could gather into his staff.

A sputtering orb of flame coalesced at the tip, trembling under his weakening control, before he hurled it with a hoarse roar.

The fireball streaked forward, striking Amon square in the chest and blasting him backward in a shower of dirt and sparks.

For a moment, hope flickered.

But when the smoke peeled away, that hope died.

Amon was still standing.

His flesh wasn’t charred, his skin wasn’t seared. Instead, a dark-red arc of hardened blood hung in the air before him like a twisted shield, faintly steaming. At his neck, the last talisman glowed, its cracked surface bleeding crimson light.

And then he grinned. That same feral, mocking curl of the lips that promised nothing but pain.

The blood around him shifted, twisting unnaturally, hardening into spikes, and with a sharp gesture, he unleashed them.

They flew with terrifying speed, whistling as they tore through the air.

Narg reacted on instinct, thrusting his staff down and conjuring the last mana shield he could muster. The barrier flared into being, translucent and trembling.

The spikes slammed against it.

CRACK!

CRACK!

The first volley splintered harmlessly, the second dented the surface, but the third pierced clean through. One crimson spike tore into Narg’s shoulder, punching a hole through flesh and muscle.

His scream ripped across the battlefield as bl

ood sprayed down his arm.

”Narg!”

Zarah’s voice...