From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem
Chapter 85: Whatever the hell happened here?!

Chapter 85: Whatever the hell happened here?!

There it was. The Dream.

The Great Goblin Dream.

Unite the tribes. Build the empire.

And yes, very important detail, create a goblin paradise stacked high with human, elf, succubus, and fairy harems.

A buffet of beauty.

A kingdom where goblins ruled and bathed in gold... and maybe boobs.

It was beautiful. It was ambitious.

It was... currently a fantasy.

Gear didn’t say anything right away.

Just stared into the forest, where the wind whispered like it had secrets, and even the trees leaned in to listen.

Yes, it was a dream.

But not for long.

Gear stared at Rabbi, the little shit.

All muscle, fire, and not enough brain to fry a goblin egg.

But still, he earned his spot.

They’d fought once. Not a playful spar or some "test of might" crap—no. It was blood, sweat, spit, and nut-kicks.

A duel for the crown.

And Gear won.

Barely.

Rabbi was fast, like someone dipped a rat in fire and gave it knives.

But Gear was mean. And desperate. And when you’re desperate, you bite harder.

He just won that day.

That was also why Rabbi was second-in-command now.

Not because he lost. But because he damn near won.

And the prize? Oh, it came with a catch.

Gear winced slightly just remembering.

One ball. Gone.

Snipped off ceremoniously by the old Goblin King himself, like he was clipping a bonsai tree.

Tradition, they said.

"To ensure no heirs. Only the worthy shall rule."

Gear hadn’t cried. But oh boy, he remembered.

So there he stood, a newly crowned king with one crown jewel short... and one hell of a grudge.

That was the moment Gear touched the darkness.

Not shadow. Not smoke. Something raw. Violent. Purple as bruised rage.

It hovered in his palm like a whisper from hell.

He took a breath of it. Just one.

And became more than goblin.

What of the rest of it?

Now, standing at the mouth of the rock cavern, listening to Rabbi spit fire again, Gear considered it.

The humans were weak.

Resting in their pretty little tents behind magic shields, thinking the forest had forgotten them.

But goblins never forget.

"We could take them."

Rabbi snarled.

"They’re right there, bro. Magic barrier or not, you have the numbers."

"Smash it. Break ’em. We get the kingdom. You get the throne. I get a harem. Win-win!"

He had that look again. The one that said "I’d die for this."

Which for a goblin... actually meant something.

Gear sighed through his nose. He hated how much sense it made.

He could do it. Crack the barrier. Storm the camp. Drown them in goblin fury and green flesh. Take what they were owed.

No more hiding.

No more forests.

No more fucking tents.

Just goblins.

A kingdom of their own.

And if the humans didn’t like it?

Too fucking bad.

’It’s going to be hard for me to kill them myself.’

Gear gritted his teeth.

Heroes liked to talk like he’d walked in and mopped the floor with them. Dog-walked them? Please. If only.

He hadn’t even gone full force.

Not because he was merciful—goblins didn’t do mercy. But because he needed to know what they were really packing.

Now he knew. And yeah... those bastards were no joke.

His hand tightened on the spear.

The spear.

Dark violet tendrils curled around it like smoke from the underworld.

It pulsed—alive, hungry, whispering.

’Gungnir.’

Not just any weapon. The Goblin King’s Spear. Forged in hate. Drenched in blood.

And most importantly—pumped full of the Goblin King’s own darkness.

When the King had his time with the darkness, he did something unthinkable.

He gave it away.

He poured nearly all of it into Gungnir.

Didn’t even keep it for himself.

Just enough to bulk up, grow fangs, and bench-press a bear. But the rest? It lived in the spear now. And that thing... hurt.

Gear looked at it and smirked. Without this, he wouldn’t have landed a scratch on the heroes.

With it? He nearly killed three.

So what did Gear do with the remaining darkness?

"We will wait."

Gear finally said.

Rabbi’s eye twitched.

"Why? For what reason? They’re regaining power as we speak!"

Gear wanted to say it was his liege’s command.

’It was my liege, right?’

He thought, chewing on the doubt.

’Who the hell else would know about the goblin tradition of slicing off a king’s nut to prevent heirs?’

’That’s ancient, sacred—nasty shit only top brass would know.’

Still, the doubt crept in like damp cold.

That so-called liege had just appeared suddenly.

No parade. No army. Just shadows and a whisper claiming to be him.

The Goblin King.

The one who’d gone into deep, coma-level seclusion for recovery.

Hell, even Gear, the supposed successor, hadn’t seen the king in months.

Some even whispered he was long dead, eaten by his own darkness.

Gear took a deep breath.

"Doesn’t matter. I’ll defeat them like I did before."

Rabbi crossed his arms.

"You were panting last time. If they hadn’t run, they would’ve seen the truth—you’re not that invincible."

Gear froze.

His head turned slowly.

"Are you doubting me?"

The air shifted. Thick and heavy. Like choking on smoke and iron.

The spear in Gear’s hand began to tremble—not from fear, but from bloodlust.

The violet aura licked out like fire hungry for kindling.

Rabbi’s bravado snapped. Every hair on his back stood like a battalion under inspection.

"I—I would never..."

He said, quickly lowering his head.

Smart goblin.

Gear held his stare for a beat longer, then turned away with a scoff.

"Remember your place, Rabbi. The throne may be empty for now...but its promised to me."

Gear grinned like a madman sniffing blood.

"We attack when it’s time."

He turned his head, eyes gleaming toward the thick forest. The sky had started bleeding orange—dusk was near. The hour his liege had whispered about. The time darkness was to be released.

’What did he say that day?’

’That he will turn that ice bitch into a drooling cock-hungry cum-dump.’

Gear’s spine tingled. His cock twitched.

’No fucking way... Can he actually do that?’

’Can he really break that frosty cunt into a dumb giggling bimbo?’

His body trembled, not with fear, but with unholy excitement.

That was why he’d held back this long.

He wanted to see it.

He wanted to watch that smug blue-eyed hero slut melt under his liege’s touch like butter on a goblin’s cock.

Every single one of those "heroes" looked like they were designed by a perverted god who liked thick curves and breedable hips.

’I swear to the filthy stars above, if he pulls this off... that bastard is my true king.’

His fingers clenched around the shaft of his spear.

’If he shows up today, I’ll know. I’ll know if he’s the one. And if not...’

’Then may the gods help that dumb bastard, because I sure as hell won’t.’

It wasn’t arrogance that made him fearless.

He knew the heroes might get their powers back soon, and frankly?

He wouldn’t stand a damn chance toe-to-toe—he was barely stronger than Rabbi.

But that spear in his hand? Oh, that was no ordinary weapon.

That was darkness incarnate.

With it, he wasn’t just a strong goblin.

He was the strongest Goblin.

And just that.

He wasn’t alone.

Behind him, an entire fucking army of goblins—no, evolved goblins—ones who had sucked down his remaining darkness like it was breast milk from hell.

And now?

They were waiting.

Waiting for the night their liege promised.

The night when darkness wouldn’t just fall—it would fuck.

...

It wasn’t until the evening, hours later, when Rae finally slumped back onto the bed like a goblin who’d just conquered a kingdom of pussy.

His chest heaved. Sweat dripped down his green skin in sticky rivulets.

He’d drunk twenty liters of milk—twenty—like a depraved calf at the world’s dirtiest dairy.

His stomach was finally full, bloated with stolen sweetness.

It wasn’t until the twentieth divine juice disposal, his cock blasting out the last pathetic spurt like it was waving a tiny white flag...

That his once-mighty monster finally gave up and shriveled into an exhausted, twitching insect-dong.

Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle—like even the weather was too exhausted to keep going.

Beside him, Alice lay wrecked.

Breathing ragged. Thighs trembling.

Her ruined, stretched-open pussy still quivering in aftershocks, little spasms clenching nothing as if searching for the shaft that had just turned her inside out.

It squirted again, another traitorous spasm, like a final post-trauma confession.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, mouth slack.

’W-what the hell happened?’

Her brain was trying to piece it together, but all it could show her was flashes...

Her face smashing into the floor, his cock rearranging her guts.

Her own moans echoing back louder than she’d ever imagined she could make.

It was too much to process.

Too much to say.

Too much to regret.

Her body twitched one last time, and she finally gave up trying to pretend she hadn’t loved every second of it.

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