Chapter 319 Piece of Advice

With Timbo leading everyone through the secret tunnel, the group moved cautiously, the air growing thicker with a fetid stench as they approached the end of the tunnel. The walls were damp and slick with grime. Every step seemed to echo ominously, heightening the tension that gnawed at their nerves.

Finally, they reached a set of shabby doors, their wood rotting and splintered. Timbo, his hands trembling, slowly pushed one door open, allowing Suzuka to peer through the narrow crack. The sight that met her eyes was a vision of grotesque horror and unrelenting misery.

The breeding camp sprawled before her, a bleak landscape of suffering and despair. Rundown huts, barely standing, leaned precariously against each other, their roofs caved in and walls crumbling. The ground was a quagmire of filth, a vile mixture of mud, excrement, and blood that squelched underfoot. A nauseating stench hung heavy in the air, a foul miasma of decay and waste. From all of the breeding farms they had been to, this place was the foulest yet.

Goblins, emaciated and broken, shuffled aimlessly through the camp, their bodies riddled with sores and bruises. Their eyes were hollow and vacant, the light of hope long extinguished. Crude chains clanked as they moved, their limbs bound by heavy iron shackles that dug painfully into their flesh.

In the furthest part of the camp, a pit had been dug, filled with refuse and decomposing bodies. The sight was revolting, the stench overpowering. Buzzing flies swarmed over the decaying flesh, adding to the hellish atmosphere. Starving goblins were forced to scavenge through the pit, searching for any scraps of food, their movements desperate and frantic.

Nearby, several goblins lay in the dirt, their swollen bellies a grotesque indication of their forced breeding. Their faces were etched with pain and despair, their cries for mercy falling on deaf ears. Guards, sadistic and merciless, stood watch, their laughter cruel and mocking as they prodded them with sharp sticks, eliciting screams of agony.

The breeding cages were perhaps the most harrowing sight of all. Rows upon rows of rotten wood bars housed goblins and their young, the conditions squalid and inhumane. The young goblins, mere hatchlings, clung to their caretakers, their tiny bodies trembling with fear. The caretakers, in turn, did their best to comfort their offspring, their bodies beaten and bruised from repeated abuse.

The guards roamed the camp with a predatory glee, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. They wielded whips and clubs, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. The air was thick with the sounds of their taunts and jeers, the crack of whips cutting through the air like thunder. Goblins cowered before them, their spirits broken and their bodies scarred.

The air was filled with the acrid stench of decay and the sickly sweet smell of disease. Nearby, a goblin caretaker lay dying, his body riddled with open wounds and festering infections. His breathing was rough and shallow, each exhaled a painful gasp. His hatchlings, barely more than toddlers, clung to him, their tear-streaked faces turned up in desperation. He reached out a trembling hand to stroke their wrinkled heads, his eyes pleading for someone to end their torment.

On one side of the camp stood a large, blood-stained table. An evil goblin guard, grotesquely fat and reeking of filth, was hunched over it, sharpening a jagged knife. His eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as he glanced around at his captive slaves. The table was surrounded by the skeletal remains of goblins who had been tortured and butchered, their bones picked clean by rats and other vermin.

Scattered throughout the camp were makeshift tents, each one crammed with goblins of all ages. The walls of the tents were slick with a mixture of sweat and blood, and the goblins inside were forced to stand or sit in their filth. Their bodies were covered in bruises and welts, evidence of the frequent beatings they endured. The air was filled with the sounds of their painful breathing, weaved with the occasional moan of pain or whispered prayer for salvation.

The goblins themselves were barely recognizable as living beings. Their bodies were emaciated, mere skeletons covered with a thin layer of sickly, mottled skin. Open wounds festered, oozing pus and blood, while old scars crisscrossed their bodies like a macabre tapestry of pain. Many had limbs twisted at unnatural angles, the result of brutal beatings and torturous punishments. Eyes that should have been filled with life and joy were instead hollow, lifeless orbs, reflecting only the depths of their suffering.

Their wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding from the constant chafing of their restraints. The whimpers and moans of the injured and the dying echoed through the space, creating a symphony of agony that was impossible to ignore. In the dim light, the sight was almost too much to bear: goblins huddled together in small, pathetic groups, clinging to each other for what little comfort they could find.

In one corner, a particularly harrowing scene played out. A group of goblins, too weak to move, lay in a pile, their breaths shallow and labored. Their eyes were wide with terror as a larger, more brutish goblin guard stood over them, a cruel smile on his face. He held a whip, its length covered in barbs and spikes. With sadistic glee, he brought it down on the helpless goblins, each strike eliciting a blood-curdling scream. Their cries for mercy were met with laughter, their pleas for relief ignored.

Nearby, a makeshift pen held the breeding goblins. Their bodies broken and bruised, were forced into a never-ending cycle of reproduction. Their bellies were swollen, not with the promise of new life, but with the curse of perpetual suffering. Their eyes, once filled with hope, were now dead and empty, resigned to their fate. Their fellow goblin slaves, equally abused, were shackled and beaten, their spirits crushed as they watched their kin suffer.

The floor of the breeding farm was littered with the remnants of meals, rotting food that even the most desperate goblin wouldn’t touch. Rats and other vermin scurried about, feasting on the filth and occasionally gnawing on the more vulnerable goblins who were too weak to fend them off. Pools of stagnant water, mixed with blood and other bodily fluids, created a breeding ground for disease, further worsening the already dire conditions.

The guards, monstrous in their cruelty, took perverse pleasure in their roles. They beat the goblins mercilessly, their laughter echoing through the air as they inflicted pain and suffering. They took turns devising new and horrific methods of torture, their creativity in cruelty knowing no bounds.

After surveying the grotesque horrors of the breeding farm, Suzuka closed the door, her face a mask of revulsion.

 "This place is beyond disgusting," she spat, "I have no words to describe this hellhole."

Hermit shuddered at the memories that flooded his mind, the brutal life he had once endured in such a place.

 "Master Helen," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "this is nothing new to us goblin slaves. We all lived like these slaves, all of us suffered the pain and torture. It's a miracle we survived at all."

Larry chimed in.

 "Yes, this place is terrible, but we have no time for sightseeing. We need to come up with a plan. Right now, we're sitting ducks."

Suzuka nodded, her mind racing. 

"Well, we can't just burst through the doors and start swinging swords and shooting magic. We'll endanger the very goblins we're trying to save."

Timbo, still nursing his injuries, tugged on Hermit's arm and muttered something in the goblin's tongue. Hermit translated for the group, his voice growing stronger with every word.

 "Timbo says he has a plan. He's badly hurt and can blend in just fine as a slave. He'll try to talk to as many of our fellow goblins as possible and relay the message. The plan is simple: he'll tell them about this secret tunnel and get them ready to run towards it. The rest of us will need to protect the slaves as they make their escape."

Hermit straightened up, his eyes glinting with a newfound resolve.

 "I can walk the farm with my evil goblin guard disguise. I’ll blend in and also pass the message. We have to be careful, but we can do this. Please, let us do this, for our kin."

Suzuka's eyes softened as she looked at Hermit.

 "That's the spirit. This plan might just work. Everyone, listen up: we wait quietly while Timbo and Hermit finish. When slaves start to sprint toward the tunnel we spring into action. We strike fast and with no mercy. We can't afford any mistakes. We protect them at all costs."

Larry tightened his grip on his sword. 

"We’ve got your back, Hermit. Just get the word out. Timbo, you are badly hurt, don't push too hard. Be careful out here."

The team gathered around Hermit and Timbo, their faces set with determination. Olivia, her usual playfulness replaced with steely resolve, clapped Hermit on the shoulder.

 "You’re going to be brilliant out there."

As Hermit and Timbo prepared to leave, Suzuka gave them one last piece of advice. 

"Alright, listen up, geniuses. Here’s a little nugget of wisdom for you two. Stay sharp and don’t fuck it up. And by that, I mean, try - just try - not to be the complete disasters I know you’re capable of being."

She paced in front of them, gesturing as if she were speaking to a couple of toddlers who had just dropped their ice cream cones. 

"Because, you know, if you do manage to screw this up - which, let’s be honest, is pretty likely - then guess what? All of your fellow slaves, those poor bastards you’re trying to save? Oh yeah, they’ll all die. All of them. And the best part? It’ll be your fault."

Suzuka’s voice rose, her words now dripping with sarcasm. 

"Won’t that be fun to live with? Just imagine it! Lying awake every night, thinking, ‘Wow, if only I hadn’t been such a complete and utter failure, maybe - just maybe - my friends wouldn’t have been slaughtered like cattle.’ But hey, no pressure or anything!"

She stopped, turning back to glare at them, eyes blazing with frustration.

 "Seriously, guys, if this mission crashes and burns - and let’s be real, I’m bracing for it - it’s all on you. So, here’s a little food for thought while you stumble your way into this disaster: Don’t screw up. Simple, right? But somehow, I feel like that’s asking for a miracle."

With a bitter laugh, she clapped them both on the shoulder, her grip unnecessarily tight, like she was holding onto whatever shred of hope she had left.

 "So go on. Get out of here. Your fellow goblins, the ones you’re supposed to be saving, are counting on you. Probably the biggest mistake of their lives, but hey, that’s their problem, right?"

With one final nod, Suzuka clapped Hermit and Timbo on their shoulders, her grip firm but encouraging.

 "Good luck, heroes. Try not to let them all die, yeah?" Her tone was biting, her final words hanging in the air like a challenge, daring them not to fail.

With that, Hermit and Timbo slipped into the shadows of the breeding farm, their hearts pounding with a mixture of fear and hope. Timbo, limping and beaten, was the perfect picture of a broken slave, while Hermit, in his disguise, moved with the menacing look of an evil goblin guard.

As they traversed the farm, the sight of their suffering kin was too much to bear. Each corner they turned revealed more horrors, a grotesque tableau of suffering that seared itself into their minds.

In one corner, a young goblin lay sprawled on the ground, his body covered in deep, festering wounds. His eyes were swollen shut from beatings, and his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, clearly broken and left to heal improperly. He whimpered softly, his voice barely a whisper, a pitiful sound that fell on deaf ears.