As Clive and Ruby made their way deeper into the woods, they found evidence of goblins passing by. They came across animal bones and trash littering the ground, even finding some treefolk who had been chopped up for firewood or other necessities. Clive walked over to a treefolk who had lost its arms and legs and asked, “Are you alright?”

  The treefolk replied, “I am fine, but growing my limbs back will take months.”

  Clive asked if goblins had done this, to which the treefolk responded, “Yes, there are at least twenty of them.”

  Clive questioned the treefolk further, asking if it knew anything about the nearby cave. The treefolk answered, “The cave you're looking for is towards the stream. But be wary; these are not your ordinary goblins. They must be hybrids with orcs.”

  Ruby thought, Goblins and orcs breeding?

  Clive turned to her and asked, “Is that possible? Won’t they just end up creating deformed creatures?”

  The two then pressed onward. As the duo delved deeper into the woods, they came across goblin strays, which they quickly dispatched.

  “That treefolk was right,” Ruby muttered. “These goblins fought as if they were leaders of an army.” She inspected one of the goblins they had dispatched and saw a symbol drawn on its arm. “I don’t recognize this symbol,” she added.

  The symbol depicted a deer with at least twelve points on its antlers, but its eyes were colored blood-red. Clive took a closer look; he felt he had seen this symbol somewhere before but couldn't remember where. As the duo continued, they confronted more packs of goblins and took them down. Each one had the same symbol drawn onto its arm.

  Clive and Ruby managed to keep one alive for interrogation.

  “What master do you serve?” Clive demanded.

  The goblin, snarling and drooling blood from the beating Ruby had given it, spat, “My master is one with the woods. He controls this forest. And he wants what was rightfully his.”

  Clive conjured a flame sword, pointed it at the goblin's throat, and demanded, “What is your master's name?”

  The goblin smiled, laughed, and said, “Go ahead, sorcerer. Your flames won't work here.”

  With frustration, Clive separated the goblin's head from its body.

  Ruby turned to Clive and asked, “What is it?”

  Clive told Ruby that he now knew who they were dealing with. He explained that this was the work of a wizard—specifically, a powerful one who mastered wood magic. He elaborated that this wizard's magic was so potent that neither fire nor brute strength could overcome him.

  Ruby asked, “This isn't the wizard who created the treefolk, is it?”

  Clive shook his head. “No. The wizard in the story you mentioned is different. This one is nothing but chaos.”

  As the duo ventured further into the forest, they realized it was getting dark. However, mindful of the treefolk, they decided not to use any surrounding wood for a fire, not wanting to get on their bad side. Instead, Clive gathered some rocks, laid them in a pile, tore off a strip of his clothing, placed it under the rocks, and lit the fabric.

  Ruby, amazed by the skill, asked, “Wouldn’t the fire just die out without wood?”

  Clive responded, “My clothes are specially made; they don’t burn quickly. In fact, they burn slowly and steadily.”

  Ruby took the first watch that night. She had insisted, arguing that her enhanced senses would be more useful in the pitch-black woods. While on watch, Ruby was toying with one of her blades when she suddenly heard laughter. Not just any laughter, but goblin laughter. Using her rogue skills, Ruby decided to follow the scent and noise. She followed it only to find it was a setup; she was suddenly trapped by a rope, left dangling in the air. Ruby had dropped both of her blades when she was propelled upwards.

  “Let me go, you filth!” Ruby shouted.

  The goblins teased her, jabbing menacingly close with their swords and knives. Ruby was surrounded by at least six of them. Ruby remembered the small explosives in her pouch. Reaching in, she grabbed a handful and scattered them below her, causing a minor explosion. This gave her a moment to reach her ankle, pull out a hidden knife, and cut herself loose. She landed on her feet, quickly retrieved her blades, and began attacking the goblins.

  Soon, five of them were dead, leaving only one. This one was different; he didn’t attack rashly but waited, assessing her before striking. The two went head-on. To Ruby's surprise, this goblin knew how to fight properly. Ruby managed to disarm the goblin of its blade. The creature looked at her and snarled, “You're a goner now.”

  The goblin grabbed a nearby knife and made a cut on its right hand, then placed the bloody palm over the symbol drawn on its left upper arm. The action triggered a transformation. The goblin's body became bulkier, its posture turning feral. Wood-like horns sprouted from its head, and gnarled branches emerged from its back and arms. Ruby was in shock; this was nothing like the treefolk. The transformed goblin stood ten feet tall, towering over Ruby at five-foot-two.

  But she didn't let its size faze her; she did what she knew best. She used her rogue skills, dashing in and out to attack the goblin. But her blades couldn't pierce the thick, wood-like hide that now served as the goblin's skin. She even tried the dagger they had recently acquired, aiming to inflict bleeding wounds. But even when she managed to leave gashes on the goblin, its wood-like armor quickly healed itself.

  Ruby quickly grabbed another bomb and tossed it at the goblin. This blast inflicted noticeable damage, chipping away its wooden armor. Seizing the opportunity, she quickly maneuvered and unleashed a flurry of attacks, targeting the damaged spot. The goblin's true skin was exposed.

  With a final strike, Ruby dashed forward, dagger held high, aiming for the vulnerable area. But before her blade could connect, the goblin grabbed her wrist and snapped it. It followed with a brutal knee strike, leaving Ruby open. The goblin delivered a massive right jab to Ruby's stomach, sending her crashing to the ground.

  “This is something else,” Ruby gasped to herself. “No goblin should have this much force.”

  Ruby tried her sixfold skill, creating six afterimages of herself. She attempted another strike at the goblin's exposed flesh. This time her hit landed true, but the dagger plunged deep, trapping her hand momentarily. The goblin seized the chance, wailing on her with its fists before grabbing her by the neck. “Humans,” it rasped, “they think they run the realm of Grass Mark.”

  Acting purely on instinct, Ruby used the dagger still clutched in her left hand to hack at the arm holding her neck, severing it and causing the goblin to cry out in pain. She realized the goblin's true skin lay vulnerable beneath the wood armor. All she had to do was target its limbs to make it vulnerable and immobilize it.

  Ruby placed her dagger against the goblin's throat. “Where is your master?”

  The goblin spat blood and responded, “My master is the one with the trees. He seeks the throne. He is the rightful ruler of Woodcrept.”

  “Lies!” Ruby retorted. “How does a goblin get its hands on wood magic?”

  The goblin sneered, “My master has many skills. That is why he deserves the throne!”

  Before Ruby could get another word out of the goblin, roots emerged from its mouth, killing it from the inside.

  Ruby rushed back to their campfire where Clive was still asleep. She quickly woke him, telling him what had just happened. The two quickly packed their gear and pressed on, urgency adding speed to their quest.

  As the duo continued their journey, they stumbled upon the carcasses of various creatures and the broken bodies of treefolk. The remains of the treefolk were often dismembered, with only certain limbs or parts cut off. Clive bent down to examine one of the fallen treefolk. “Poor fellow,” he murmured, offering a silent prayer for the dead.

  “There must be at least twenty treefolk here that have been killed,” Ruby said, scanning their surroundings.

  The duo continued forward when suddenly they were approached by a treefolk who was still alive, though badly injured.

  “Are you alright?” Ruby asked.

  The treefolk responded sarcastically, “Do I look alright? They took my right branch and my left root!”

  Ruby and Clive quickly aided the treefolk with healing potions.

  “Who did this?” Clive asked.

  The wounded treefolk replied bitterly, “One of our own. A traitor. I would recognize him any day.” The wounded treefolk explained that the culprit was the brother of their previous master, a traitor who had turned rogue and was attempting to establish his own dominion. He explained that this rogue was using wood magic violently, claiming it was for the protection of the treefolk.

  The wounded treefolk shuddered, its remaining branches trembling slightly even after the healing potion took effect. "The traitor... my own kin... calls himself Gornevan," it rasped, the sound like bark scraping stone. "He was brother to Eldrin, our last true Warden. Gornevan always craved power, twisting the deep wood's gifts for control, not harmony. He believes Woodcrept – the heart-grove of our people – belongs to him by right of strength."

  Clive nodded grimly, absorbing the information. His eyes then fell on Ruby, who was trying to discreetly support her clearly damaged wrist. "Ruby, your arm."

  She winced as he gently examined the break. "That transformed goblin... packed a punch."

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  "Hold still," Clive murmured. He placed his hand over her wrist, concentrating. A soft, green light emanated from his palm, weaving around her forearm like glowing vines. It wasn't the instantaneous mend of a high-level cleric, but the bones shifted subtly, aligning themselves, and the immediate, sharp pain subsided into a dull ache. A framework of solidified green energy formed a temporary, magical splint. "That should hold it for now, but it's far from healed. You'll be limited."

  Ruby flexed her fingers carefully. "Better than nothing. Thanks, Clive." She looked back at the treefolk. "Gornevan – did he go towards the cave by the stream?"

  "Aye," the treefolk confirmed. "He uses the caves as a mustering point for those... abominations. And worse. Be careful, travelers. The stream itself seems... tainted, where it flows near the cave mouth. The water runs sluggish and dark." It gestured weakly with a twiggy finger. "Follow the stream upwards. You cannot miss the blight he spreads."

  Thanking the wounded treefolk and promising to send help if they could, Clive and Ruby pressed on, the urgency renewed. Ruby adjusted her grip on her remaining dagger, favoring her uninjured hand. The magical splint offered support, but complex maneuvers or heavy impacts were out of the question.

  As they followed the path indicated, the forest grew noticeably quieter, yet more oppressive. The air felt heavy, carrying a faint scent of decay beneath the usual loam and pine. The vibrant greens seemed muted, replaced by sickly browns and blacks creeping up tree trunks like a disease. They saw no more goblin patrols, but the feeling of being watched intensified.

  Clive walked with a frown, his mind racing, turning over the image of the blood-eyed, twelve-point deer symbol. Where had he seen it? It wasn't standard goblin or orc iconography. The deer, a symbol of life, grace, the forest itself... but the points, excessive, unnatural... and the eyes, filled with blood... Sacrifice? Corruption?

  Suddenly, it clicked, dredged up from a dusty tome on forbidden druidic practices he'd studied years ago. "The Bleeding Stag," he muttered aloud.

  "What?" Ruby asked, glancing at him.

  "The symbol," Clive explained, his voice low and urgent. "It represents a perversion of natural cycles. A ritualistic symbol used by splinter sects who believed true power came not from nurturing life, but from twisting it, draining it through sacrifice. They sought to command nature through dominance and pain, not respect." He looked around at the sickening woods. "This Gornevan isn't just a power-hungry wizard using wood magic; he's tapping into something older, darker. He's corrupting the life force of the forest itself."

  Just as the weight of Clive's words settled, they heard it – the sluggish gurgle of water ahead. Pushing through a final screen of withered bushes, they saw the stream. The treefolk hadn't exaggerated. The water flowed thick and black, like sludge, and the stones along its banks were coated in a greasy, unnatural film. Upstream, perhaps fifty yards away, yawned the dark entrance to a cave, the source of the corruption appearing to emanate from within. Flanking the entrance stood two figures – larger than the goblins they'd fought before, their silhouettes hinting at the bulky frame of orcs fused with the wiry malice of goblins, their arms bearing the unmistakable symbol of the Bleeding Stag.

  Instead of charging headlong towards the cave, Clive pulled Ruby back, his face grim. "We need more information before we wade into that. This power… the treefolk was right, it's tainted the stream itself. Direct confrontation might be a mistake."

  They skirted the edge of the corrupted zone, moving with caution into the forest surrounding the cave. Even at a distance, they could sense the unnatural pull emanating from it, the whisper of violated life. They hadn't gone far when they heard it again – the guttural snarls of goblins. But these were closer, and different. The harsh sounds were mixed with the rustling of leaves and snapping of wood.

  As they peered through the dense undergrowth, they saw them. Not the scraggly strays or even the brutish hybrids they'd already faced. These were larger, more imposing, and their movements were… fluid. As if they were extensions of the woods around them. Each one bore the Bleeding Stag symbol, vividly painted in fresh blood. Just like the lone goblin Ruby had fought, these were about to transform.

  The transformation was horrific, a violent merging of flesh and wood. Branches burst from their backs, thickening into crude armor. Roots twisted into grotesque horns, and their limbs grew long, gnarled, and impossibly strong. They moved with unnatural speed, their eyes glowing with a dark, verdant light. These weren’t just goblins empowered by wood magic; they had become part of the woods.

  Clive and Ruby exchanged a look. This was far beyond anything they’d encountered before.

  The wood-goblins charged.

  Ruby, hampered by her injured wrist, was forced to fight defensively, relying more on dodging and maneuvering than direct parries. The goblin’s wood-enhanced strength was formidable. Her remaining dagger skittered uselessly off their bark-like skin. Each blow sent jarring vibrations through her arm, reminding her of the damage sustained.

  Clive, however, was in his element. The air around him shimmered with heat as he channeled his pyro magic. He started with blasts of raw flame, but the goblins, now partially composed of living wood, seemed strangely resistant to the direct heat. The flames licked at them, causing only minor charring, quickly healed by the strange power infusing them.

  Clive adapted.

  He no longer aimed for brute force; instead, he conjured fire with artistry and precision. He wove tendrils of flame that coiled around the wood-goblins' limbs, isolating them, preventing the full force of their attacks from reaching Ruby. He created bursts of intense heat that caused the moisture within the wood to boil, creating jets of superheated steam.

  The steam attacks were effective. The wood-goblins shrieked as the boiling moisture scalded their living wood flesh. Chunks of bark exploded away, revealing raw, vulnerable goblin skin beneath. Even their accelerated healing struggled to keep pace.

  Taking advantage of their pain and disorientation, Clive pressed his attack. He channeled flames that created patterns like sonic booms, and they vibrated and destroyed wood. One goblin’s arm snapped under the assault. He forced back the second one, destroying one leg, then both arms.

  The battle wasn't easy. The steam magic was effective, but it was taxing, draining Clive’s energy. The wood-goblins fought with the relentless fury of creatures possessed, their altered bodies lending them almost inhuman stamina and strength. Ruby, though limited by her injury, moved with a controlled ferocity, exploiting the openings Clive created, and striking with precise, debilitating thrusts at exposed areas with her blade.

  Finally, with a combined, desperate effort, they prevailed. The wood-goblins fell, their bodies steaming and charred, the dark light fading from their eyes. They lay still, their unnatural forms slowly reverting to a grotesque approximation of their former goblin selves.

  Clive, sweating and panting, lowered his outstretched hand. The air around him shimmered as the residual heat dissipated. He looked at Ruby, a mixture of exhaustion and concern etched on his face. He quickly creates a potion from his pouch, and drinks it, which causes some of his wounds to heal. "That was… too close. Too much of this corrupt magic."

  Ruby leans on her dagger, still favoring her damaged wrist. Her breath came in ragged gasps. "What now?"

  Clive shook his head slowly. "Now… we learn. These aren't just mindless minions. They're… something else. Gornevan isn't just a wizard. He's twisting life itself. We can't just charge in. We need to understand the source of this power, how to counteract it, or we'll walk right into a trap we can't escape."

  He looked back towards the cave, his expression a mixture of determination and dread. "There’s a way to find this out, but it's risky."

  Clive looked from the steaming remains of the wood-goblins back towards the corrupted stream and the cave mouth. The thought of trying some obscure divination or risky scouting technique seemed less practical now than facing the threat head-on, armed with the knowledge they'd gained. "Perhaps," he amended, his voice tight with resolve, "direct observation is the only way forward now. We know what we're facing, more or less. Stick to the shadows, learn what we can, and be ready to fight our way out."

  Ruby nodded, gripping her dagger tightly in her good hand. Her injured wrist throbbed beneath the magical splint, a constant reminder of the power these corrupted beings wielded.

  They approached the cave entrance cautiously, using the sickly, distorted trees and stained boulders near the stream for cover. The two guards flanking the entrance stood menacingly still, their wood-encrusted forms almost blending with the dark rock. Clive signaled Ruby to wait. Focusing his will, he drew upon the ambient moisture in the air near one guard, rapidly superheating it. With a muffled hiss and pop, a jet of scalding steam erupted inside the creature's wooden helm. The guard stiffened, shuddered, and then collapsed silently, steam escaping its joints.

  Before the second guard could fully register what happened, Ruby dashed from cover. Too fast for the bulky creature to track effectively, she circled behind it. Though hampered by her wrist, she used her momentum and leverage, driving the heel of her boot hard against the back of its knee joint – a spot less protected by the thick wood plating. The joint buckled with a sickening crack of wood and bone. As the hybrid stumbled, Clive unleashed a focused beam of heat, not flame, targeting the exposed neck area where wood met flesh. The creature gurgled and fell, silenced.

  Exchanging a quick, tense glance, they slipped past the fallen guards into the yawning darkness of the cave mouth. The air immediately grew heavy and chill, thick with the smell of damp earth, rot, and that same underlying wrongness – the scent of corrupted life force. Strange, phosphorescent fungi pulsed with faint, sickly green light on the walls, casting eerie shadows. Twisted roots, thick as a man's arm and coated in the same black slime as the stream bed, snaked across the floor and ceiling. The muffled sounds of dripping water echoed, mingling with something else – a low, guttural chanting or rhythmic hammering from deeper within.

  They pressed forward, moving deeper into the oppressive darkness. The main passage sloped downwards, branching occasionally into smaller tunnels. They chose the path that seemed most travelled, marked by scuffed earth and broken roots. Around a sharp bend, they nearly stumbled right into another patrol.

  Three more wood-hybrid goblins, their forms even more distorted and merged with gnarled wood than the ones outside, were examining strange, pulsating pods growing from the cave wall. They reacted instantly to the intruders, abandoning the pods and turning with surprising speed, weapons – crude axes seemingly grown from their own arms – held ready.

  There was no room for subtlety here. Clive reacted instantly, throwing up a shimmering shield of heat to deflect an initial volley of thrown rock shards. He simultaneously unleashed targeted steam bursts, aiming for the joints and faces, remembering their effectiveness. The hot steam hissed against the wood, causing pain and disorientation, but these creatures seemed more resistant, their wooden hides thicker, their inner fire burning colder and darker.

  Ruby, using the cave's natural pillars and shadows, darted between them. Her splinted wrist prevented powerful blocks or complex two-weapon fighting, but her speed was still an asset. She dodged a sweeping axe blow that splintered rock where she'd stood a second before, retaliating with a quick slash across an exposed tendon Clive's steam attack had revealed.

  One hybrid, larger than the others, bellowed and charged Clive directly, ignoring the scalding steam, swinging its massive wood-axe in wide, devastating arcs. Clive was forced back, his pyro-magic shifting from precise bursts to broader waves of intense heat, trying to force the creature to hesitate, to create distance. It was a significant drain on his energy, the air around him crackling, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cave's chill.

  The other two cornered Ruby near the pulsating pods. She danced around their clumsy lunges, her good dagger flashing, seeking any vulnerability. She managed to trip one, sending it crashing into the strange pods, which burst open releasing noxious spores. The goblin choked and recoiled, giving Ruby a precious second. She kicked off the wall, launching herself at the remaining goblin, driving her dagger into the softer wood near its shoulder joint, twisting viciously before disengaging.

  Seeing Ruby struggling against two, Clive poured more power into his assault on the large hybrid attacking him. Focusing his energy, he created a concussive blast of pure heat, slamming into the creature's chest. The wood armor cracked, splintered, and the goblin staggered back, momentarily stunned. Seizing the chance, Clive followed with a precise lance of white-hot fire aimed directly at the crack, piercing the armor and the flesh beneath. The creature shrieked, a horrifying sound of burning wood and dying goblin, before collapsing in a smoldering heap.

  Without pausing, Clive turned his attention to the two remaining goblins battling Ruby. One was still reeling from the spores, the other hampered by the dagger wound in its shoulder. Working together, Clive using focused heat to further weaken their armor and distract them while Ruby delivered quick, debilitating strikes, they finally brought the remaining two hybrids down.

  Silence descended, broken only by their own ragged breathing and the incessant dripping from the cave ceiling. Clive leaned heavily against the damp rock wall, his magical reserves significantly depleted. Ruby checked her splint; the impacts, though avoided where possible, had sent jolts of pain through her arm. The fight had been costly.

  Looking past the grotesque, pulsating pods and the fallen hybrids, the tunnel continued deeper into the earth. The rhythmic sounds they'd heard earlier – the hammering, the chanting – were louder now, echoing from the darkness ahead. Gornevan, and the source of his power, lay somewhere down that path.