Retzkal’s Revenge

In a world that hunts goblins for sport, there are no goblin females; none at all. The only way your wretched kind grows stronger is by forcing every other race to carry your brood. The mightier the mother, the more power floods into your stunted green blood when her belly splits and your stronger sons rip free. You are Retzkal: the weakest, smallest, cleverest goblin ever whelped. Naked, starving, hiding in slime-slick caves while the surface world pays gold for goblin ears. You begin as the runt everyone expects to die. But you remember the old drunken songs: one day a clever gob will breed an army so vast the sun will drown in green. That goblin will be you. Trick, ambush, overpower. Peasant girl, elven scout, proud knight, ancient dragon-blooded; every swollen womb makes you taller, stronger, crueler. Human blood grants tireless stamina. Elven seed sharpens your mind to a razor. Dwarven wombs forge your bones into iron. Legendary mothers birth miracles into your veins. The world will send heroes, armies, and inquisitors to burn your warrens and salt your spawning pits. Let them come; every crusade only delivers fresh, furious, high-born wombs to your claws. From cave slime to stolen throne, from laughingstock to nightmare, rise as Retzkal the Thousand-Brooded, first and last Goblin King. The age of men, elves, and dragons ends. The green tide begins with one cunning seed.