Serial Prompt #1: Anthropology and Isekai.
 
 
“You heard it here first,” a voice crackled on Mark’s radio, “Admiral Johnson was appointed to his rank again for the 7th time in as many administrations.”
 
 
“Our contentious officer has been criticized since before a lot of us were born,” the radio jockey continued as Mark continued trudging his way through the rocky hills, “And yet without fail, every single administration has chosen him to lead our military forces.”
 
 
The hills dipped and weaved between the forest canopy and large stretches of shrubbery and weirdly tropical trees, but the rocky highlands at least made it hard to get lost.
 
 
“Now, I know some people complain about his violations of our Amendments; expatriates or not, we are all still Americans, even in this land.”
 
 
A compass was a lifesaver for exploratory trips, of course, but Mark had already spelunked even the “straight” path through the foresty jungles before. All the same, his preferred roundabout path had other benefits that he could not quite ignore, even as he was perpetually looking for ways to shorten his trip. Like the fact that he could see danger coming out in the open.
 
 
“Some people accuse him of wanting to set up a military dictatorship. Some even accuse him of having set up one, back at the beginning of our stay. And for those of you too young to remember, things were very murky when we got here.”
 
 
This was his ninth trip into and out of Camp. He would usually aim to carry as much as he could to his destination and then, while his provisions lasted, he would try to get as much done as he could with what he had. There were roots and fruits where he had decided to stay that were of interest to people in town, as well as still new animals that nobody had ever recorded, and those alone were enough to bankroll the expeditions.
 
 
“The fact that we have elections at all has been the perpetual banner all of his ‘fans’ have used to defend him. Yet, without fail, regardless of who becomes Governor, they confirm his continued appointment as our grand guard dog.”
 
 
But the truth was that if he were just trying to make a living out of foraging, trapping and hunting, he didn’t need to take a week-long trip all the way here.
 
 
“So a lot of people have taken to asking if our Governors even can. If, indeed, it’s the people on the ballot who become our leaders.”
 
 
As much as people had spread out the last 28 years, it was surprising how little land half a million people could cover. Given a peninsula the size of half of Europe, even the most fed-up recluse had to stick relatively close to Camp. There was no other way to get electricity or even the overpriced products that the newly minted interests were starting to crank out.
 
 
“I will confess, I feel that this is all missing the forest for the trees.”
 
 
And while having to live, no, make himself a house without the utilities that he could find in Camp was less a challenge and more the type of back-breaking labor that he was leaving the town for-
 
 
“A lot of the talking heads talk about the disproportionate power the Armed Forces has over our lives. And this while they compromise about half of our population, and not by design.”
 
 
-It was at least something that he was doing for himself and not someone else. There were always stories of men who had taken to living out in the wild like some sort of animal since the first year they had settled here. People who had snapped under the weight of what happened to their world and then died out in the wild because they could not bear to be a part of society anymore.
 
 
“They talk about the Admiral, about who should be Admiral, about giving someone new a chance or keeping the salt dog that we all know so much in charge.”
 
 
And while Mark would be the first to admit that what he was doing would turn him into a recluse, he would balk at the accusation of being a wild man; it’s not that he didn’t want anything to do with society. He just wanted control of his life.
 
 
“Yet, in regard to the position of Admiral I have to ask; of what Fleet?”
 
 
The Camp government had of course said that they would open up land claims again, but that had been 4 years ago. 4 years that Mark had wasted toiling at resource-claiming operations on the Bent or the Trough. He’d watch a few friends of his get metal poisoning or die from the earth collapsing under their feet. It was good money, it needed to be good money for anyone to work in it, but to what end?
 
 
Any Home he made would be subject to all sorts of counterclaims by thousands of people who believed this or that plot belonged to them. Even the outskirts weren’t safe from that kind of bullshit, because people had taken to preemptively laying Claim to spots they had never visited just in case it would be profitable later.
 
 
Cases were trudging through the court system, but Mark had never lived in a place he could really call home. And for all that Camp made attempts at getting everyone to settle down, his family had been late in putting their mark down. While his mother lived even that had been fine, because as distasteful as he found the whole thing her mere presence greased many wheels.
 
 
But all societies had a place for their children.
 
 
What place did Camp have for a man?
 
 
“Leaving the political aside, our forecast for the next two days is that it’s going to be rainy, the Junks beat the Galleys 12-7, and steel Machetes remain by far the most popular gift to give-”
 
 
“-fuck,” Mark muttered as he turned his radio off.
 
 
Right in front of him was the valley that provided the most stable and safe route to his destination. Well, usually. Right now? It was blocked.
 
 
At some point between his trip to Camp Town and his return a rockslide had blocked the passage. So apparently it wasn’t as stable and safe as he thought.
 
 
Mark was a big boy of 6 feet and 3 inches tall. He had the body of a man who had labored in back-breaking labor since he was 14 and, at 24 years of age, he had strength enough to make himself a house as far away as he could from Camp while not being cut off from it.
 
 
The White Mountain range cut off the peninsula Camp was in from a wider continent. The range actually extended out to the point that none of the natives in this continent had apparently settled out on this peninsula. A blessing, really, for both them and the Expatriates. Not that this had stopped a few adventurous people from trying to make contact with them but, heh, nothing had really come of it in the nearly 3 decades that they had been here.
 
 
Though the discovery that locally produced gasoline and gunpowder didn’t work had sort of put a damper on that sort of exploration in general.
 
 
“This would be so much easier if I had a bike,” Mark muttered under his breath as he reached into the huge backpack that he was carrying and pulled out a sheathed blade. Then he started walking through the nearest path into his home that he knew, which sadly took him through a stretch of those weirdly tropical forests.
 
 
There were few obvious paths that he could walk through, save the few spots that the local native animals made on their way, so it wasn’t long before he had to draw his machete from its sheath.
 
 
Shrubs went down, and even infantile trees were chopped or bent out of his way. The big backpack that he was carrying made things awkward, of course, but he was close enough to home that, if he hurried up, he would probably make it there before nightfall.
 
 
He was probably going to have to make a more permanent path through the forest, the town and his home, but the thought of having to maintain a week-long path all by himself filled him with exhaustion just thinking about it. He was saving up for a bike though, and that would cut his time by at least three quarters.
 
 
And maintaining a small 2-3 day path sounded much more doable to him. And he would have to perform the maintenance, what, one maybe two times a year? That thought alone was enough to make him happy as he went.
 
 
His house was situated on a small clearing by the foot of the White Mountain Range. There were many streams passing through his “property” and even a big river a short walk away.
 
 
Both hard and soft woods grew up in patches around him, and the ground wasn’t TOO tough for the gardens that he was planning.
 
 
For months now he had been working on stockpiling the things that he would need to build a house in it. One made from wood and brick. He had taken to bringing nails, tools, food and water to lengthen the time that he had to work on it. He had even brought planks and bricks from Camp once. At the beginning. Since then, he figured that literally doing what his jobs had not and breaking his spine was not worth the trouble. Not when he could, when he thought about it, make planks and bricks where he was.
 
 
Power tools were almost ruinously expensive and their batteries were all but their weight in gold. Yet Mark had saved up enough to have one or two stashed away. It was either them or his bike, and looking at how high the price of power tools was appreciating…well, it sucked not having a bicycle, but he still thought that he had made the right decision.
 
 
His brothers had all questioned his choice, but not too hard. He, after all, was the only one of them who didn’t have a dad who was alive. Maybe the oldest of them had a chance at getting a wife, but, heh, with so many men to choose from, why would anyone look at a laborer like Mark?
 
 
It would be hard work living out here, but it was something he was sure he could do. Something he could learn to do. Something, in the end, that he had to do.
 
 
There were half a million people at Camp, but their population was already feeling the beginnings of a monstrous contraction. 1 out of 9 people that had managed to come here were women, and they were all either spoken for or, well, had the wherewithal to choose who they wanted. Maybe in a few generations it wouldn’t be that way.
 
 
But Mark had already seen what life would be like for him.
 
 
Better to live on his own terms and die alone here in the wild in his old age.
 
 
“Thank God,” Mark sighed as, after a few hours, he broke out of the forest onto a lesser path into his home. Now all he had to do was climb a steep hill and he would be on the clearing of his home.
 
 
The sun was starting to deep down, coloring the white tops of the mountain red. Chilly wind came blowing down the high walls of the Range and the sound of water moving made him sigh with relief.
 
 
He casted a glance to the path through the Valley, his usual path, while thinking about the merits of clearing the way on his own. He had the time after this trip, surely.
 
 
And then he stopped.
 
 
Because perched on one of the rocky outgrowth near that path appeared to be…something.
 
 
Mark had been in the middle of sheathing his machete but he opted to leave it wrapped up in his hand.
 
 
Just in case.
 
 
There didn’t turn out to be many predators in this peninsula, at least not many that even could hunt a human being. Not at land. But that didn’t mean that there weren’t any.
 
 
There were sometimes reports of bugs the size of terriers going after people wondering about. And it wasn’t like people hadn’t died from mysterious predation here and there. But this far from the sea monsters, the only animal that Mark had met in these parts that could potentially put him on its menu had been a rather athletic rodent creature the size of a Mastiff sniffing around. They had sharp teeth and hunted other creatures, but they hadn’t yet tried to do it with him.
 
 
The setting sun made the outline of the thing sitting on the rocky outgrowth clear, which just puzzled Mark further. Because it wasn’t a rat hound.
 
 
It, point in fact, kind of looked like a human being?
 
 
Mark wondered for a moment if someone had managed to bumble their way into his home. An explorer or one of the wild men that featured in his childhood. But the being shifted in their place, revealing that they were holding…a spear?
 
 
What the fuck?
 
 
It wasn’t like there weren’t explanations for what he was seeing in the distance, but Mark's danger sense was going off.
 
 
This person, whoever it was, was facing the valley corridor that he used to get to his house. It was watching it intently, almost as if he were waiting for him. But why? How did it know Mark lived here?
 
 
Mark crouched and moved up the cliff, making sure to keep out of sight.
 
 
The setting sun didn’t do his ability to make things out much good, but as he got closer and got used to the contrast, he started making more and more things out.
 
 
Whoever this person was, they needed a trip to town because they were in absolute rags. The spear they held in one hand was twisty thing with, of all things, a stone tip.
 
 
He was actually smaller than Mark had first thought as, the closer he got, the more he could see how tiny they were compared to him.
 
 
Now, Mark was a big boy.
 
 
But this person had to be 4 and half feet tall. If that!
 
 
But it was when he spotted their angular pointy ears that Mark finally stopped.
 
 
“What the fuck?” Mark wondered as he realized that the person he was stalking wasn’t a human after all.
 
 
They had black hair, but their skin was a vivid green. They had large noses, nothing out of the ordinary really, but their ears were the size of fleshy tapered knives.
 
 
It yawned, revealing rows of badly mangled dentures that still slimmed down into more fangs than molars.
 
 
It had five fingers in its hand, just like Mark. Five toes and a big toe on its bare feet, just like a human.
 
 
But when Mark got close enough, he could make out the hourglass pupil in its yellow eyes.
 
 
“A goblin?” Mark incredulously said. Memories of what games and media that Expatriates had managed to save came to mind, and there was really nothing else that he could even call it.
 
 
He must have been louder than he meant to be, because the goblin glanced his way and its eyes widened in alarm as they met face to face.
 
 
“Hyaaa, Glaraga Ta!” the Goblin screamed and took hold of its spear with both hands.
 
 
“Wait!” Mark yelled back as it ran to him, spear point first, but the being didn’t stop.
 
 
Mark’s jacket was good thick cotton and leather. It was strong enough to walk through brambles and not get shredded. It was thick enough that repairing it required Mark to really push down on his needles. It was endurable enough that it had broken many of his falls through the hills, leaving him with mere bruises instead of broken ribs.
 
 
But it was not armor.
 
 
The stone tip stabbed into his coat and his backpack didn’t give him a lot of ability to move out of the way. Still, Mark twisted to the side as the goblin’s transferred the inertia of his run into the tip of his spear running into his body.
 
 
Mark’s coat stretched and slid with the stone point. Mark’s body turned with the blow. The spearpoint, after overcoming the resistance of Mark’s jacket, managed to punch through it but…it didn’t punch through Mark.
 
 
Having spent its energy in skewering his jacket, the place the stonepoint stabbed slid across Mark’s torso, dragging the point with it.
 
 
“Hya?” Goblin gasped as his spear came out through a second hole in Mark’s jacket, missing him completely.
 
 
Mark looked at the Goblin.
 
 
The Goblin looked at Mark.
 
 
Mark still had his machete in his hands.
 
 
And promptly buried in the goblin’s skull.
 
 
“Ga,” The goblin managed to gasp as Mark repeated a motion that he had performed on young trees many times. It was like splitting a coconut, Mark’s blade wedging into its skull.
 
 
Blood seeped down the goblin’s face as the small creature’s grip on its weapon went slack.
 
 
And then it finally collapsed on the ground, unwedging its head from Mark’s blade as it went.
 
 
“What the fuck,” Mark murmured to himself again. He just took a life. He had never taken a life before. Never even contemplated it, even. Mark might have been mad and bitter at many things and people, but he was not a murderer!
 
 
But his blood was pumping and, when presented with a danger, he had taken the only course of action that he could.
 
 
“Ahaha, oh shit, oh fuck,” Mark laughed at himself, because what else could he do?
 
 
He gingerly put his backpack in the ground, and reached for his unfortunate assailant.
 
 
“Hya, Hya, Glaraga Ta!” another voice screamed and made Mark whip his head around.
 
 
It appeared that this goblin hadn’t come alone, as another one crested a small hill. Worse, the other screams were coming in the direction of his home.
 
 
“No,” Mark whispered to himself as the goblin ran towards him, drawing his hand back on its spear. Mark had been stockpiling things in the foundation of his house for months now. He had taken good care to put it underneath a floor that he had painstakingly prepared, and these…these shit heels were snooping around it?
 
 
Once it got close to him, the goblin casted its spear, aiming for Mark’s center mass, but the goblin’s aim was bad and Mark was pissed off. The spear tip cut a jagged line across Mark’s shoulder as he turned, grabbing on to the spear the first goblin had stabbed him with, and set it on his hands.
 
 
“Fuck,” Mark yelled as he drew his hand back with the small spear in his hand, “-You!”
 
 
And then he threw it at the goblin like he had seen it done.
 
 
Mark wasn’t a good shot and he would be the first to admit. He used crossbows to hunt for his food because the few times he had tried spearfishing it hadn’t gone well for him. But goblins were bigger than fishes, and this one was still running straight at him.
 
 
Mark’s spear flew and caught the goblin in the stomach, just below its ribs. The stone point punched into its diaphragm and stopped it cold as it looked in shock between the spear and Mark.
 
 
“RATAG!” it bellowed in agony, to the point that even Mark’s ear hurt, as it cradled the spear in its gut and went down to its knees.
 
 
“Glaraga Ta!” more voices screamed in the direction of his house and Mark, for the few moments that he was transfixed in this goblin’s suffering, was forced to move.
 
 
“Why, why, why,” Mark asked the impaled goblin as he passed it, seeing that the spearpoint was pointing from its back. He asked the world, he asked himself and he asked, yes, God if he happened to be anywhere.
 
 
His fingers were still tightly wrapped in his machete as he crested the hill where his house was.
 
 
4 goblins.
 
 
There were four goblins skulking around his house. Or, well, the foundation he had made. They had dug up all of the food that he had saved up, as well as many of the materials that he had gathered.
 
 
Mark wasn’t sure what he was doing, he was exposing himself to a level of danger that was insane. He had gotten into plenty of scraps back in the “schools” the Camp had made for children, and then had to pound his coworkers when the stress made sparks fly, but he had never been in a deathmatch.
 
 
Yet he had already killed one and dealt a fatal blow to another.
 
 
But his dream, his life in his own house that he made with his own hands, was being ground apart as he watched.
 
 
The goblins rushed him, but Mark sprinted towards them. It wasn’t like Mark had an idea in mind, but the goblins were more surprised by that than he was. They slowed down as they watched him run, and set their feet apart as they drew their spear hands. They hurried to cast their spears at him, and reach for stone knives in their waists.
 
 
But stress spoiled their aim and they all threw the same way anyway. It was a high parabolic arc that, ideally, would have ended with the spears going down into his body.
 
 
But high arcs meant that only the descent was dangerous., so Mark slid under the flying spears.
 
 
“Garalag!” One of the goblins jumped back as Mark’s body glided through the wet glass. The three that stood their ground readied their knives, but Mark slid and stopped just short of their reach.
 
 
But not Mark’s.
 
 
“Fuck off!” the human man screamed as he swung his machete at the nearest goblin’s feet. He honestly wasn’t thinking about causing it harm so much as he was driven to a general all-purpose violence. They were there in what was his, so he let his instincts take over.
 
 
The goblin tried to jump back, but it was reacting to Mark’s swing once his blade was a hand’s breadth away from its shin. The machete bit into its tibia and took out one of the goblin’s supports in a splash of blood.
 
 
One of the goblins was already trying to circle around him as the nearest goblin collapsed, gasping in pain as its leg was hanging by a bloody thread. The one behind it had produced another spear from where and the one that had shied away was holding its knife at the ready behind it.
 
 
So, either get speared through or stabbed from the back.
 
 
Mark’s eyes followed the circling goblin as far as he could, but the goblin with the spear was already getting to cast it at him. Which should he tackle first? Which provided the greatest danger? Which course of action guaranteed the most success?
 
 
In the end, one thing decided his mind.
 
 
He wasn’t sure how fast these goblins could be. But he was certain they wouldn’t be as fast as a thrown spear.
 
 
He charged the spear goblin.
 
 
“Hya!” the goblin screamed as he hurriedly switched to grabbing his spear with both hands, thrusting it into Mark’s face to keep him at bay.
 
 
But it was an impure thrust and the goblin was backing away.
 
 
Mark stopped just short of the spear’s point and swung at the leading hand holding it. The tip of his machete found two of its fingers and the goblin screamed as he dropped his spear with that hand.
 
 
Then he stopped as Mark buried his machete in its clavicle.
 
 
The goblin behind the newest dead goblin trembled with its knife in its hand. The screams of the goblin with the sheared tibia could still be heard, but it wasn’t either of these that Mark was paying attention to.
 
 
The sound of quick short steps running in the grass behind him let him know that the circler was making his move.
 
 
Mark immediately turned around, dragging his machete with him. Or, well, trying to.
 
 
The blade was firmly wedged in the dead goblin’s chest bones, and simply wrenching it didn’t loosen it. The goblin who was charging at him with its stone knife in its hand didn’t care about any of that, and Mark had to deal with it somehow.
 
 
So he let go of his machete and put a hand on his coat.
 
 
“GyaHA!” the goblin at his back screamed as it pounced on him.
 
 
“Ratag?!” and then screamed again when Mark threw his now-tattered coat into it.
 
 
This didn’t cancel the inertia of the goblin’s jump, so it still smashed into him. Just not knife first.
 
 
“Hng,” Mark grunted as it hit his stomach and then went to the ground. Its limbs flailed to get the coat off of it, but Mark wasn’t having any of it.
 
 
“Die!” he yelled as he picked up his foot and then brought it down with all of his weight behind it, smashing it down on the goblin’s shoulder.
 
 
“Gya!” the small green creature screamed and flailed harder as it was smashed against the ground.
 
 
Mark vicariously picked up his foot again and planted it on its back. He picked it up again, and smashed it on its arm. He picked up again, and slammed it on the goblin’s head.
 
 
At some point Mark heard “cracks” but didn’t stop until the goblin went quiet.
 
 
This was neither fast, nor was it clean. But did mean that he had to immediately be on the lookout for the other one.
 
 
Mark turned around to face whatever the fourth goblin had in store for him but found that…he wasn’t there.
 
 
At some point it had run away while Mark was stomping its friend to death.
 
 
“G-gya,” the one with the torn tibia was also trying to crawl away, but by the look of it it had lost too much blood. Mark casted his eyes at his surroundings, trying to see what else was a danger, but found nothing.
 
 
Aside from the dying whimpers of the first goblin that he had taken care of, there was nothing except the sound of the wing. And Mark’s beleaguered breath.
 
 
“My house,” he murmured as he looked at what they had done to the would-be home, and started dejectedly walking towards it.
 
 
Food was strewn about. Construction equipment and even one of his precious power tools. He had no idea how much they had already taken, but this was already ruinous.
 
 
So he to the foundation of his home and went for the first thing he had built; a small cellar to save stuff.
 
 
The lock on the wooden door was broken, of course, but there was no way they had taken everything, right? There should still be enough there for him to work with. There should be enough left for him to live his dream.
 
 
He looked down upon it and bright yellow hourglass stared at him back.
 
 
A fifth goblin.
 
 
“Gya!” it screamed in a tone that was much higher than all the other ones had done and tried to scramble away.
 
 
 
“Fuck you,” Mark growled with all of the frustration, anger and stress that he had been feeling as he grabbed it by its skirt. All the goblins had been wearing loose skirts that went down to their knees, and that made it hard for this one to bolt out of the hole it had been hiding in and escape Mark.
 
 
But desperation gave the goblin strength, and the skirt tore in Mark’s grip as it scrambled to get out of there.
 
 
“You think you get to escape after that?” Mark jumped for one of its legs, using the poor leverage that he yet had with its tearing skirt to allow him to circle his fingers around its ankle.
 
 
“Ratag Ta!” the goblin screamed as it felt in the ground, and Mark scoffed as he threw away the rags that he had in his hand.
 
 
Making him come face to face with….a woman.
 
 
She was green and she was the same 4 and half feet of height as its friends. Her ears were, if possible, even larger and pointier! But that wasn’t the only thing different.
 
 
Her hair was chestnut brown, her eyes were big and wide. Her nose was pointy, yes, but was smaller than the male’s had been. Her lips were full and, well, she had a huge rack.
 
 
Breasts the size of melons were attached to this tiny female, and her waist narrowed down to an hourglass. Oh, she had a bit of chub in her stomach, but it didn’t hide the muscle underneath it.
 
 
And her hips. Good God, her hips. They might just have been the largest set Mark had ever seen on a woman, which admittedly wasn’t saying a lot but he had seen pictures!
 
 
She had an ass big enough for him to bounce coins off and…her pubic hair was as brown as her hair.
 
 
He, Mark, a base laborer with no prospects in life was in the same place as a naked woman. He, Mark, a man who had resigned himself to just making a life with meaning and purpose without a family, literally had a woman in his grasp.
 
 
He, Mark, a man who had just not only fought off 7 goblins, but killed most of them, had a woman on the ground with his hand around her ankle.
 
 
And his body all but looming on top of her.
 
 
Adrenaline was still running through his veins. The urge of violence still called. His dream was still in tatters.
 
 
But here now was a woman.
 
 
A goblin woman, to be certain, but at that moment she was the most beautiful one he had ever seen in his life.
 
 
Unwashed as she was, all the goblins were, there was the picant hint of female in her aroma, and with no clothes to get in the way, Mark could breath the fullness of her body.
 
 
Ahhh.
 
 
“Gy-ooomph!!!” the goblin woman grunted as Mark smashed his lips into hers. He didn’t know what he was doing, he had never been with a woman before, but he knew that this was how it was supposed to go.
 
 
He sucked at her mouth, drew the air out of her lungs, as he grabbed her hands with one hand as she started thrashing.
 
 
She beat upon his shoulder and she beat upon his chest. She kicked at his stomach, but, slowly, Mark grabbed both of her hands with just one of his. And used the second one to spread her legs.
 
 
“Delicious,” Mark said as he broke his first kiss. He had always fantasized about getting one and, despite how morbid these circumstances were, he could not say this didn’t live up to the image in his mind.
 
 
“Yatag fa!” the goblin woman spat on his face, but even that was more than he could have hoped to get. His tongue darted out and scooped it into his mouth, making the woman stare wide-eyed at him.
 
 
Mark kissed her again.
 
 
His tongue pushed into her mouth and his hips dug into her closed legs, eventually made them spread for him. His cock touched her vagina, because he had pulled his pants off at some point, as the woman stopped struggling as her eyes went down to his crotch.
 
 
He had a foot long dong. It was chubby, it was heavy, and it made him king of any dick-measuring contest that he had participated in. His mother had called him gifted, and promised that he would make a lady happy one day, but it was meaningless. It all was.
 
 
Until now.
 
 
“FuTANG!?” the goblin woman gasped as Mark’s cock pushed against the dark green lips that formed her vagina, drawing gushing juices out as it pressed against her entrance.
 
 
And then impaled it.
 
 
“Tia Tang, Tia Tang!” the goblin yelled as Mark expanded her insides, feeding more and more of his cock into her.
 
 
“Tang Yatag!” the female moaned as Mark’s shaft widened into her pussy as his mushroom head scraped at her insides. His precum and her female arousal lubed his cock until he got to the end.
 
 
“More,” Mark said and grounded into her, making his glans squeeze against the end of the tunnel, making the goblin female moan and slide in the dirt.
 
 
“I need more,” Mark growled as he withdrew his hips, his shaft and glans rubbing against her tight depths all the while, before he used all of his weight to smash it back in.
 
 
“Fu tang!” The goblin screamed as Mark slammed into the end of her tunnel again, her arms circling around his neck and tightly holding in.
 
 
“More!” Mark yelled as he withdrew and smashed into her again, using more speed and FORCE.
 
 
“Gya!” the goblin screeched as Mark pressed against the end of the tunnel…and felt the tunnel start to give.
 
 
His next thrust pushed the end of the tunnel even more.
 
 
The one after that made it stretched out.
 
 
And then, with lust and violence fueling his swings, Mark punched his cock into her depths.
 
 
And…broke in?
 
 
“GYA!” the goblin female screamed her heart out as Mark’s cock breached a chamber somewhere inside of her. Mark looked down and so no blood as he briefly feared so…that was a good thing?
 
 
Where had he gone?
 
 
Like, the only thing above a vagina was supposed to be…her uterus.
 
 
Oh.
 
 
The goblin female arched her back as she screamed, her face flushed and her eyes doozy.
 
 
Mark looked into them, losing himself in the sea of the golden glass hour, before deciding that it doesn’t matter. This was, in all likelihood, the only time in his life that he experienced a woman.
 
 
He withdrew his cock, managing to squeeze his glans out of her womb before, more tenderly this time, thrusting it as far as it would go.
 
 
“Hng,” the goblin only grunted this time as tears started to swell up in her eyes. She was holding tight to his neck by this time, which allowed Mark to grab her wide hips as he slammed into her cunt and womb time after time.
 
 
Again and again.
 
 
The smell of their sexual fluids was an addictive aphrodisiac in Mark’s nose, mixing with the female goblin’s body odor to produce something raw.
 
 
He kissed her again, silencing her complaints. And sped up his thrusts until his splashing her vaginal excretions into his stomach.
 
 
He felt the pressure in his lower stomach form, and his testicles started to clench. He pressed his hips as far into her as he could go and-
 
 
“I am coming!” he broke their kiss, moaning as he arched his back.
 
 
“Gya, Yatag!” the goblin moaned with him.
 
 
He pumped all the seed that his testicles could produce into her. He pumped all the sperm that could corrupt her DNA. Pint after pint, burst after burst.
 
 
Her stomach bloated a bit and then…he was done.
 
 
Mark didn’t collapse on top of the goblin, but it was a near thing. Why had no one ever told him that sex made you feel sleepy?
 
 
But maybe that was also the work of the adrenaline wearing off. Letting him feel scrapes and bruises that he hadn’t previously noticed.
 
 
He laid next to the goblin, withdrawing his cock out of her sloppy cunt. The green woman just stared into the kiss as Mark, having busted a nut, realized what he had done.
 
 
His first and certainly only time with a woman and it was in these circumstances.
 
 
“I-I am going to get my stuff,” Mark sheepishly told her. Golden eyes rolled towards him, but the goblin woman didn’t turn her head. She almost certainly didn't understand him.
 
 
“It would be bad to sleep out in this cold and-look, I am just going,” Mark rushed to say, feeling more and more horrible by the second. He got up from the ground and donned his pants again.
 
 
And then he started walking to where he left his Backpack.
 
 
But even as he started walking, the goblin didn't move from her palace. She just stayed there on her back, her legs spread and her pussy leaking his sperm as she just stared at the quickly darkening sky.
 
 
Mark left her there.
 
 
The goblin he had given the stomach wound to had managed to get up and walk quite aways before he collapsed. His breath was uneven and the cold night was quickly approaching, so Mark didn’t give him good chances.
 
 
The one whose skull he had split was still lying on the ground, some birds having come down to pick at his exposed brain. The birds scattered as Mark got his backpack and walked back to a house that might never be yet.
 
 
He left his machete in the clavicle of one goblin and had a corpse lying inside his jacket. He still hadn’t done anything about those. And the goblin girl, if she had any sense, would pick those up before she went.
 
 
It would fuck Mark over but…augh, maybe it was the least he could do for her.
 
 
Goblins. In this world. How had the feds not managed to find them? Certainly, a lot of the natives that they had first spotted once they got to this world were human-shaped from the aerial pictures, and looked quite human even from close up, but they had all assumed that was just a quirk of portals.
 
 
Maybe there was no reason why any other intelligent race should look like the evolved version of a furless monkey in the universe, but the portals that had opened up on Earth didn’t take them to other places in the universe, now did they?
 
 
But the goblins meant that Camp and humanity weren't as isolated from the natives as they thought. As they would like.
 
 
Mark would, argh, he would turn on his radio and try to get in contact with someone on his trip back. After he took stock of whatever the goblins hadn’t taken and tried to salvage anything out of this.
 
 
He was getting ready to start doing so in the morning by the time he got back to his maybe-never home. He was going to set up his tent one last time on his foundation and dream about what never was.
 
 
But the goblin female was still there.
 
 
She had his jacket in her hand, touching the seams that separated the cotton from the fur.
 
 
There was wonder in her face as she did so, up until she noticed that he was there.
 
 
Immediately she dropped the coat, and dropped down to her knees. She looked away from his face, even as he got closer.
 
 
“What are you doing?” he asked, even though he knew she wouldn’t understand. The goblin gingerly looked at his face but didn’t say anything.
 
 
“Why didn’t you escape?”
 
 
The goblin peered curiously into his face, even as Mark wondered what was going on through her head. Maybe she thought that he would hunt her down if she didn’t stay put?
 
 
Maybe she had traveled a long away, and without her group this was the only way to survive the cold nights?
 
 
Maybe the experience had so thoroughly traumatized her that she wasn’t sure what to do?
 
 
“What a mess,” Mark sighed.
 
 
The first two goblins he would do nothing about. But the three here would attract scavengers and predators. The female goblin he wasn’t sure what to do about, so he set about wrenching his machete from the goblin it was stuck in, before he started dragging their bodies to the edge of the hill.
 
 
“Traga?” the goblin female, who had followed him for some reason, pointed at the bodies that he had slung over his shoulders.
 
 
“Do you want to give them a proper burial?” Mark asked her, “Well, it doesn’t matter. I am far too tired to dig them graves and I need to set up a tent soon. If I don’t at least get rid of their bodies, I won’t be safe.”
 
 
And then he set about throwing them over the edge. One by one, the bodies all rolled down the hill, until they were lost in the canopy of the forest.
 
 
Mark felt dirty after doing that, the smell of copper and iron heavy in his nose now that it had time to settle, but the goblin hadn’t said anything after that.
 
 
Instead, she kept following him, looking and observing him as he set about setting up his tent.
 
 
“I am not going to hunt you if you leave,” Mark told her, making shooing motions with his hands, “You can go.”
 
 
The goblin frowned at his hand motions, the most emotion that he had seen since he had, well, done what he did to her.
 
 
But she stood her ground.
 
 
“What are you waiting for?” Mark asked, knowing that it was hopeless. The goblin was still glaring at him.
 
 
But she had also begun shivering.
 
 
She had tried to put the rags that Mark had ripped off back on, but it obviously wasn’t-
 
 
“Here!” Mark threw her his coat, “There, now you won’t die from the cold through the night.”
 
 
The goblin girl looked at the coat in her hand in amazement, then at Mark.
 
 
“You can go now,” Mark shooed again and, without another word, entered his tent, “Don’t let me stop you.”
 
 
But it was moments later before the entrance of his tent opened and the goblin, against all reason, was there.
 
 
“What do you want?” Mark asked in frustration.
 
 
“Kaita,” the goblin, who had wrapped his coat around her frame, simply said.
 
 
And then laid on his roll.
 
 
“Are you fucking kidding me,” Mark muttered under his breath, but there was almost no light outside now. He had flashlights, of course, but they were far too precious to hand out, “Why are you doing this?”
 
 
But the goblin didn't answer. Only got more comfy in his sheets.
 
 
Mark considered throwing her out, of course, because there was nothing about this situation that he understood.
 
 
But there she was. A female, albeit a goblin one, in his sheets.
 
 
Wasn’t this the dream?
 
 
“Have it your way,” Mark, in the end, could not turn away from one of his lifelong desires, “But don’t blame me if anything happens during the night, ok?”
 
 
Then he laid against her and the goblin girl actually scooted against him.
 
 
He was touching her again and, despite his warning, he didn’t really feel like doing anything to her. Her simply being there, in his tent with him was, well, more than he had ever hoped for. Especially from someone who was his victim.
 
 
His arms went over.
 
 
And he went to sleep.
 
 
When he woke up she was gone along with his coat.
 
 
A look around revealed that she hadn’t taken anything else.
 
 
“Well, I was willing to lose it,” Mark muttered as he set about taking stock of his home.
 
 
The goblins HAD, apparently, taken plenty of things. He had no idea for how long they had been doing it, but it was long enough that he would have to come back to town at some point to get more things.
 
 
But if he did, they would probably come back with a bigger force and take everything.
 
 
“What a mess,” Mark said again as he gathered what he could and set about planning his next steps.
 
 
The plan had always been to stock up on everything he needed before he stayed in these hills as long as it took to make his house. This was supposed to be the last trip. And then afterward he would make semi-regular trips back to exchange what he caught or harvested from the mountain in exchange for things in Camp.
 
 
Now? Now even if he could build his house, he could never leave it or it would get ransacked. Worse yet, one of the goblins had escaped and he might be coming back with more of his friends. Goblins or not, he had only taken on 6 combatants because he was just that angry.
 
 
But he had been a bad move away from dying to them.
 
 
So perhaps it was better that he leave, anyway.
 
 
But even with the rational thoughts in his mind, Mark didn’t want to abandon his would-be home. It had been his, after all.
 
 
So he stayed in his tent there for another week. It might have been the last time that he could sleep in a place that he could truly call his own, and, well, that alone was worth the risk.
 
 
At the end of that week, he woke up to see mushrooms bundled up and placed outside his tent.