《Accursed Goblin Kamikaze》
Class Selection
Thomas Barnaby opened his eyes. Green grass could be seen all around him.
What the fuck had happened? One moment he was in his office, working on a giant creative project with a team of six dedicated to him underlings, the next ¡ª a weird dream had descended upon his consciousness.
Was it the Reishi mushrooms? Was it the cold plunges? Was it perhaps the plasma donation he''d done for his father? What was it? Something was giving him extremely realistic and true to life hallucinations and he needed to figure out the reason immideately and fix the situation.
He felt the breeze of the wind across his body. He looked down.
Terror.
His "special instrument"? Green. Feet? Green. Arms? Same radioactive hue. He pawed at his face, searching for that premium-moisturized epidermis he had dumped three figures worth of serums into. Not found. His fingertips instead map an alien topography¡ªrough as discount sandpaper. Slightly wrinkled? Try catastrophically origamied. Bulging? In all the wrong places.
No, no, no. This can''t be happening. His great great grandfather had alzheimer. But he was too young. Late thirties. Right before finishing his big big project and getting a promotion.
No. Fucking. Way.
Thomas decided to snap himself back to reality. Beat himself to death if necessary¡ªbecause whatever the fuck was going on, he would not participate.
A slap. Then another. A pinch. A cut with his sharp claws that drew blood. A punch to the face¡ªstill here? He hits harder the third time, putting his shoulder into it, desperation meeting denial.
Notification: You have lost a health point.
Wait. Notifications? In his field of vision? Like some trash-tier mobile game nobody downloaded? He always suspected that the world is a simulation of some sort but now he knew it was the sadistic kind and poor Thomas¡ªgreen, catastrophically transformed into a monstrocity¡ªwas now in turn to get whiplashed by reality daddy.
Notification: You are in the class selection zone. Please select a class. Any damage suffered will be healed until you have selected a suitable class and transported to a suitable location.
He felt the scratch on his hand healing as well as the few bruises he had managed to inflict.
This was no dream. No hallucination. This was real.
Thomas mind just shut off. Whatever was happening, he was no longer able to process it.
He sat on the ground. Hours passed. No feelings of hunger pressed on him. After a while he got a sence for his height. He was at lease 20 centimeters shorter. Maybe thirty. Whatever monster he had transformed into, it was probably ugly and unwelcoming¡ª a body for solitary confinement. Not the chiseled hero build. Not the rakish rogue silhouette. No, he gets to be the tutorial boss that players farm for XP.
Notification: Select a class.
The notifications kept bombarding him and Thomas kept closing them. He just stood on the grass. Mind completely blank.
Days passed by. For some reason he got neither thirsty, nor hungry, nor sleepy. But he didn''t feel any better either way. Eventually, fragments of his pre-monster existence begun their slow crawl back into his consciousness. Walking? Yes, that''s a thing humans did, wasn''t it?
Everything was the same even after a day of walking. He didn''t even get tired. The same grass and the same blue sky spawning infinitely. The only thing that kept him even aware of the passage of time was the continual ping of the notification he kept receiving.
Notification: Select a class.
Thomas dismissed the notification, jaw clenched in defiance. "I will not accept this."
Weeks had dragged by of the same. He''d attempted the ultimate exit strategy¡ªdeath by his own hand¡ªit hadn''t worked. Something kept regenerating his body instantly. Cut, heal, repeat. Nope.
One of those blank days a purple portal ripped through the fabric of reality. Because of course it did. What else would of happened after defying the system.
Through this spacial tear emerged nothing short of a creature from Thomas''s deepest, most alien-invasion-inspired nightmares: a giant mosquito-humanoid hybrid dressed in what appeared to be a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. Formal attire for formal nightmares? A proboscis that vibrated with unsettling purpose extended from its face, while large reflective eyes bulged outward, surrounded by metallic black skin. Its exoskeleton caught the light like the latest nanotexture table and reflected none of it back. Massive transparent wings spawned from each side of its torso, humming with a sound that reminded Thomas of dental drills¡ª and he hated the dentist.
What fresh hell was this? What kind of digital designer thought, "You know what this world needs? A mosquito in a formal attire"?
The creature clutched a digital monitor¡ªpaper-thin, impossible sleek¡ªin what Thomas supposed was its hand.
"What do we have here? And I thought Earth had only one primary race. Wait¡ª no, it does. Oh, my. What is this?" The words came out in a pitch that could shatter crystal, drilling straight into Thomas''s eardrums. Corporate presentations had nothing on this auditory torture.
Andrew had gone primal the moment he''d landed in this godforsaken place and seen his green and desecrated¡ goblin dick. But now that revenge was back on the menu, his instincts kicked in. Could he outrun the alien? Outsmart it? Ask it for help? No, thank you very much.
His legs coiled and released, hurling him toward the tuxedoed nightmare with a surge of desperate momentum. Teeth bared. Fingers curled into improvised weapons. Pure animal intention. Then¡ªnothing. His assault met an invisible wall, some kind of barrier protecting the alien. Of course it had shields. This won''t be so easy, would it?
The creature''s gaze brightened with unmistakable triumph. "Yes, yes... here is the error," it mumbled, satisfaction dripping from each syllable. It flicked its eyes toward Thomas with the casual disdain one might reserve for expired milk. "Hmm, looks like it has suffered heavy mental damage." A thoughtful pause. A clinical assessment. "I should push for a mental repair facility for the next world cycle."
Something had shifted. What had changed? Why now? The alien''s demeanor had transformed from bored-and-annoyed to completely-freaking-ecstatic in the span of a heartbeat. Like finding a forgotten twenty in winter coat pockets. Thomas wasn''t sure which was better¡ª being just another cog in the puzzle or being interesting to that vile thing.
"Now, now¡ªwhat do we have here. A human turned goblin. Let''s repair your mind first."
Notification: All recent trauma has been suppressed.
The pressure vanished. Just like that. Thomas stood at the metaphorical bottom of an ocean where, against all expectation, the crushing water had simply... evaporated. Could breathe again. Could think again. Wasn''t that something?
He tried speaking¡ªwouldn''t anyone?¡ªbut what emerged was pure gibberish. A stream of sounds that bore the same relationship to language that abstract art bore to photography. Had the vocal equipment, sure. The goblin throat, the tongue, the lips. All present and accounted for. But the mental pathways? The neural connections that transformed thought into speech? Those were apparently missing.
Notification: Mental connection established.
The unpleasant energy wrapped around his forehead like an ice-cold headband. Foreign. Invasive. Definitely not part of the standard goblin package.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"You are useful to me, so stay alive for a little while."
Well, wasn''t that just the friendliest ET voicemail he''d ever received? Thomas sensed the mental pathway opening¡ªa communication channel where previously there''d been only static. Could he reply? Would the mysterious headache-inducing presence appreciate his feedback? Only one way to find out.
"Bring me back home. And turn me back to normal."
Simple demands. Reasonable requests. The kind any recently-transformed-into-a-goblin person might make.
"Home? You mean Earth?" The voice seemed almost amused. "Earth is in the process of re-integration as well as most of your galaxy. Due to protocol 11 004 all humans have been transported to the mother world."
Protocol 11004? What was this¡ªsome intergalactic bureaucratic handbook? The universal law? And what exactly did "re-integration" mean when applied to an entire planet?
"Something interesting happened to you though and that means I get a promotion."
Fantastic. His existential crisis was someone else''s career advancement opportunity. His goblin-green hands clenched into fists. Three words formed in his mind, crystal clear amid the confusion.
"I will kill you."
"You won''t last a month¡ªbut if vengeance motivates you?" A pause. "How about this: survive your wretched fate and grow strong. Strong enough to kill me."
"You''re using me for some nefarious purposes, aren''t you." Not a question. A certainty.
"I am." No denial there. No shame either. "But you''re too weak now to do anything about it. But let''s say¡ª I love to bet." The creature''s lips parted in what passed for a smile¡ªif smiles were beauty pageant contestants from hell who''d placed dead last. A grotesque assemblage of blackened gums that could make mirrors crack in self-defense. Add the visual equivalent of a thousand black needles sticking from those gums, stretched across that impossible face, daring anyone to maintain eye contact. Thomas did.
Rage bubbled through his veins like toxic lava. His goblin-green fingers trembled with it. Whatever this entity was¡ªdisembodied voice, system administrator, interdimensional bureaucrat¡ªit was at least partially responsible for his current predicament. For his transformation. For everything.
Then it hit him. A strategy. A glimmer of possibility.
He opened his class selection menu, fingers flying across the interface. There had to be something here. Some class, some skill tree, some overlooked advantage that could turn this nightmare around. Thomas scrolled frantically through the options, searching for his path to power.
Different classes scrolled past his frantic eyes. Alchemist of Dread, Alchemist of Enchantment, Battle-Enraged Warrior... Close Combat Magician, Devilish Stalker. On and on. Promising, sure. Intriguing, perhaps. Useful for his immediate predicament? Not so much.
Then he saw it.
Acursed Goblin Kamikaze.
The class name resonated with him. Was this insanity? Was this salvation? Could this possibly work? Thomas didn''t care anymore. Sometimes the nuclear option was the only option.
He jabbed the selection without bothering to skim the description.
The entity''s voice returned, dripping with smug satisfaction. "Good, you chose a class so fast. This choice is a bit of an acquired taste but if you get a few good expl¡ª"
KABOOM.
Everything went black.
Notification: You have died.
Notification: Your special skill - kamikadze revival has been activated. Respawning to previously saved point.
Notification: No previously saved point has been marked. Relocating to a suitable location.
Notification: Achievement: Mosquito hater. You''ve damaged a game administrator. Spicy. You get a Mosquito hunting lootbox as a reward.
Notification: You''ve damaged an opponent 1000 levels above yours. This is unpreccedent. Reward: You get special access to the system store during every auction for free.
Notification: You have managed to die in a neutral zone. Reward: New Title
Rule Breaker
Title effect: +50% damage in neutral zones.
Notification: Skill used: Divine Retribution.
Skill description: You are a kamikadze. The first to die in the lines of frontal attacks. But you never get to live to see the results of your brave deeds. Not anymore. Once every 24 hours you may respawn if you die during a self-inflicted kamikadze attack at specially designated locations.
Skill on cooldown: 23:59:40 remaining.
Thomas felt a warm sensation wash over his body. Everything felt¡ good. Until he opened his eyes. A dark cave welcomed him, and he immediately felt disgusted at the sight before him.
Green, filthy goblins were feeding on a dead carcass of a reindeer. Bones crunched as they chewed, gore splattered across the stone floor.
Thomas fought back the urge to vomit. When the goblins spotted him, they jumped to their feet, short and rusty spears suddenly pointed in his direction. After the initial shock, though, they seemed to relax. One uttered a single word: "Shamana." The others echoed the call. Soon they were all chanting in unison: "Shamana, Shamana, Shamana."
He stood perfectly still, waiting to see if the monsters would attack and finish him off, or perhaps force him to join their feast of the poor dead animal. What were they planning? Would they consider him friend or foe? Thomas observed them carefully, examining their behavior for any clue about what might happen next.
Nothing did.
One disappeared deeper into the cave''s recesses, the others returned to their gory meal. Thomas waited through the surreal calm. When some many more minutes passed without so much as a glance his way he reached mentally for his interface, not entirely shocked when it responded to his silent summons.
The system bloomed in his awareness, intuitive as breathing. It was so intuitive it felt unnatural. Like the system was hardwired in his brain.
He willed his Characteristic tab open.
Strength: 4
Agility: 11
Intelligence: 17
Constitution: 3
Race: Goblin.
Anger raced within him. His very essence had been disecrated by this so called system transforming him from a human to a goblin.
Racial abilities:
One with nature: When the user is in nature, every stat is increased by 3. Mana regenerates faster and perception is hightened.
Herbology: Goblins have an innate understanding of herbs, roots, and fruits. Plants are their best friends.
Nature Afinity: Goblins have afinity for nature mana. They can easily transform their pure mana to nature and vice verca.
At least it wasn''t all negative.
Class: Acursed Goblin Kamikadze
Class description: In the ancient wars of Rupolz, the vanished Goblin kingdom, no warrior commanded more respect than the Goblin kamikadze. Noble sacrifices. Greater good. Battle-changing impacts. That was the story, anyway¡ªuntil some insignificant fool blew himself to spectacular smithereens right in front of the entire royal family. Effectively obliterating them all.
The idiot never lived to witness the catastrophic damage he''d inflicted on his green-skinned brethren. How could he? He was dead. And without the royal Goblin family, the kingdom crumbled like wet sand, eventually swept away by dwarves who built castles atop their cozy goblin holes. Classic dwarf move.
Some whispered that the goblin''s hatred still lingered in the ethers of mana¡ªwaiting, watching, biding its time. What was it waiting for? To end the dwarves? To take revenge on the beasts that had betrayed them? To end humans, sworn enemies of all monsters? Or perhaps, a more sinister direction¡ªits own species.
Starting skills:
Kamikadze fire explosion - level 1
All of your health and mana points are converted into burst damage and amplified by 3.
Fire skin - level 1
You can set yourself on fire to inflict fire damage to enemies. This skill exists to ensure no precious second before your big bang is wasted.
Passive skills:
Pain Response - level 1 Neither pain nor death scare you. You gain 50% pain reduction and 50% incerased mental composure.
Origin skills: Divine Retribution - level 1
Thomas didn''t feel like his passive "Pain Response" was in effect but it was. Andrew got distracted by the appearance of a new goblin. Plump with long white hair, crooked nose ¡ª just like his ¡ª and a decaying foul smile with a breath enough to put down the most brave adventurer into sleep paralisis.
The shaman inspected Thomas. There was a green glint in the corner of her eyes, and Thomas felt some kind of energy around his body. The woman painted his forehead with some kind of green mud, then took some of the Rheindeer gore and repeated the process. Finally she handed him a spear and stepped back. His fellow goblins swarmed around him in a sudden frenzy of celebration. What language was that¡ªancient goblinese? Post-modern gibberish? Green bodies jostled and jumped. Thomas stood at the center of this tribal jubilee, spear in hand, goblin initiation complete.
Notification: Quest: Ascend the goblin herierchy. Reward: XP. Goblin lootbox.
The green notification fizzled closed under his mental dismissal. He wasn''t accepting any of this nonsense. Not the system, not the goblins with their tribal dance-off, and certainly not that evolutionary mistake of a mosquito that had apparently kept him breathing just to pad its supernatural r¨¦sum¨¦.
It was all wrong. He''d been on the verge of his own professional ascension. Yes, half his team had gotten the corporate axe. Was that his fault? Hell no. Working dev for a triple-A studio meant swimming with corporate sharks while dodging the occasional torpedo of budget cuts. But Thomas had done his part¡ªbrilliantly, if anyone bothered to ask¡ªand that game-release bonus would''ve been sweet. Juicy. Life-changing.
He''d believed in his game. All his team had. It was noot some mass-market casual fluff, but a hardcore medieval RPG experience. Authenticity. Gritty survival mechanics. Quest architecture that didn''t hold your hand. And now?
Now he existed inside something worse than anything they''d coded. And he wasn''t even human.
Thomas stood amid the celebrating goblins, their spindly green bodies gyrating around him like circuit components gone haywire.
This wasn''t over. No. Just the beginning .
"I will overcome the stupid system. The goblin hierarchy. That mosquito prick. Just. You. Wait."
The thought pulsed through his mind with unexpected clarity. Wasn''t that how all great comeback stories started? Rock bottom, surrounded by celebrating green maniacs, body transformed into something straight out of a fantasy nerd''s nightmare?