John turned toward the grand staircase. It was massive, sweeping up from the center of the main hall in a wide, elegant curve, its steps made of white marble that gleamed under the chandeliers. The banisters were carved from dark wood, decorated with gold leaf and intricate scrollwork, and red velvet runners ran down the center of each section, muffling footsteps and adding a splash of color to the otherwise pale stone. Torches lined the walls at regular intervals, their flames casting flickering shadows that danced across the faces of the nobles who stood on the lower steps, watching him with expressions of disgust and fear.
John started climbing.
The whispers began immediately, a low hum of voices that followed him up the stairs like a swarm of angry bees. He heard every word. His goblin ears were sharp, and the acoustics in this place were apparently designed to carry sound, whether the speakers wanted it to or not.
"Look at that thing," a woman in a purple gown hissed to her companion. "A goblin. In the palace. At the gala. What is this world coming to?"
Her companion, a man with a waxed mustache and a monocle, sniffed loudly. "Someone ought to throw it out. Immediately. Before it contaminates the air with its filth."
John kept climbing, his boots clicking on the marble, his silver-gray curls bouncing. He didn't look at them. Didn't acknowledge them. Let them talk.
Another voice, this one younger, more shrill. "It's going upstairs! What business does a goblin have upstairs? That's where the private chambers are. The guest rooms."
A different woman gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh, heavens. It's going to creep on the women. I knew it. I knew something like this would happen. Filthy creatures, all of them. No self-control."
John's jaw tightened, but he kept his face neutral. He was almost halfway up now, the crowd thinning as he ascended. The nobles on the upper steps were backing away, pressing themselves against the walls like they were afraid he might bite.
"I heard they eat children," a man whispered, his voice carrying despite his attempt at discretion. "Goblins. They steal babies from their cradles and devour them raw."
"Disgusting," another agreed. "Next thing you know, he'll be raping the next woman he sees. Probably already has his eye on someone. Poor soul."
"Someone should sound the alarm. Call the guards. We can't just let a monster wander around unchecked."
"Monster. That's what it is. A monster."
John reached the top of the staircase and paused, turning to look back down at the crowd. Dozens of faces stared up at him, some pale with fear, some flushed with outrage, some twisted into expressions of pure, unadulterated hatred. He grinned, wide and sharp, showing his fangs.
So he was a monster for killing rapists? How ironic. These people, these nobles in their fancy clothes and their jeweled accessories, they probably knew exactly what Zedrik and Alrick were. Probably invited them to galas like this one, laughed at their jokes, drank wine with them. And now they were calling him a monster for putting a stop to it.
Whatever. He didn't need their approval.
John turned away from the crowd and walked down the upper corridor, his boots echoing on the polished floor. The hallway was quieter here, the sounds of the gala fading behind him. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes of knights and dragons and damsels in distress. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling, casting warm pools of light at regular intervals. Doors lined both sides of the corridor, each one marked with a small brass plaque indicating the room number.
"System," John said quietly. "Give me directions to Zedrik. Which room is he in?"
A blue screen flickered to life in front of him.
Do I have to? I'm tired. You've made me do all the work tonight.
"Just tell me which room."
Fine. Room 217. Third door on the left. Happy now?
"Ecstatic."
John walked down the corridor, counting doors. First door on the left. Second door on the left. Third door. The plaque read 217 in elegant gold script. He stopped in front of it, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
The room beyond was a bedroom, lavish and ornate, with a massive four-poster bed dominating the center of the space. Heavy curtains of deep crimson velvet hung from the canopy, partially drawn, revealing the figures on the mattress. Candles burned on the nightstands, their flames flickering in the draft from the open door, casting warm golden light across the rumpled sheets.
Zedrik was naked, his pale skin gleaming in the candlelight, his muscular body positioned on top of the noblewoman from earlier. Her dark hair was spread across the pillow like a fan, her blue silk dress bunched up around her waist, exposing her legs and the delicate lace of her panties. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, her pupils dilated from whatever drug Zedrik had slipped into her drink. She wasn't fighting. She wasn't even fully aware of what was happening.
Zedrik's hand was between her legs, fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down. His cock was hard, already leaking, pressed against her thigh. He hadn't penetrated her yet. He was taking his time, savoring the moment, enjoying the power.
The woman turned her head slightly, her eyes trying to focus on Zedrik's face. "What's... what's going on?" Her voice was slurred, confused. "I feel... strange. Where am I?"
Zedrik smiled, that charming, handsome smile that had fooled so many. "You're in my room, my lady. You weren't feeling well, remember? I brought you here to rest."
"I... I don't..." The woman's brow furrowed, her mind struggling to piece together the fragments of memory. "I think I should... I should go..."
"Shh," Zedrik whispered, leaning down to kiss her neck. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."
John had seen enough.
He stepped into the room, his boots silent on the thick carpet, and raised his hand. Threads extended from his fingertips, thin as spider silk, sharp as razors. Zedrik didn't hear him approach. Didn't sense him at all. He was too focused on the woman beneath him, too lost in his own sick desires.
John didn't give Zedrik time to realize what was happening.
The threads lashed out, wrapping around Zedrik's throat in a single, fluid motion. John pulled, and the silk sliced through flesh, bone, and sinew like a hot knife through butter. Zedrik's head came off cleanly, severing at the neck, and for a moment, the body remained upright, still poised over the woman, still frozen in the act of assault.
Then the head fell.
It landed on the woman's chest, bouncing once before rolling onto the pillow beside her. Zedrik's green eyes were still open, still filled with that smug satisfaction, frozen forever in the moment of his death. His body followed a second later, collapsing sideways onto the bed, blood pumping from the stump of his neck in thick, rhythmic spurts that soaked the sheets and the woman's dress.
The woman blinked slowly, her drugged mind struggling to process what had just happened. She looked down at her chest, at the blood spattered across her blue silk, at the head resting on the pillow beside her. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened.
And then she screamed.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH"
It was a high, piercing sound, raw with terror and confusion, a scream that echoed through the room and out into the corridor beyond. She thrashed on the bed, trying to push herself away from the corpse, but her limbs were sluggish, uncooperative, her body still heavy with the drug.
John sighed and stepped forward, reaching down to touch her forehead. Her skin was warm, clammy with sweat, and she flinched at his touch, her eyes darting toward his face. She saw the goblin features, the silver curls, the yellow eyes, and her scream cut off abruptly, replaced by a choked sob.
"Please," she whimpered. "Please don't hurt me."
John didn't answer. He just focused, called up the teleportation function, and sent her away. The woman vanished in a flash of blue light, her body disappearing from the bed, leaving only a bloodstained imprint on the sheets. She would wake up in his mansion, confused and terrified, but alive. Unharmed. He would figure out what to do with her later.
For now, he had two dead rapists, a room full of blood, and a gala full of nobles who had no idea what had just happened.