Goblin King: My Innate Skill Is OP

The agony pulsed harder now, a deep, searing ache that burrowed behind my eyes.

It wasn’t just pain—it was memory. A cruel, familiar echo.

It felt like the days I’d spent in the hospital, battling the creeping rot of brain cancer—the dull electric storm that used to rage behind my temples, the splitting nausea that made every breath feel like punishment.

My pulse quickened.

Panic threaded through my chest before I could smother it. No.

It couldn’t be that. It couldn’t have returned.

But the pain didn’t care about my denial. It kept building, crawling through my nerves like fire.

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain stopped.

It didn’t fade—it snapped out of existence, leaving behind only the echo of its intensity and the dull ringing in my ears.

My body, still tense from the agony, gave out almost immediately. I slumped forward, catching myself with one arm as I tried to steady my breathing. Each inhale burned cold against my throat, my chest heaving like I’d just surfaced from deep water.

Across from me, the young female goblin wasn’t doing much better. She was on her knees, one hand pressed against her nose as dark blood streamed down between her fingers. Her breaths came out ragged and sharp, but her eyes never left me. Even bleeding, even shaking, she still had that same defiant glare.

Then she shouted, voice cracking:

”Talia, now!”

The command was enough to snap me out of my daze. I heard it—metal sliding free from a sheath, quick footsteps closing in from my left. My senses kicked back in instantly.

A shadow lunged.

I turned just in time to catch the glint of a blade coming for my side. She moved fast, but not fast enough. The strike lacked the precision of a trained killer—it was wild, desperate.

I twisted, my arm shooting out to meet hers, clamping around her wrist before the blade could find flesh.

”Too slow,” I muttered under my breath.

She cried out as I tightened my grip, her small frame jerking in pain.

”Ow! Ow—!”

And the knife clattered to the ground.

I lifted my head slowly, the haze of pain giving way to something colder. My gaze locked on the goblin who had tried to stab me, and the moment our eyes met, she froze. Her trembling lips parted, words spilling out between shaky breaths.

”I... I had no other choice,” she stammered, her voice small, barely holding itself together.

I said nothing. The adrenaline still burned through my veins, and restraint wasn’t something I had the patience for. With a sharp motion, I swung my arm to the side, flinging her away. She crashed into a small table by the tent wall, the brittle wood splintering under the impact. A pained cry escaped her as she slumped to the ground, motionless but breathing.

I turned back to the one who mattered—the young female goblin who had made me feel that agony, who had dragged up memories I thought I’d buried for good.

She tensed the moment I looked at her. Her eyes darted, calculating, and then her expression hardened. I recognized that look. The same one she’d worn just before the pain hit me—the focus, the will.

She was about to use that ability again.

Before she could so much as blink, I warped. The world folded and unfolded around me in a pulse of distortion, and I reappeared right in front of her. My hand shot out, catching her by the throat.

”Gah—!”

Her feet left the ground as I lifted her effortlessly, my fingers tightening around her neck. She kicked and clawed at my wrist, her nails scraping against my skin, but it was useless.

”Bad idea,” I muttered, my voice low, almost a growl.

The pressure in my grip increased.

I could feel her pulse hammering against my palm, frantic and weak. Part of me wanted to let her go.

The other part—the part she’d just dragged into the light—wanted to squeeze until every reminder of that pain, of those hospital days filled with the dull hum of machines and the taste of iron on my tongue, was gone.

”Are you a Chosen as well?” I growled.

Her eyes widened at that, a flicker of recognition—maybe fear—passing through them.

I tilted my head slightly. ”Don’t worry,” I murmured, my tone turning cold. ”You’ll end up like the others.”

Her expression twisted as she tried to speak, but no sound came out. Her skin had started to turn a darker shade, her lips trembling as her hands clawed weakly at my arm. The fight in her was fading fast.

That was when I caught myself.

The anger that had been roaring inside me moments ago dulled to a simmer. My fingers loosened, my breathing steadied. I could feel my heartbeat slowing, the rush of adrenaline draining out of my veins.

I eased my grip on her throat, letting her weight rest fully in my hand before finally releasing her. She fell to her knees, gasping for air, the sound harsh and uneven in the quiet tent.

I took a slow step back, dragging a hand through my hair as I exhaled deeply. I had almost lost control there. If I hadn’t stopped myself, I might have crushed her windpipe without even realizing it.

Her attack—whatever it was—had done more than just hurt me physically. It had pulled something out from the past, something I’d worked hard to bury. That same helpless pain, that same suffocating pressure I’d felt when my own body betrayed me years ago. The reminder had been too sharp, too real.

I hated that feeling.

I didn’t ever want to relive it again.

With a final breath, I forced the tension out of my body.

But then, a voice rang out ahead of me, shrill, cracking with fear yet trying to sound brave.

”Let Ziver go!

I raised my head.

It had come from one of the younglings. A goblin no taller than a toddler.

His body trembled, but he still stepped forward, fists clenched tight.

He let out...