novelbin Chapter 258: Mass Reproduction!
Chapter 258: Mass Reproduction!
Byung shared this moment with Grishka and it cemented his way with her because Byung was certain he had released enough semen to get her pregnant. Their bodies had been intertwined for hours, her massive frame enveloping his smaller form in a way that felt both protective and possessive. He’d felt the heat of her, the way she’d responded to his touch despite her inexperience, the way she’d learned his rhythm with surprising speed.
He had no idea if it would have been better to do this before he was corrupted by the dark magic, but if he could breed even more people with access to his kind of magic then it would increase their chances of survival once the barrier fell. The thought had crossed his mind during their coupling—would his offspring inherit the corruption? Would they be born with mana pathways like his? Would they evolve as he had? There were too many unknowns, but doing nothing wasn’t an option.
Byung knew he had to mass reproduce. The mathematics were simple. More bodies meant more strength. More strength meant better chances when the inevitable war came. He could use the less evolved goblins to create weapons and do the more tedious work—there was no such thing as a freeloader in his settlement. Everyone would contribute. Everyone would serve a purpose.
It would keep this society moving. Even in his previous world, the menial jobs were assigned to men with less fortune, skill, and talent than the others. That was simply how civilizations functioned. Some were born to lead. Others were born to follow. And some were born to build the tools that made everything else possible.
Byung told her his plan in detail, how he planned to have his goblins mass reproduce with the all-female Stonehide tribe which she led. His hands traced patterns on her scarred skin as he spoke, his voice low and measured. The Stonehide women numbered over a dozen. His goblin population had grown to almost three hundred. The potential for offspring was staggering.
Grishka listened to him explain, but Byung left out everything about magic, the barrier, and why he truly needed them to mass reproduce. He didn’t mention the corrupted creatures gathering beyond the elven territories. He didn’t mention the dark continent or the entities that had possessed Kragg. He didn’t mention that he was building an army for a war that most of them didn’t even know was coming.
All Byung said was he wanted the next generation to be able to stand on their own, and this would also serve as a means for them to reproduce without his aid. A self-sustaining population. A civilization that could grow and thrive long after he was gone. It was a half-truth, which made it easier to sell.
Grishka didn’t need an explanation for his reasoning. All he needed to do was tell her and she would do it. That was the nature of their relationship now. She trusted him absolutely. She believed in him with a faith that bordered on religious devotion.
Grishka found this logical and told him she had no problem—or rather, gestured to him as she couldn’t speak. Her massive hands moved in the language they’d developed together, signing her agreement, her understanding, her willingness to make this happen.
But everyone thought it was medicine Byung had used to help them reproduce, without knowing it was his blood. The goblins who’d drunk it had evolved. Their speech had improved. Their cognition had sharpened. Their bodies had grown stronger. They attributed it to some alchemical concoction Byung had created, some mystical remedy from his vast knowledge. They had no idea they were drinking the essence of something that had died and come back wrong.
Grishka left him to pass on the message to her tribe members. Grishka was like their god, so there was no way they would say no—especially since she’d saved them all. She’d liberated them from the Stonehide’s brutal system, where they were treated as nothing more than breeding stock for the strongest males. Under Byung’s rule, they would still breed, but they would have purpose beyond that. They would have value.
This left Byung alone in his room, and all he did was carry a knife and cut into his flesh. The blade was sharp—one of the better ones his smiths had forged. He pressed it against his forearm and drew it across in one smooth motion. The cut was deep, penetrating muscle and scraping against bone.
"Shit, did I cut an artery?" Byung thought to himself, watching the way the blood was gushing. It poured out in rhythmic spurts that matched his heartbeat, the pressure suggesting he’d nicked something important.
Byung just stared as it poured into the wooden gigantic bowl he’d positioned beneath his arm. The green fluid filled it up rapidly, darker than normal blood, almost luminescent in the torchlight. It had an oily quality to it, a viscosity that seemed wrong.
The green fluids filled it up and Byung wanted to see if he could bleed to death. It was a morbid curiosity, an experiment born of the same impulse that had driven him to test the limits of his evolution. Could his body fail him? Could he die from something as mundane as blood loss? Or had his transformations rendered him truly immortal?
But something fascinating happened. Byung’s wound closed up less than two minutes in. He watched with clinical detachment as the flesh knitted itself back together, muscle fibers reconnecting, skin sealing over the gap as if it had never been there. Even the scar tissue formed and faded in real-time, leaving only smooth skin behind.
"Accelerated healing?" Byung thought to himself, but it would make sense. If his body evolved after dying, his healing would be a major factor. Death had taught his cells to fight back against damage, to rebuild faster, to refuse to stay broken. It was another advantage in a growing list of advantages.
"So there are things I still don’t know about this body," Byung thought to himself. The revelation was both exciting and concerning. What other abilities was he unaware of? What other changes had occurred beneath his skin?
But this orgy he was about to arrange—that was the priority now. They would all need to drink his blood, but it was easy for him to mix other ingredients and call it medicine. Some herbs for flavor. Some honey for sweetness. Some crushed roots to give it texture. These people were gullible and Byung knew he could use this to his advantage because there would be nothing left to stop him from accomplishing his goals.
The bowl was nearly full now, several liters of his corrupted blood ready to be distributed. He’d cut himself again if he needed to. He’d bleed himself dry a dozen times over if it meant building the army he needed.
Byung knew he needed to see Grigmor. This was proof that evolution was possible for his race, and it all started with his blood.
-
Borkle was with Sneegle and Poggle, the hierarchy was somewhat distorted right now because Murkfang no longer held any significant position, which meant Borkle was basically their equal. The old order had crumbled. The strong survived, and those three had proven themselves in ways that demanded respect.
They’d earned his respect by fighting for Byung. They could have been killed but managed to survive even that. The battle against the dwarf, the desperate defense of the settlement, the chaos when Byung had died and come back—they’d stood their ground through all of it.
They could have easily joined the goblins who hid but chose to fight. That choice had elevated them. That choice had marked them as something more than common goblins.
The goblins could speak properly now. They no longer spoke in broken sentences, and this was all thanks to Byung. Their evolution had been remarkable—from grunting creatures barely capable of complex thought to individuals who could speak properly.
They spoke about Byung and how he managed to do something they never thought possible, how he managed to unite the goblins and orcs under one banner. It had seemed like a fantasy just months ago. Goblins and orcs had been enemies for generations. And yet here they were, living side by side, breeding together, building something new.
But it was funny considering one of these goblins tried to bully him in the past. Poggle had been particularly cruel to Byung before his first death, mocking his size, his weakness, his refusal to follow the traditional goblin hierarchy. Now Poggle spoke of him with reverence, with awe, with genuine loyalty.
They caught up on the events of recent weeks, sharing stories and observations. And a female orc from the Stonehide tribe soon joined them, her presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. She was younger than Grishka, softer around the edges, but still carried the brutal efficiency of her tribe.
Poggle and Sneegle laughed the moment they saw Borkle become flustered by her presence. His normally confident demeanor crumbled. His speech, so eloquent just moments before, devolved into stammering half-sentences.
Even he didn’t have experience with females and it showed. But Poggle and Sneegle were still fresh off their night with female orcs a few months back, unlike Borkle, who had last tasted the sweetness of a female in months. They ribbed him mercilessly, making crude jokes about his inexperience, his obvious attraction, his complete inability to function in her presence.
The female orc asked what they were talking about, and the stories about Byung continued. They told her about his first death, his resurrection, his evolution. They told her about the dwarf, about the prison world, about how Byung had faced down threats that should have annihilated him. They told her about his intelligence, his planning, his ability to see ten steps ahead of everyone else.
And as the night wore on, as the conversation shifted from admiration to something more intimate.
-
Kraghul was in a deep slumber, but what he was seeing was anything but peaceful.
He was fighting through a crowd of creatures from different races—orcs, goblins, elves, dwarves, things he couldn’t even name. His axe swung in desperate arcs, cleaving through flesh and bone, but for every enemy he cut down, two more took their place.
His sisters lay on the floor, dismembered. Thulga’s body was torn in half, her intestines spilled across the ground like twisted rope. Roktha’s head sat separate from her shoulders, eyes still open, still aware.
All except for the youngest. She was still alive, still breathing, still whole.
But at the helm of it all was a creature with horns. Massive, curved things that jutted from its skull like weapons. It stood easily eight feet tall, its body humanoid but wrong in ways Kraghul couldn’t articulate. Its skin was mottled gray and black, covered in symbols that seemed to writhe and shift.
He had his hand around the last sister’s neck, lifting her off the ground. Her feet kicked weakly at the air. Her hands clawed at the fingers crushing her windpipe. Her eyes found Kraghul’s, pleading, begging, desperate.
Kraghul tried to scream but his throat was crushed. He couldn’t remember when it had happened, but he couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t make sound. He was drowning in air, suffocating while his sister died in front of him.
The creature turned back at him with a sinister grin, its teeth sharp and numerous, row upon row of them like a shark. Its eyes glowed with an inner fire that reminded Kraghul of something he’d seen before but couldn’t place.
Before snapping her neck.
The sound was impossibly loud—a crack that echoed through the battlefield, through Kraghul’s skull, through his very soul. Her body went limp. Her eyes went dark. She was gone.
But there was something familiar about this creature. There was something about it that Kraghul recognized. He knew who this person was, but couldn’t place his finger on it in that moment. The knowledge danced at the edge of his consciousness, just out of reach, taunting him with its proximity.
The horns. The eyes. The way it moved. The way it smiled.
He knew this creature but his mind couldn’t make the connection.
The dream felt real, and each time this scenario played—and it had played dozens of times now—he would wake up screaming. His throat raw. His body soaked in sweat. His heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
Kraghul’s eyes snapped open. The darkness of the room pressed in on him. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. Maui’s settlement. Safe. His sisters sleeping nearby.
It was just a dream. Just a nightmare.
But as his breathing slowly returned to normal, as his pulse gradually settled, Kraghul couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen something important. Something true but his mind always forgot the dream right after.