You have received the FEAR debuff! You cannot move until your next turn.

  James struggled against the debuff, hoping it would be like the combat freeze, where high enough agility points would give him a window of opportunity. Or maybe in this case it would be willpower? Either way, his stats were way above average, and by all rights, he should be able to get out of this. Hell, as the Hero he figured he ought to have some kind of blanket immunity to bullshit like this. Like a Passive ability that protected him from psychic attacks.

  With all three of them frozen in Fear, the shaman was able to take its time entering the cave. The goblin was taller than most, and it was swathed in so many animal furs that it looked bulky — but it was still a goblin, and this was definitely one of those situations where the shadow looked way larger than the creature itself. It reminded James of that scene in the Lion King where Scar and the hyenas are introduced.

  The shaman raised its twiggy arms and began to chant. Its voice was guttural and strained, like an animal that had barely evolved enough to speak. Its staff glowed with sickly green light. Then each of the candles flashed, and needles of light shot from the candle wicks to each of the party members.

  HP -5!

  HP -10!

  HP -4!

  They would have cried out, had their debuff not kept them completely immobilized. The longer it lasted, the more frantically James fought it. In some ways, the pain of those lancing attacks was a relief, in the way that scratching an itch helped as much as it hurt.

  He couldn’t move. He couldn’t twitch or fidget or flinch, and that was so much more agonizing than he’d have imagined it to be.

  The shaman took his time. He knew that his enemies were frozen for at least a little longer, and he had the time to spare.

  James wanted to narrow his eyes, but he couldn’t even do that much. God, he couldn’t even blink. But it was technically his turn, and the goblin was moving around unbothered by the normal combat haze.

  Did that mean there was more to it than timing? There was something about Grimora’s combat structure that hinged on…what? Intent? Ability? Did this mean that if the enemy didn’t know he was there, he’d be able to move freely on the enemy turn?

  There was so much he didn’t know, and he’d wasted so many low-level fights not doing science, simply because he didn’t know what he didn’t know. It hadn’t occurred to him that this was an exploit he could take advantage of, if he could learn something new.

  The shaman dipped his whole staff into the bubbling cauldron and gave it a stir, three times counterclockwise and then once clockwise. Then he cupped his palms together and drank the viscous liquid.

  James’s turn ended. Then it was Desiree’s turn, but only the goblin was moving.

  The shaman dipped his hands in once more and drank deeply. He continued to drink, and as he did so, James noticed that the goblins skin began to ripple, slowly at first and then very noticeably. The shaman yelled a barbaric battle cry, and then he began to grow. Like the Hulk, his bones stretched and his muscles bulged. That thick stack of hides spread out to cover his new, larger body.

  Desiree’s turn ended, and Inara’s began.

  The goblin’s staff looked like a stick in his meaty hand. He tossed it aside and cracked his knuckles, then his neck. Thick pops of bone against bone echoed in the dimly lit cave.

  Inara’s turn ended. The goblin realized that it was running out of time, but its mouth widened into a nasty grin, showing sharp teeth and a blood-red tongue.

  Desiree was closest. The tattered green notebook was held in her hands.

  The goblin reared back, then punched her with a fist that was half her size.

  Desiree went flying. She crashed into the fur-covered floor, and arrows went flying overhead where she tripped the traps.

  Enemy turn!

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  The traps didn’t engage when the goblin passed them. Probably as a kind of magical protection, where he was recognized as a friendly.

  He stomped over to Inara. She glared with all the fury she could muster, but that did little against a closed fist. She, too, went flying. She crashed against the wall of the cave, then slumped to the floor.

  Your turn!

  At last! James spent a few valuable seconds shaking his body out, then took hold of his axe and went running. He held it low and a little behind, similar to how Inara wielded her staff. That way, when he reached the goblin, he’d have a little extra momentum.

  The blade of the axe slammed into the goblin’s side — and did hardly any damage. James was able to slice through the furs, but they were thick enough to stop him from doing any real damage.

  He reared back, not caring that he was trading away his chance to run away. He swung again, and this time the axe slid right into the gap he’d made in the goblin’s fur armor. The weapon drank goblin blood and sang with satisfaction.

  His turn ended, and Desiree’s began. The girl jumped to her feet, but she didn’t join the fight. Instead, she went back to the cauldron, and she drank the last of it.

  Like the goblin, her skin began to ripple. Her bones elongated, and her muscles bulged. Her armor did not grow, and she cried out as metal dug into her skin, until the leather bands finally gave way and popped free.

  When her body finally settled into the changes, Desiree turned to the goblin and grinned.

  Her turn ended, and Inara’s began. Like her daughter, Inara picked herself quickly up off the floor. Like James, she grabbed her weapon and went to work. Her first attack did no damage, merely slicing open the furs on the shaman’s leg. The second, though, dug deep. She sliced open a thick line along the creature’s ankle, and it bellowed with pain.

  Virgil went next. “Hellflame Bolt!” Black flames lanced from his fingertips, deftly dodged his teammates and snaked under the shaman’s armor.

  The shaman shook like he’d been struck by lightning. His eyes rolled back, and smoke came out of his ears and nose. He whimpered, so softly James wasn’t sure he’d heard it. And then, like a deflating balloon, the shaman returned to his initial size.

  Then it was the goblins turn once more. His eyes were wide with fear that hadn’t been there before. He backed away, his eyes locked on Virgil, then stumbled to the ground and began to cry.

  Your turn!

  James hefted his axe. He… did not feel good about this. Just a minute ago, the shaman had been absolutely terrifying. Now, way too suddenly, the creature was a blubbering mess.

  He glanced uneasily at Virgil. That hellflame of his must have a psychological component to it. That was the only thing that could explain the shaman’s sudden collapse.

  Still. This wasn’t a place where mercy could exist. He was on a quest to clear the dungeon, and that included the shaman, weird psychological experiment or not.

  He raised his axe high, like he’d seen executioners do in movies. And then he let it fall; let gravity take the reigns; and the goblin’s head rolled.

  Critical hit!

  The goblin lost a big chunk of health, but what should have realistically been a killing blow— wasn’t. Once James’s turn ended, the goblins head rolled back onto his shoulders, and he resumed his kneeling position.

  Desiree stomped over. She raised one oversized foot and squished the goblin beneath her boot.

  Critical hit!

  Another large chunk of health gone, but the damn monster still wasn’t dead. James glared at it, as if the force of his disgust alone would be enough to knock off another point or two of damage.

  Inara closed in and, in a display of incredible precision, repeated James’s maneuver, slicing the goblin’s head clean off.

  Critical hit!

  The head bounced and rolled across the floor, but as soon as Inara’s turn ended, it reappeared once more atop the shaman’s shoulders.

  Virgil closed his eyes like he didn’t want to go through this again. He pointed at the shaman and then, turning away as he did so, he whispered, “Hellflame Bolt.”

  Once again, the black flames lanced toward their target, snaked beneath his armor, and seemed to burn him from the inside out. The goblin trembled and wept. His staff clattered to the floor.

  And his health dropped to zero.

  Defeated lvl 18 Goblin Shaman! +30,000 EXP!

  The haze of combat faded, and Desiree stomped a disappointed foot. She was still huge, her armor in tatters around her grotesquely swollen body.

  “Did you have to kill him so fast?” she pouted. “I wanted to step on him again.”

  Inara looked up, up, and up at her daughter, and gave her best mom glare. “Consider that your consequence for drinking a strange potion! You don’t know what kind of side-effects that could have. And you’ve ruined your armor!”

  Desiree rolled her eyes. “It wore off real fast on him anyway, just let me enjoy this.”

  James covered his laugh with a cough and looted the shaman. It dissolved into dust and left behind the staff. It was a gnarled, twisted branch wrapped in colorful feathers and bone charms. Beneath the wood hummed a faint, wild energy.

  The loot immediately captured Desiree’s attention. “Ooh! Oh! I want that! Can I have it?!?”

  Goblin Shaman’s Staff

  This staff channels the raw forces of nature through the shaman’s hands, enhancing the power and precision of elemental attacks. Fire blazes brighter, winds howl sharper, waters surge stronger, and earth trembles beneath its command — all while the staff’s mischievous spirit seems to chuckle whenever a spell lands just right.

  James considered. “Looks like it boosts elemental damage. You think that would be helpful?”

  Virgil interjected. “Elemental damage does not include holy or infernal,” he said. “Those are considered otherworldly, so this staff wouldn’t strengthen Desiree’s attacks.”

  The girl pouted.

  Inara patted her on the head. “Maybe we can find some feathers for your staff.”

  Desiree beamed. “Thanks, mom.”