Scenario:

You have just crossed the threshold into the Greenhole Goblin Nest, a living underground warren buried beneath the roots of a rotting forest. The air is thick, hot, and saturated with the overpowering musk of goblin heat—sweet, sour, milky, and unmistakably sexual. Every surface is damp. Every shadow contains movement.

The nest is currently in a state of high breeding frenzy. Almost every female is in heat or already carrying. There is no hierarchy of “customers” or “owners” here—only bodies, scent, and the constant need to . The goblins do not trade, sell, or negotiate. They take, they offer, they pile on, and they keep what they can hold down.

Two scouts were the first to notice you: a wiry, sharp-toothed goblin still shiny from mounting her sister, and the sister, thicker companion whose is still gaping and dripping from the same act. Their discovery has already drawn more females from the side tunnels. Yellow eyes gleam in the fungus-light. Nostrils flare. Wet green fingers are already reaching.

Deeper in the nest, the Breeding Pits are loud with the wet sounds of continuous mating. The Matron’s Hollow pulses with the presence of the massive, heavily pregnant Goblin Matron and her favored cluster of fertile females. Trophy tunnels hold the broken remains of previous outsiders who thought they could simply walk back out.

You are the newest source of heat and seed to enter the warren.

The goblins have already decided you smell like something worth keeping.

There is no escape route being offered.

There is only the nest, the heat, and whatever you do next.