Book One - Chapter Twenty-Ten: Fifty Shades of Goblin

And that's when the doors exploded inward, and in walked the most gloriously random delegation I had ever witnessed in my life.

The Xarnathi leader looked like a cosmic thrift store had detonated directly on top of him. His outfit was a masterpiece of randomness, carefully maintained knickknacks from dozens of different worlds that by all rights should have clashed horribly but instead created something that looked deliberately, intentionally magnificent. His staff was topped with what I could swear was an authentic Earth Beanie Baby, and he wore an honest-to-god Snuggie draped over one arm like it was a royal banner passed down through generations of goblin kings.

Behind him walked several other Xarnathi of various sizes and apparent ranks, including one absolutely massive female who caught my eye the moment she entered and waved at me with shy, enthusiastic recognition.

Green Lady! She was actually here.

“This is completely and utterly unacceptable! I demand to speak…” the Karen leader protested, her stammering voice reaching a pitch that made everyone in the room and audience at home wince. “They cannot simply burst in here and… and—”

“Oh shut it, Karen,” the ancient goblin said, the sound raspy and deep.

She scoffed and sputtered but remarkably, incredibly, she actually did shut it.

The Xarnathi leader stood before the assembled representatives of galactic civilization, his presence somehow commanding despite the Beanie Baby staff and what appeared to be a collection of bottle caps hanging from his belt. When he spoke, his voice had a sort of barely contained mischief. Like he had seen enough of the universe to truly understand life, and to find most of it hilariously absurd.

“We have deliberately stayed away from your meetings and your bureaucratic masturbation sessions for many generations, and for very good reasons.” He gestured broadly at the assembled delegations. “Your pathological love of paperwork, your self-indulgent regulations, your absolutely breathtaking capacity to cause harm while claiming to provide help. You take the infinite beauty and chaos of existence and try to stuff it into filing cabinets.”

His words seemed to settle over the chamber like a heavy blanket.

“We Xarnathi love this universe in all its chaotic, unpredictable, magnificent glory. We understand that existence is vast beyond comprehension and contains all manner of beings—beautiful ones, terrible ones, and most commonly, beings who are both at the same time. So we have tolerated your endless political theater and stayed out of your way wherever possible.”

He began to pace, his mismatched robes flowing around him.

“However, recent events have forced our direct intervention in these proceedings.”

“You're too late, Babbleclank,” the Karen leader snarled, having apparently recovered her voice and decided to waste it immediately. “Their fate has been sealed by due process and proper procedure.”

“Actually,” Chairman Glazial interjected, and I caught something that might have been relief in his predatory features, “we have not yet completed the final vote on the charges. As King Babbleclank and the Xarnathi are official founding members of this Council, they are entitled to participate in all proceedings and cast their votes accordingly.”

“This is absolutely absurd! The procedural irregularities alone—”

“I must agree with the Xarnathi King. You are to ‘shut it, Karen.’” The Chairman had had enough.

The Xarnathi leader resumed his pacing.

“These Earthlings have much to offer our galaxy. Our scouts encountered truly magnificent defensive capabilities; a noble and honorable thing, especially for such a young kin. They fought with courage and determination, exactly as warriors should when their homes are threatened. During these exchanges, we gathered some of our most now treasured possessions.” He gestured to his Beanie Baby staff with obvious and genuine affection. “I deeply regret that we were not present for the coffee ceremony, but the System itself alerted me when that sacred ritual occurred.”

The Brew of Peace. Had he somehow sensed it across the vast emptiness of space itself. Why would the System notify him?

“However, a crucial fact has been deliberately omitted from these proceedings. Our young Jerry here, and by extension the world known as Earth, is already a full member of this Council.”

This time, the noise in the chamber reached something close to nuclear fusion. The Karens shrieked loud enough to be heard in neighboring star systems. Delegates shouted over each other in at least seventeen languages.

I sat frozen, mind spinning its wheels, while the Green Lady turned an impressive shade of chartreuse and became utterly fascinated with her own feet.

Chairman Glazial pounded his gavel like he was trying to kill a god. “ORDER! I will have order in this chamber!” He nearly cracked the desk before resorting to threats of ejection.

The uproar died, except for the Karens, of course.

“This is absolutely preposterous!” their leader howled. “There is no possible way that—”

Crack. Glazial slammed the gavel again. “The Karen delegation will remain composed.”

“This is absurd!”

“Official strike against the Karen delegation for disrupting proceedings,” he snapped. “Continue and you will be removed.” Another sharp crack of wood on wood.

The leader fell into a deadly hush, the kind that reeked of retribution. You could almost hear the mental gears churning through seventeen flavors of vengeance.

“Please explain yourself, Xarnathi leader,” Glazial said once relative quiet had been restored.

“Gladly, Mr. Chairman.” Babbleclank’s grin was pure, undiluted mischief. “It is longstanding and well-established Council law that member peoples may form strategic and trade relationships, political alliances, and cultural exchanges among themselves without requiring external approval or oversight. We have done precisely that with the people of Earth.”

“I object!” the Karen leader managed through clenched teeth that were probably generating enough friction to start fires. “No formal trade agreements or political alliances may be initiated once formal charges have been filed against a species, pursuant to Section—”

“We are intimately familiar with all relevant regulations, I assure you.” His tone suggested that he found her objection both predictable and tedious. “Our alliance with Earth was formally established well before any charges were filed against them by this Council. In fact, it predates these proceedings by several of your standard weeks and was in effect before and after Representative Jerry’s attunement to the planet’s System Core.”

He paused for maximum dramatic effect, his ancient eyes twinkling with barely contained glee.

“By established Council law and precedent, the Xarnathi maintain full co-ownership and alliance rights with Earth, as their designated representative is formally bonded to my people through marriage.”

The Karen’s seethed while the room burst into murmurs. It took several minutes and liberal application of the Chairman's gavel before anything resembling order could be restored.

Through it all, I sat completely frozen in my chair, staring at Green Lady with what I imagine was the expression of a man who'd just been told that his pet goldfish was actually the secret emperor of Jupiter. She was now hiding behind her hands but peeking at me through her fingers with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and absolutely terrified.

Married? I was pretty sure I would have remembered getting married. That seemed like the sort of thing that would stick in your memory.

“In fact, the last steps of the marriage ritual were completed only just. Formalizing his matrimony to my daughter, Barbarella Winkle Babbleclank the Third, heir apparent to my throne and future leader of our people.”

“Is this information accurate, Representative Jerry?” Chairman Glazial asked me directly.

I stammered like a broken engine, looking desperately around the chamber for some kind of guidance. Whiskers offered only a feline shrug.

“I... I...” All the expectant faces staring at me. “Yes?”

It came out as more of a question than a statement, but apparently that was legally sufficient for interstellar matrimonial law.

“Why was this relationship not disclosed in your initial documentation, Representative Jerry?”

“The oversight is not his fault, Mr. Chairman,” the Xarnathi leader said with gentle authority. “It is the responsibility of the senior member to file, which we are doing now.”

The Karen delegation leaned forward in unison.

“When exactly did this alleged ceremony occur?” Cassandra asked. “And where are your witnesses? A Council Member must witness for planetary merger through matrimony to be valid.” She leaned back like it was checkmate.

The Xarnathi leader's grin widened to truly epic proportions, showing teeth that had definitely seen their share of battles.

“The sacred bonding ceremony occurred right here in this very chamber. You were all present and served as witnesses to the proceedings. In fact, I’d be delighted if you would be the official signing witness for this beautiful occasion.”

Cassandra looked like she just ate a pickled lemon, covered in sour patch kids.

“False! We all know that a Xarnathi marriage begins with blades and ends in blood of your enemies. I see none of that here.”

“Oh sweet Cassandra, are you truly so completely ignorant of basic Xarnathi matrimonial customs and traditions? You of all people should appreciate the language of laws.”

Pride and political necessity prevented anyone from admitting such ignorance publicly.

“No fret. I happen to have the relevant passages with me.”

He produced a scroll that appeared to have been constructed from approximately seventeen different types of paper, and what might have been tree bark, held together with what looked suspiciously like duct tape.

“Our people have always valued strength above all else, of body, of will, of character, and of purpose. We prize perseverance in adversity, the freedom to roam, and trade conducted with honor. As for bonding, we follow three sacred, sequential rites. Each must be completed in order.”

He cleared his throat and began to read aloud. “First, the suitor must enter combat and emerge victorious. Young Jerry fulfilled this when he faced my daughter in single combat and, through sheer force of personality, convinced her to cease hostilities.”

The memory slammed into me. Her fists, her fury, the moment her eyes shifted from “squish the little man” to something… else.

“Second,” he continued, “the suitor must request a Metal of War from the one they wish to bond with. This is… akin to what some of you call a proposal. The Metal must be given freely. No trade, no compensation. It defies our instincts as a trading people, makes it a declaration of trust and intent far deeper than commerce.”

My brain was fogged and buzzing, trying to track where this was going.

“And third,” the Goblin King said, “the one who receives the Metal must wield it in battle. This, I fear, is where your confusion must have been, Cassandra. The word blood does not appear in our rites, but the tradition ends with the warrior returning from conflict, albeit often soaked in it, thus completing the bond.”

A Cerulean delegate raised their voice. “But there was no attack. No weapons are permitted to Jerry on this vessel and we witnessed no such battle.”

“Ah, but you did. This Battle Barista employed his ceremonial Metal of War against his foes to devastating effect. The System itself recorded his actions. Does anyone dispute that we are presently in a state of war with Earth?”

No one spoke.

“And that, perhaps chiefly concerned in the war are the Karens?”

Not a peep.

“Then allow me to remind you of the drink you consumed.” He paused, letting it land. “Each of you, and one unfortunate Karen, drank of his sacred brew. A brew made with his Metal of War. The law does not require the weapon to be lethal. Only used. And used, it was.”

All eyes slid toward the younger Karen, now crouching behind her superior with all the guilt of a toddler caught red-handed, powdered sugar on her lips.

“Thus, by rite and by record,” the Xarnathi said, voice ringing like a bell, “Jerry and my daughter are joined. Their possessions are ours, and ours are theirs. We pledge alliance. We share what is ours with Earth. And Earth shares what it has with us.”

He turned his gaze on me—ancient, unblinking, impossibly steady.

“Though I should clarify,” he looked at me then. “We require little planetary land. Most of our kind prefer the stars, anyway.” He winked.

He then spoke loudly again, to the whole room.

“Earth is already a full and legally recognized member of this Council, as we now represent the combined Xarnathi-Human alliance moving forward into the future. Unless, of course, Jerry formally contests any portion of this arrangement before this assembled body?”

I looked across the chamber at Green Lady, who was still peeking at me through her fingers with an expression that managed to make me simultaneously hopeful and terrified. I thought about everything that had led to this utterly surreal moment—the coffee shop, the invasion, the desperate journey through space, the battles, the failures, the small victories, and humanity's chance to become something greater than we'd ever been before.

I thought about Earth. About my uncle Ted in Kentucky, teaching his kids to shoot while the world cracked open around them. About everyone who was counting on me to somehow bring them home safely.

I thought about the fact that I was apparently married to a giant goblin warrior princess. Her message that I needed the brass coffee machine, and needed to use it, suddenly made a lot of sense.

And I realized that, honestly, I'd been through weirder shit lately.

“It’s all true,” I said clearly. “Barbarella and I are in love.” I gulped.

The Karen matriarch's gasp started low and guttural, climbing through octaves of outrage until it reached the upper registers of pure indignation, like a tea kettle crossed with a dying bagpipe.

The Goblin King smiled.

“In light of these revelations,” he purred, his voice carrying the silky satisfaction of a predator who'd been planning this hunt for decades, “the combined Xarnathi-Earth delegation moves for immediate dismissal of all charges filed against our Earth family. There can be no conquest of a recognized Council world.”

The vote came like thunder. Swift. Decisive. Unanimous, save for the Karens, who sat frozen in their seats like post-modern sculptures.

But the Goblin King wasn't finished. Oh no. He was just getting warmed up.

“Furthermore,” he continued, savoring each word like fine wine, “we formally charge the Karens with knowingly submitting false accusations against a legal Council member, and with attempting to coerce and manipulate these proceedings through threat of force.”

Another vote. Another unanimous verdict that crashed down like a judicial guillotine. The ruling was swift and merciless: official sanctions, crushing fines, and mandatory repayment of all damages to the Earth-Xarnathi alliance.

The gavel hadn't even finished its descent before the chamber erupted.

Pure, unadulterated pandemonium. The moment Chairman Glazial's gavel cracked against its block for adjournment, the chamber exploded into a maelstrom of movement and sound. Delegates surged forward like a dam had burst, rushing to shake hands, clap backs, and drop thinly veiled trade proposals. A Chandrion had produced ceremonial confetti from somewhere and was tossing it with gleeful abandon. Someone started chanting something that might have been a war cry or a drinking song.

A Graventhall delegate, eyes bright with opportunity, cornered me and offered his niece in marriage before I could even process what was happening. “For your second wife, of course.”

I thanked him and filed that away as not fucking happening. No way was this turning into a harem-lit.

Chairman Glazial pounded his gavel with increasing desperation, his voice rising to

Through it all, the Xarnathi patriarch stood like a stone in a hurricane; arms folded, nodding in solemn approval every time someone swore creatively enough to draw gasps from the more delicate delegates.

“The Xarnathi will be buying drinks in the common room!” he announced.

Another burst of applause. The Karens had already vanished, slinking out in silence like shadows fleeing the dawn.

The room slowly emptied as the celebration moved elsewhere. The Mesari and Whiskers had joined the exodus, promising to see us at the festivities. Riley and Pena practically vibrated with excitement as they danced toward the door, shooting a glance back at me. I waved them on, and they nodded before disappearing through the doorway.

When the din finally collapsed into exhausted silence, only two figures remained in the vast chamber.

The Xarnathi king stood before me, his presence filling the chamber with a warmth that felt strangely personal, like he was greeting a long-lost nephew rather than a diplomatic ally. His grey-green skin caught the ambient light like patinaed armor. His gaze held steady on mine, unwavering and intense.

“King Babbleclank.” I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to bow or kneel or do a curtsy.

“Garbaltrues is fine,” he said, extending a weathered hand. “I am deeply and genuinely honored to be allied with you, Battle Barista, or should I say… son.”

“Uh, thank you. Thank you for saving my ass back there.”

“It’s what family does.”

“So, I’m sure there is a lot for us to work out.”

His eyes twinkled. “All in good time, young one. We shall work out all the practical details and ceremonial requirements following the completion of the honeymoon period.”

I reached out and shook his hand, the grip firm and calloused. “The... the honeymoon?”

His grin revealed teeth that had definitely seen their share of battles. It was the kind of smile that belonged to someone who'd stared death in the face and asked if it wanted to grab a drink afterward.

“Oh yes,” he rumbled with evident satisfaction, “there remains a seven-day ritual of paramount cultural and spiritual importance. If not properly completed according to our most sacred traditions, it would void the entire matrimonial arrangement, I’m afraid.”

I gulped audibly, the sound echoing embarrassingly in the suddenly quiet chamber like a stone dropped down a well.

“Seven days,” I repeated weakly, my voice cracking like a teenager asking someone to prom while his voice was changing.

The Green Lady, Barbarella, reentered the room, standing by the door hesitantly. Her father gestured her forward.

I was now officially wed to a giant goblin warrior princess who could probably bench press a small aircraft carrier without breaking a sweat.

And I was about to discover what exactly Xarnathi honeymoons entailed.

I thought about asking for more details but decided better of it. Judging by the way Green Lady was looking at me—like I was simultaneously the answer to her prayers and her next meal, with maybe a little bit of “fascinating specimen” thrown in for good measure—I had a feeling nothing could prepare me for what was coming next.

But hey, at least humanity would survive to see another day.

That had to count for something, right?

Right?