A small creature calls my name, it knows me, despite my lack of the same. I only just began existing at this very moment after all. Yet memories begin to filter in, a life stretching out behind me. Still, one that does not contain this little fox-beast. Other than the scant few moments ago that it drove away an oozing monstrosity by glowing at it. Perhaps I am being unfair to the creature in how I think of and describe it. I did only recently come into being. I do not believe I have manners yet.

My mannerisms are halting, robotic, the data of my movements suggests I might be an android. As I cock my head quizzicially, I address the small beast, “Hello little one. Thank you for the shine. I do not believe that the creature which had been pursuing me would have greeted me quite so kindly. Are you not odd, to be able to speak?”

The pleasant, youthful voice laughs, “You’re one to talk buddy! Why’re you suddenly acting like a robot?”

My head twitches as it cocks to the other side, my eyes flit to one location in thought before I respond, “I think that perhaps, I am one. Or some form of synthetic life at least. Is that unusual?”

She grins excitedly, widely, as she rolls about in mirth, laughing, “Sweetie, I think you hit your head or somethin’. Come on Deets, let’s get outta here, before it comes back. You can keep playing robot or whatevuh, we both know I’m the synthetic one. I’m all data, all the time.”

She begins to trot away, begging that I follow, and I see no reason not to. I call back, “Is that something I am prone to doing? Playing? Or being a robot?”

She scoffs as she glances back towards me over her shoulder, “Deets sweetie, you’re bein’ real weird. No, not really. It aint normal for you. You aint too playful, but you aint formal or robotic normally neithuh.”

I follow along physically, and neurally. In answer, I apologize, “I am sorry to be out of character for myself then young miss. I do apologize. Hopefully you can forgive me, and perhaps elucidate me as to your name?”

The eye she had been gazing at me with goes wide as her jaw hangs slack. Being unable to prevaricate, I begin again, though I am interrupted by her startlement, “Deets? Sweetie? You don’t remember me? Your best pal? Come on, you’re joking right? You gotta be playin’. Please sweetie, stop, it’s startin’ to scare me.”

As her voice cracks during her plea, I find an odd sensation. There appears to be droplets of water along the edges of my eyelids. I appear to be moved emotionally. I am unsure why on Rayileklia that I would be so moved, by such a plea, but here I am. Wait, what is Rayileklia? My head jerks to one side as my eyes latch on a skyward position while I begin to parse my own thoughts.

I appear to be malfunctioning in some manner. A manner that upsets this small being, a supposed friend of mine. I am unable to initiate diagnostic routines. I conclude that I am in error in at least one of my recent assumptions. I shall begin to ascertain which one or ones. As I sift through these, my first few minutes of life, the creature paces around me in a circle. She draws intricate markings in the ground, runes perhaps, and chants as she does so. After completing her circle, she sits back while looking at me, and gasps.

She asks in shock, “Deets baby, why you suddenly gots two souls in ya?”

I do not appear to be an infant, it appears I am precious to the young miss, and am referred to by a term of endearment. As to the parsing of the quantity of souls, and why I should have one or more, I must consult theological knowledge within my database. I encounter an error. I appear to have an incomplete theological knowledge bank. There is limited concrete evidence related to souls within my knowledge repository.

My attempt to answer seems not to please the young miss, “I am uncertain as to how I came into possession of even one soul, young miss, let alone two. I appear to not understand much within the concept of souls. Limited knowledge tells me they are often thought of as mythological concepts, constructs theologically created to bring about metaphors. The metaphors are often about purity, one theology may insist that a pure state can only be maintained by abstaining from certain activities. Another may insist that a pure state can only be achieved by participating in certain activities. It seems they are even in disagreement as to the entry state of a soul, or its ability to exist in homeostasis, or even to exist at all.”

Tears well within the eyes of the fox-creature, the young miss, she pleads, “Deets baby, you gotta, gotta kick that othuh soul out or somethin’ Please? This aint funny. You, othuh soul, gimme back my Deets. Please? Please? I, I just want my sweetie back. Why you gonna go an’ take ‘em away? Please, just please gimme back my Deets?”

A new odd sensation occurs, my automatic swallowing response catches an error loop, and requires gulping in order to resume normal functions. An action I think referred to as, gulping back a sob. I do not know why- I begin drifting upwards, slowly I pass through Deets’ body, and view the pair from above. Deets drops to their knees and hugs the young miss. It seems my body is having a tearful reunion with our friend. I appear to be pulled somewhere, by something. The force exerted upon me spaghettifies me, stretching me across one universe to another. For a brief moment, I exist within two universes.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A hostile, glowing creature grips me about my ephemeral form, and curses, “What manner of worthless soul is this? An automaton? Blast it all! All those souls spent, wasted reaching out for this one!? Fine, we shall continue to seek the adventurers. We can be patient. I wonder if robotic souls taste like electric lamb.”

The entity wraithfully snatches my last breaths. I am frightened in my last moments of existence before being consumed.

Hm? What? Ugh, I snorted what I think is a pile of scale dander. Klagh, koff, gluk, ugh. I feel bad for the poor kobolds who shed this stuff. When I had scales, they were more like gemstones, they didn’t produce dander or dust. Ugh, my nasal passages feel all funky and gross. Koff. That can’t be good for repairing my body. Speaking of, wow. I still have quite a ways to go overall, but my eyelids are no longer swollen, I can see straight, I can move my limbs. I try to wet my lips as they’ve become dry and dusty, but my tongue sticks to them and I cough away what moisture I would have applied. I need water. I think, I think I probably bled a vast amount. I remember hearing someone say too much blood, before the rock elemental had even finished pummeling me.

My danger wraps indicate that the only being around, well, is outside my danger wrap range, as I hear them skulking at the entrance to this cavern chamber. They sound about the same height as the other kobolds, perhaps a bit taller, and by the way their talons scrape across the stone, their stance is hostile. I think they also may be wielding a spear. I’m uncertain I want to unleash any of the magics in the staff right now. A fireball could cave in this chamber depending on the surrounding stone. I don’t know where I am. Similarly, a lightning bolt might knock out a support further down the hallway. Huff. I’m not at my best, but I appear to be fully armored, and wielding my Valkyrie buckler. That’s odd. I could have sworn I was stripped bare to be taken care of.

I’m not the best at non-lethal combat. Actually I’m pretty terrible, downright awful at being non-lethal. I reach for my hip-holster, but don’t find my wrist-mounted hand crossbow there, it’s already on my wrist. Oh, right, I tried to use it against the rock monsters. It must have just been awkward to try to take it off, since it sort of magically sticks in place with a weird glowy band. It also makes me glow while I’m wearing it, which is why it isn’t pitch black in this stone chamber. Maybe if this person attacks me, if I shoot them in the foot, they’ll back off?

Come on Reggie, how many times in your life has someone who aggressed you survived, and stopped being an aggressor? Oof, the survival count is really, incredibly low. We uh, won’t talk about one. Linti is the only other one I can think of. Huff. Bad news for whoever this is I guess. Bad news to be shot by any of my ranged abilities honestly. I mean, I suppose any shooting is bad news for anyone involved. If it’s Timbik, Miza’s mate, I wonder if they’ll-

Bugger it all, they’ve dashed into the room, into my danger wrap range. Their lunge directs their spear towards my chest. I heave a sigh as I pivot rearwards on my dominant foot, swinging to my right just enough to guide the strike of the spear past me. I strike a pressure-point jab that I know works on reptiles, because it worked on me when Linti did it while sparring several times. A knife-edge thrust up into the armpit while guiding the arm for maximum connection.

The assailant momentarily drops its spear as it flips to leave my grasp. They’re probably also hoping it sets them outside my reach, but I simply aim my crossbow at the floor where they’re going to land, and unload a pair of bolts into my attacker’s talons. They hiss at me, and I hiss back.

Hissing and growling, I order, “Stand down. Anyone who has not accepted my offer of mercy has died. Stand down, or die.” I unleash two more bolts, slightly higher, skewering the arch of their left foot, then bring the glowing crossbow to bear, center of mass.

The attacker makes as if to lunge for their spear, I can tell it’s a feint, but what I don’t expect is that it’s intended to allow them to flee the room. I nearly shoot them in the back because of their feint. The idiot. They could have just walked away. I nearly killed them.

Leaning down, the spear is unique, if I were in one of the fantasy settings from Fakeworld, Earth, I’d say it’s likely of Dwarven make based on the runes and quality. Some of the scrap around here has been crafted into quite quality equipment, but this is on another level, so it doesn’t feel like it was created by the kobold clan. A clapping from just outside my danger wraps’ sensory range alerts me to a presence that sounds hunched, slightly decrepit. Their walk is slow as they enter my silent sonar’s area of effect. Their appearance is shrouded beneath a thin grey cloak, or hooded robe.

Before I can speak, in an ancient, wizened voice, they say, “Thank you for allowing Timbik to live. I have told the lad, pride will be the death of him. He blames your state for our now lacking a trap for the Dwarves who will come for us yet again. They demand all our metals and gems, and threaten us with thundrous sticks that explode with devastating force, yet instead of harming the wielder, like these sticks, they harm a target from afar like an arrow from a bow.”

I draw a shuddered breath, my body and lungs still weakened from my bludgeoning ordeal. I clasp my right side, and feel the damp trickle through the cloth binding my wounds. Sitting back on the slightly raised mound of earth that had served as my bed, I ask, “Would you be willing to share your name? I’m Reggie, but you probably already knew that from Teuila or Dippy or Miza or Scrap I assume? Those are names I heard while barely conscious, and, well, I perceived Dippy, Miza, and Scrap, and you’re none of them.”

The wizened old voice exhales a raspy, dry chuckle, “Indeed I am not. If you’ll stay a while and listen, I’ll share more than my name. These days, I’m simply known as Elder. Long ago, I had another name. Perhaps we’ll get to that later. I assume you have more pertinent questions?”

I nod. Though I want to ask why his elocution is so vastly different from the other kobolds, I’ll worry about dialectics later. I start, “Could you tell me more about this Dwarven situation? By the make of this spear, and the sound of their weapons, they’ve a strong enough society to not need to be jerks. What are the, well, what are the stakes, who did what, why, how did we get where we are? What are you expecting from Teuila?”

Elder nods along, “The Dwarves originally would rarely bother to interact with us, occasionally offer us trinkets in trade for the rarer, tastier ores and gems.”

Tastier? I’m about to ask, but Elder continues, “Yes, our diet is minerals. We could, and have during lean times, subsisted on dirt and stone. It is a horrid way to live until finding a new vein of mineral. These are lean times, they fill us with desperation, anger, hunger.”