Death isn’t what scares us.

It’s what happens afterwards.

- Founder text found scribbled into a piece of furniture.

Finally…

Sly had rested her head on my shoulder, seemingly contend with sitting next to me in the corner.

I’d never thought she’d shut up, Boss. I softly stroked her hair, the initial muscle aches now bearable after these couple of hours. A door opened, and slammed shut in the distance. Black smoke spewing from my nostrils as Gob began to take shape in front of me.

He materialized in this small, empty cave devoid of people. They had quietly left when Sly began crying. Giving us some privacy as the grunts of dwarves could be heard just around the corner. That, and Martha’s never ending tirade. A tirade that now seemed far more justified after being brought up to speed.

“Boss, we need to talk for a second,” Gob said, plopping down onto the pile of salvaged equipment. He shifted a bit, trying to get his wings and tail in a comfortable position. I simply shook my head, nudging towards the sleeping form of Sly. “Oh, that.” Gob snapped his finger before picking up one of the shields in the pile and lifting it high. Don’t you dare. I knew what he was planning, but I couldn’t move without waking Sly up. That split second hesitation was everything Gob needed to throw it down as hard as he could. The thing bounced, rolled, and finally lay still. But it didn’t make any sound; nothing in this room did, not even the dwarves next to us. Sly’s breath had gone silent as well, yet her chest was still rising and falling at a slow pace. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of my own breathing, and that annoying chuckle of his.

“Problem solved, Boss.” He gave me a stupid grin. “How’d you like that trick?”

“What do you want?” I asked, keeping an eye on Sly to notice any reactions to my voice. There were none.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed hearing the story of you getting trashed.” Gob pulled out a golden coin from the pile, lazily inspecting the anvil minted on it. “And as much as I’d wished I was there to laugh at you.” He looked at me. “There’s something we need to discuss, Boss.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Boss?”

“I said, I don’t want to.” I leaned back resting my head on the wall. “You already wiggled your way out of your restrictions. You already fucked me over multiple times. And whatever you want, you can take it, make it, or do it anyway. Why the hell would I help you?”

Gob averted his gaze, slowly sliding his feet on the floor as a finger scratched his cheek. “Cause I may, or may not, have made some modifications to your body…”

“You did what!?” I managed to restrain myself from lashing out. Sly’s presence being the one thing that kept me in check.

Gob was awkwardly laughing while scratching the back of his head. “Well… I was bit bored, Boss. And you were knocked out.” He tried his utmost best not to look in my direction. “Normally you would have some dream I could mess with a little an-”

“You.” My voice cut off his sentence. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Gob’s neck turned a bit further away with every second I stared at him. “You were the one kept chasing me with that weird horn, dressed as that…” I shivered when I recalled the one that haunted my recent dreams.

“It’s called a clown, Boss.”

“It’s an abomination, that’s what it is!” I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me!?” That white face, those pointy teeth, and that laugh. That bone-chilling laugh it made. My body trembled at the mere recollection of it.

Gob made a small cough. “As I was saying, Boss. You were in a dreamless slumber, so I had to find other ways to entertain myself...” I glared at him, slowly leaning Sly onto the wall instead of me. “Possibly, maybe, perhaps?”

I stood up, cracking my knuckles with audible pops. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t strangle you right now.”

“I’ll sue yo-”

My arm shot out faster than ever, fingers gripped tightly around the imp’s neck as I lifted him off his feet. How I managed to grab him, I didn’t care. All my attention was focused on the sensation of my fingers digging into his flesh, and the way his eyes bulged from his skull. “Tap out…” He gurgled, slapping my shoulder repeatedly. “Tap out… tap out, Boss.”

I gave him an extra squeeze before letting go, contend to watch him crawl and retch for air on the floor. I inspected my arm, turning it left and right while forming a fist. The muscle ache was annoying, but there was something else. Some new surge of hidden strength. “What did you do to me?”

Gob held up a finger, heaving for more air before answering, “Fail-safe… needed another…” He coughed a couple of times. “Needed another way out.”

“Explain.”

“Strength, speed, but more importantly…” He coughed again. “Power.” He pointed at my hands. “You can’t kill what you can’t touch, Boss.” Gob massaged his neck. “And if my hunch is right, we’ll be needing that ability soon enough.

“We?” I took a step back. Gob’s we usually meant him. And somewhere down the line was me, getting fucked over and fucked up. “You mean me.”

Gob shook his head, hugging his arms. “No, I meant we. Or more specifically… us.” He looked my way. “I think I did something stupid, Boss.”

“You think?” I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms.

Gob heaved himself onto the pile again, settling in with a deep sigh. “Since I woke up I have this gap in my memory, Boss.” He was rubbing his temple. “I can’t remember what I did yesterday, yet I can’t shake this feeling that something went wrong.”

“You were drunk on dwarven ale.”

Gob’s ears perked up, previous tension gone as he smiled. “Really? I got wasted?” He slapped his knee, laughing loudly. “So that’s what it was!” He bend forward, eyes twinkling. “How much, Boss?”

“All of it.” I sat down again. “The whole nine barrels.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Fuck me!” He slapped his forehead. “I haven’t had that much dwarven ale since their Bani-” Gob coughed. “Since forever.” He leaned back. “Tell me more, Boss.”

I began counting down my fingers. “Well you belched, burped, and pissed your way through the outpost.” Gob was eagerly nodding his head. “Ended up pissing yourself asleep as well.” Gob chuckled in his seat. “Before standing next to me in a drunken stupor.”

Gob inched forward, smiling as his tail softly wagged behind him. “What then, Boss? What happened then?”

“You helped me remove Martha’s Mark,” I said, looking at the new arrival in the cave. The tail froze, and with it every other part of Gob. The smile slowly turned upside down, transforming into abject horror as beads of sweat began to appear on his face.

“C-c-come again, Boss?”

“You grabbed my hand, after which my head nearly exploded in pain.” I turned my eyes back to him,  grimacing at the memory of it. “When it ended we got blasted apart, Martha’s Mark now gone from her face.”

Gob shook his head, a strained smile now plastered on his face. “Hehe. Now, now, Boss. No need to make such silly jokes.” One of his eyebrows wouldn’t stop twitching. “Tell me what really happened.”

“Why don’t you look for yourself?” I nudged my head towards the cave opening, and the person standing there. “She’s right there.”

Gob turned ever so slowly towards Martha. The female dwarf was wearing the Rune necklace, and had mouthed words that I couldn’t hear. She had stopped the minute she heard me talking, staying silent as she watched at me with eyes of wonder.

Gob, on the other hand, showed anything but wonder. It was more a mix of horror and surprise. Wings and legs that didn’t stop shaking, and eyes that threatened to pop out off his skull at any moment. Whatever Martha’s clear face signified, he wasn’t taking it well.

Gob turned towards me, eyes wide with horror as he pointed behind me, shouting, “Clown!”

My body turned on instinct, the ingrained horror of the last week’s dreams doing its job perfectly. I had barely turned my head back again before dark mist shot up my nose, body convulsing as it tried to fight off the foreign substance. A strong pair of arms grabbed my shoulder, a voice growing stronger by the second.

“Si…”

“Sin-be…”

“Sin-bearer!” Martha voice shouted into my ear. The shaking stopped, and with it the feeling of something crawling inside my skin. “Sin-bearer, are you okay?” I nodded at Martha, letting her guide me towards some rocks to sit upon. With a sigh I lowered myself, glancing in the direction of Sly. Martha followed my gaze, speaking up when she noticed that she was still asleep. “The girl has been running herself into the ground ever since the cave-in.” She patted my shoulder. “Let her sleep some more, she deserves it.” Martha offered me a hand. “Can you walk?”

“I’m fine, I just need a second.” Or minute. Or hour. Wherever Gob had hidden himself, he wasn’t answering my questions—no matter how hard I screamed. Instead, there was only his continued muttering. Please don’t notice. Please don’t notice. Please don’t notice.

“Let’s go,” I said, pulling myself up with her hand.

We moved towards the cave’s exit, Martha fidgeting with her fingers before asking, “So what did he say?”

“Mm?”

“What did the Forgefather say about me?”

“He was curious about the… Mark. Yes, the Mark.” I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth that it wasn’t their deity that spoke to me, but a bald imp with a knack for causing trouble. “He wanted to know if everything went well with removing it.” Though he didn’t look all that happy with it.

Martha touched her brow, tracing where the tattoo used to be. “I still can’t believe it. After all these years…” She suddenly stopped to give me a deep bow. “Words will never be able to express my gratitude, Sin-bearer.” Fists trembled at her side; hot rage now seeped into her voice. “If only I could atone for my kinsmen’s actions.”

“Sly told me about it.” The hubris. The madness. The lust for glory that ended up killing far more than was needed. Including Pickle. Something churned in my stomach, demanding to be unleashed upon the dwarf before me. “Bring me to them.” I kept it in check. She wasn’t the one responsible for our current mess. Someone else deserved that anger.

“Yes, Sin-bearer.” Martha walked into the larger cave with me, calling out the two most exhausted and sweating dwarves from the sorry lot excavating the cave-in. The first one was Gurtrum with his black beard and thick eyebrows. Sweat stained his face, dripping on the floor in a steady rhythm. It was nothing compared to the other dwarf. Mogrim had sunken eyes and cheeks, sweat running down his skin like droplets on a cave wall. His blonde beard had lost is healthy shine, and his blue eyes refused to meet my own, staring downwards instead.

“Take this,” Martha said as they got close, tiptoeing so she could put the Rune necklace on me. The stone felt warm to the touch, tingling my skin as it rested on my breast. There was a short burst of unintelligible whispers, the Rune flaring brightly in response, before both died down again.

With a grunt, both dwarves arrived in front of me, dropping down on their knees in an instant. Martha crossed her arms, staring down on them as if to see which one was stupid enough to raise his head. “You know why you are here?” Martha asked.

“Because I failed as a leader,” Mogrim answered.

“Because I failed as a captain,” Gurtrum grunted.

“Because we failed protecting what mattered most,” they both said prostrating. “Forgive us, Sin-bearer.”

Martha made a dismissive sneer at their groveling forms. “At least you’ve finally learned something.”

I crouched down, turning my question to Gurtrum first, “Sly already informed me, but I would like to know for sure. Did you, or did you not order more of these eksplosifs to be placed than necessary?”

“I did.”

“And did you know that this would delay our retreat by valuable minutes?”

“I did.”

“Were you…” I inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. “Were you planning this from the very start?”

“No,” Gurtrum said. “I made that decision once I heard our rearguard take up the cry of salvation.”

“Which brings me to you.” I turned to Mogrim. “Tell me, why didn’t you keep your men in check?”

“I lost myself to glory, Sin-bearer.”

“Didn’t you notice our rearguard creeping towards the front?”

“No, I did not.”

“More importantly… is it true that you sounded the retreat minutes after Gurtrum’s signal?”

There was a long silence. “Yes,” Mogrim finally answered.

I could hear myself gnash my teeth. “So both of you wasted time killing instead of retreating.” I looked at the cave-in. “Which, in the end, not only killed most of my group, but one of my closest friends as well. Am I right?” They both remained silent. “AM. I. RIGHT?”

They glanced at each other before answering, “Ye-” It got cut off as my fist slammed into floor between their heads. Pain flared through my hand, but that was nothing compared to my anger. I lifted it from the ground, expecting to find broken knuckles and mangled fingers. Instead, it didn’t show much more than cut skin. That, and two pair of bulging eyes as Mogrim and Gurtrum looked to the ground inches away from their faces, cracks forming around the point of impact. Whatever you did Gob. I flexed my fingers. Thank you.

I inhaled deeply, letting the torrent of anger run its course, flowing through my limbs before pooling it inside my lungs. With a long exhale, it flowed out, leaving me alone with my mother’s words. Patience, Marcus. Patience endures. I opened my eyes. “At least tell me why.” All three dwarves shifted their attention from the crack back to me. “Tell me why my friend had to die.”

Martha gave the two dwarves a nod before both of them sat upright to face me. “We can only tell what we know from experience,” she added. “As to the hows, why’s, and anything else, I’m afraid only the capital’s Keepers know for sure.”

“Forgive me, Sin-bearer.” Mogrim struck his chest. “But I bear more bad news.” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid that your friend is actually alive.” How is that bad?

“You don’ think…?” Gurtrum asked.

“Indeed I do,” Mogrim nodded. “They’ve got the Mark, so I don’t see why not.”

“This is bad,” Martha said, chewing her finger. “How are we supposed to find him? And even then, at which Source will he revive? Will he even revive?”

“Aaagghh…” Mogrim ran his fingers through his sticky hair. “I don’t know, woman. I’m a warrior, not a Keeper. Besides, does it really matter if he revives? I’d rather he be dead than go through all that.”

All three dwarves nodded in unison at those words. “Slow down a minute,” I said, rubbing my temples. “Being alive is bad? Reviving? You’re going to have to explain some things to me.”

Mogrim scratched his head. “Where do I even start?”

“Over here!” a digging dwarf yelled near the cave-in. He was next to a collapsed pule of rubble, one that had a stone arm wiggling in its debris, Fissures ran all throughout the moving limb, but it was a limb that I recognized from a mile away. Pickle. I stood up, legs itching to get closer. I had barely made a step before Martha slapped me on the back, pushing me forward. “Go and grab yourself a pickax.”

She gave me a beaming smile.

“We have some digging to do.”