“Who’s the annoying red one? Did she eat the funny mushrooms from up by the waterfall?” whispered one kobold to another.

“Napping! That’s the problem; I’m bloody sleeping! Sleeping when I could be doing something,” said Error.

Agate shifted foot to foot anxiously, unsure of how to answer these bizarre declarations. The other kobolds all treated her like she was stupid and generally ignored her. This odd outsider kobold lacked the established prejudice and that made her best friend material. Agate wanted very badly to help her new best friend.

“Rest is part of... life?” she suggested to Error after much contemplation, trying to sound smart.

“Oh, what life? What is a dragon’s natural life cycle? All I do is sleep on a mountain of gold!” Error cried.

“Big critters need more sleep?” said Agate in a smaller voice. She mentally kicked herself for saying wrong things.

“I should hire smarter kobolds,” Error snarled. Agate shrank back. “Useless! All this incompetence makes me… Actually— oh, actually, I think I’m starving.”

Ignoring Agate, she finally contemplated the red moss. The smell was musty, and it looked rather fuzzy. Her stomach flopped just looking at it. No, no, that was impossible. But the shimmering red sand reminded her of rubies. She scooped some up in her hands. It glittered enticingly. She licked at it, and then grimaced.

“Weird and gross,” she said disapprovingly, but continued to eat, complaining steadily the whole time. As she did so, she encountered a new and unpleasant sensation. Her damp bandages were chilly against her skin, and the gusty drafts from the waterfall made her shiver. Cold… She was cold. Dragons didn’t feel cold! First she’d been stricken with pain and insecurity and now this. She hunched over against the cold, wrapping her arms around herself and curling her tail around her legs.

She looked at the waterfall. It threw cold white mist into the air continuously. Mist, that settled into glinting droplets on her red scales.

“You’ve made an enemy for life, waterfall,” she growled, and sucked in a breath as deeply as her injured ribs would allow, preparing to turn the waterfall to steam and scorched rocks. But the furnace raging in her chest was gone. She exhaled with all her might, but her breath just came out as an angry wheeze.

“Cold like cave water,” she echoed the brown kobold, bitterly. It still astonished her how things could have gone this terribly, terribly wrong. She looked about for the nearest servant. Agate was sitting a few paces away, watching her with those wretched, sadness-filled, silver-blue eyes.

“How do you keep warm, then, my little, clueless idiots?” Error demanded.

“We sleep together in the cuddle room,” Agate responded apprehensively. Her ‘finally make a friend’ mission teetered on the verge of ruin. Error had hated the Kitchen, hated the waterfall and also had somehow arrived at the opinion that Agate was a dummy.

“Cuddle room,” Error said in tones of great disgust. Agate cringed away from her. “It’s a wonder how you're all not dead! Arghh!!” Error bellowed and stomped about for a moment, but she was swaying, and finally she slumped back down onto the sandbar on which she'd woken up. She wanted to be angry at her puny kobold body for its inadequate service, but spots were swimming before her eyes.

The golden band on Error’s neck chimed.

[Persistent cold damage. Minus four health. Affliction: pneumonia.]

it narrated.

Agate chirped in concern, grabbed at Error and began towing her away, towards what Error suspected was the aforementioned cuddle room.

. . .

 A great banner featuring a star with a hammer in the center had been mounted in the middle of the adventurer’s camp. The rank and file were gathered before it, and stood with hand over heart while the Probability Knight spoke the traditional words.

“...Blessed we are by the vigilance and radiance of Celestar. Some of us may die, but that is the sacrifice we are willing to make for the Builder and the Glory of the Empire,” With this, the Probability Knight concluded his chant and looked over the banner in mild annoyance. It was definitely lopsided. He’d adjusted it three times this morning to no avail.

He looked at his assembled adventurers. They were a ragtag bunch. He didn’t need to consult his probability calculator to know that they were going to disappoint him in some manner. They were taking too long to organize and making far too much noise in their preparation. He had been trained to a higher standard.

He turned towards the Guild Secretary, who’d attended the battle blessing in silence behind him.

“Pitiful. Is this the best the Guild can give me?”

The secretary nodded. “Alas, your excellency. They’re little people from the vassal islands on the peripheries of the Empire. At least we can use this meat to test the defenses. They’re desperate. They’ve never come close to a thirty-thousand gold bounty before. But the high-stat adventurers will come. Slowly, but surely. It takes them longer because they’re scattered across the realm on epic quests. Anyone worth having isn’t just sitting around the Guild waiting for announcements.”

“There's a dragon down there,” the Probability Knight growled. “A red dragon that no adventurer has ever passed. A success rate of zero. That wizard was an utter imbecile to take the book here, and now it’s my problem.”

The Probability Knight’s fingers rapped gleaming metal buttons, inputting questions to his calculator as he spoke.

According to its vague, one-word answers, the dragon wasn't even going to be a problem. Perhaps someone would get lucky and claim the title of dragonslayer, he figured. Presumably, it would even be him. After all, the probability calculator promised him

[E V E R Y T H I N G]

when he checked his own future.

Clearly, he’d win big here and reap his rewards: riches, love, fame, glory. This was a world-saving quest. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good of humanity. He was going to destroy the book, slay the dragon and stand surrounded by cheering crowds, while the Ministers bestowed upon him the legendary status "Hero of Humanity".

The Guild Secretary looked up from her clipboard and interrupted his daydream with some speculation.

“But what was the motive in bringing the book here? Maybe The Wizard was really desperate to… hide the book? If the book's real hidden, like… for example, guarded by a dragon beneath the seas, then nobody could use it to end the world. Maybe he saw himself as a hero, sacrificing his life for--”

"Don't be daft,” the Knight snorted. That malevolent book was probably controlling him. Driving him towards his doom. It’s trying to escape our judgement.” He looked back at the disorderly throng of adventurers. "I don’t expect this sad lot will survive, but at least they should clear out some of those pesky kobolds.”

----------------------------------------

Error woke up from her sleep in a pile of kobolds. She opened her eyes and looked out over a sea of bodies moving in the darkness. There were so many, all breathing and suffocatingly hot.

Arms reached up from the sleeping kobolds, tens, hundreds, thousands, forming a web of limbs intertwined in the air. Error lurched to her feet but they grabbed hold of her and dragged her down into the dark crush of bodies until her cheek was pressed into suffocating moss. Claws snapped together making faces with jagged teeth. They clattered and snapped. The rubbing and clicking of the thousands of claws against each other formed a ghastly voice.

“YOU FAILED IN YOUR DUTY, DRAGON! YOU SLEPT THROUGH THE ENDGAME!

FOR THIS, THE DEEP WILL JUDGE YOU.”

Error struggled, dragged down by countless arms into an ocean of moss. When she screamed, the moss rushed in, soaking up her blood and filling her lungs. She heard the fluttering of pages from somewhere, and the echo of laughter.

“Not the moss!” she screamed. “Anything but the moss!” Her eyes flew open.

The teeming thousands of bodies were gone. She was in a warm, dim, space. Other kobolds slept here, but there was no strange coordinated flailing, no grasping limbs. She realized that Agate’s little blue arms were wrapped around her quite snugly, with the former’s face nuzzling against Error’s neck.

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Error jolted at this unexpected closeness, an unprecedented intrusion into her personal dragon-space. She was bandaged up in wet moss, tight around her chest. In her panic, the dry moss she rested on seemed to wiggle threateningly, and she screamed again.

Agate let go of Error, startled awake. “Wuh?” she mumbled, not knowing what to do.

Other kobolds in the crowded cave growled at this unwanted wake-up call. A few nearby smacked at her without getting up. This only intensified the irritating noises Error was making.

A large yellow-green kobold heaved himself up and grabbed Error, hoisting her into the air by the armpits.

“You. Are. Waking. ‘Bolds. Up!” he told her, punctuating each word with a sharp shake.

Error’s scream petered off into a tea-kettle whine. Once the horrible racket died down, the other kobold paused to examine her more carefully.

“Hrmmmm,” he intoned. Greed glittered in his rusty brown eyes as he took in her deep-ruby horns and scales. “I haven't seen your face before. You new?”

Error blinked, still half in the nightmare and struggling to process this bile-colored specimen holding her up for appraisal.

“Loud, but tantalizing,” he continued without waiting for an answer from Error. “Not every Kobold can bear to eat just a certain colored moss to get these lavish colors. Almost as fine as our Mistress’. You even smell like her! Yes, I must make you mine.”

Error snapped out of her reverie abruptly at the word “mine”.

“A lowly kobold trying to claim a dragon? I’ll show you!” Error attempted to kick her captor unsuccessfully. She settled for whipping his legs with her tail, which he didn’t seem to notice.

“Brash and feisty...” he said in a husky voice that made Error want to rip out his throat even more. The bile-green kobold tapped her collar to display her stats. “Error... Ha! What a dumb name. Level Zero? How did you even manage to get no levels whatsoever? You must be real bad at killin' stuff. No matter. I'll teach you how to be a good thrall."

Agate had been unsure up until now whether Error needed her help. But she knew that it was no good to be called dumb.

“Hey! Leave her alone, Screw!” Agate shrilled, baring her little pointy teeth.

“Screw? Now, that’s a dumb name!” Error cackled.

“It is not,” Screw responded, with the assuredness of the utterly dense. “It is a most holy item from the blessed hoard.” He glowered at Agate. “The big claim the small, frog-hands. Mind your place!” Agate winced, wringing her offending webbed hands, but she didn’t back away.

“Put me down at once!” Error commanded.

“Nah.” Screw grinned. “Who’s gonna come to your aid? You’re an outsider, not claimed by nobody, this one excluded.” He swung a lazy kick at Agate, knocking her away. “Once you’re mine, she won’t follow you around like a lost whelp,” he told Error, leering in the direction of Agate.

Error growled, furious. This kobold perceived her dragon-ness, but failed to obey her. Evidently, minion intelligence has dropped over centuries. How was Agate the only kobold that recognized, respected and obeyed her?

Screw turned to address the crowd.

“I’m taking her to the hoard to claim her!” he announced, and the kobolds began to rise to follow him. He dragged Error out of the cuddle cavern. As she struggled he tightened his grip until she gasped for air.

The others had surrounded Agate, blocking her off from Error and Screw. Agate fought desperately to reach Error. She knew what was coming, but other kobolds held her back. Her high-pitched keening was drowned out in the clamor.

Soon, Screw reached the base of the mountain of gold in the hoard chamber, with Error struggling all the while. A crowd of kobolds quickly formed as witnesses to the ceremony.

"Aid me! I demand your assistance!" Error shouted at them. The gathered kobolds ignored her commands, delighting in her struggle. Rage and bewilderment filled Error as she looked around the gathered kobolds. Glee and indifferent malice was in their eyes. These creatures existed to serve her! Treasonous, insignificant vermin! How could they disregard her words? How could they all betray her?

“Here, before the light of the sacred hoard, I claim Error the Kobold as mine,” Screw spoke, shoving Error face-first into the pile of sharp, shiny things. Error, for her part, was far too shocked to protest.

“Accept the claim, and become a proper kobold,” he told her in a low, commanding voice.

“No!” Error growled, trying to bite him.

"We will have to do this the hard way." Screw said with a tinge of genuine regret. The mood among the gathered kobolds shifted, sharpened. Error looked up warily just as a kobold fist, far bigger and harder than it should have been, collided with her head.

The universe spun and stars ignited in her eyes. Fresh blood poured from the split skin; she was losing more and more by the hour. Agate shouted something from afar, being held back by several older kobolds. Screw's friends laughed and whooped. Agate's voice drowned in the roar of the crowd. Error made no move to capitulate. She stayed where he had thrown her down, staring into space. What else could she do? Screw hit Error again and again, putting more power into each swing. Her collar chimed again and again describing a wide variety of damage to her body.

When Error didn’t beg for mercy, Screw’s face darkened with frustration. She refused to submit and he had gone too far now to simply stop. An outsider could not be allowed to refuse the laws of Ognevika’s territory.

The crowd bayed and howled for more violence. Error looked out at them, and she saw the old brown kobold from the waterfall chamber with his garland of mushrooms. His face was lit up with glee, spittle slinging from his jaws. For a moment, real understanding pierced her dragonly ignorance, and she saw herself as these kobolds saw her.

She had dared to call herself Ognevika in front of many. She had violated the rule of the big over the small. Screw had offered her a way to apologize, to accept her station, to become his property. She had rejected him. She had to be punished.

Screw kicked her broken ribs. Error curled into the safety of the gold, sobbing in pain. For a thousand years she had been immortal, invincible, immutable, the top of the dungeon food chain. No creature, no magic weapon, no spell, no wizard or knight had ever managed to make her feel pain. Had she even known what pain was? Her whole body was shattered now, dying. She didn’t form any words between the screams, but she felt her will break.

She only wished for this insane nightmare to end.

[Status update: Error, The Kobold.]

The treacherous collar announced, reading her mind.

[Claimed: Concubine of Screw, the Kobold. Thrall of Ognevika, the Red. Minus nine health.]

[Affliction: Internal Bleeding. Warning: Imminent death.]

“What? Dragons aren't supposed to die! I demand a recount!” A bleary thought crossed Error’s mind, as life slowly bled out of her broken body.

----------------------------------------

The crowd celebrated Error’s defeat.

The old kobolds shook their mushroom necklaces and sang gutturally. The younger ones whistled, hooted, barked and beat rocks together, announcing the completion of the ceremony of claiming. The wiser ones simply crossed their fingers, silently observing that this was a dead bride walking. She would likely not bear them children now. She would not live among them long, unable to recover from these injuries. But that was alright because she had been claimed. Any kobold who stood outside the tribe was a threat. An insubordinate outsider could bring down Ognevika’s wrath and endanger them all. This outsider had been redeemed, and now all was well again. She had been made a blessed part of the tribe, however briefly.

Error wept. Her broken body could not stand. Her left eye had been blinded. She turned away from the grotesque sounds of the kobold celebration and dug through the gold. Even if her minions turned against her, her hoard would never betray her. Deep in the pile, her claw suddenly slipped against something unnaturally cold. She reached out and felt a chill of arcane power pulse against her scales.

The pulsing energy sang to her from a world long gone, from a time before the moon fell from the sky, before the Master Builder brought humanity down from the stars. It was something far older and more dangerous than even her dragon-self. A tool of absolute equalization, a device that called out to her with an unyielding, wicked desire. Injured as she was, Error still instantly knew its shape, its purpose, its curse, as she knew all the songs of the things she guarded in her hoard.

For a minute that lasted an eternity, she struggled to take control of it. To utilize the power of the Eldritch Gods would unmake her, peel apart her own mind, stain her very soul.

“You will respect and obey me now!” Screw spoke from far away.

She felt the collar memetically violating her mind, forcing her to crave submission to Screw. Blinding, all consuming rage burned her mind free of the collar’s influence. She was Ognevika the All-Powerful Dragon! How dare a mere kobold bind her will?

Her fear of the Inian weapon fell away. The sacrifice of sanity felt worth it now. Her hand wrapped around the icy handle, her own heartbeat resonating with the pulse of the primordial artifact, her desire for vengeance synchronizing with its ancient song.

She pulled at the handle and raised the weapon out of the pile. Golden coins clattered away, revealing a solid, black hexagonal barrel. She struggled to breathe, but, through the weight of the weapon and her ruined body, she forced out some choice words.

“This.... Inian artifact… is called a railgun. Mag-powered... induction... vectors anything inserted into it.” With one shaking hand she poured golden coins into the loading mechanism. The gun accepted them greedily with a dry metallic clatter.

Screw, looked at her, grinning, completely oblivious to what she held in her hands.

“Spin tales all you want, minx, you’re now mine by right of...”

Error pulled the trigger with pure hatred in her heart. The glow of nearby artifacts and her own horns dimmed as the gun drew their power, their energy and life into itself. The noise of the crowd turned to static in Error’s ears as she felt magic being drained away from the world. Unnoticed by Error, Agate finally fought her way through the cheering crowd, rushing towards her.

Error let the trigger go.

Screw’s head detonated with a thunderclap, showering Agate in kobold blood and brain matter. The cheering kobolds went silent as his limp body collapsed to the ground. Agate stood frozen, covered in blood and gore, bewildered by the sudden, deafening blast.

Error shivered. In a perfect circle all around her the hoard had lost its lustre, turned dull and gray. The gun had sucked the magic out of everything around her.

She didn’t feel any different. No tentacles emerged from the Deep. Her crystalline scales didn’t peel away. She didn’t grow a third eye. The collar didn’t announce any new afflictions. This was reassuring. She smiled weakly. Truly, nothing could affect her mighty dragonself. She had worried for nothing. The gun was perfectly safe.

Suddenly, Error noticed the old, brown kobold with a necklace of mushrooms in front of the crowd. His tongue lolled out between his yellow teeth, his jaw hanging open. He had to die next! In fact, they all had to die for their treachery and she now had the means to void their duplicitous, wretched, little lives. Who was closest? Error moved the barrel of the gun, seeking a target. A gray-blue kobold covered in Screw’s blood was next. Yes. Perfect.

"Don’t you move now, you little wretch," she spat, finger tightening against the trigger.

“No handling my hoard!”

Ognevika’s deep, sleepy, voice broke the silence. It reverberated through the hoard cavern, resonated in Error’s skull, a divine command that could not be disobeyed.

Error’s hands felt numb, no longer her own, as invisible strings of control stretched from the thrall collar, hijacking her nerves and puppeteering her body. The gun clattered down on the gold beneath her feet and slid away from her. A great dragon tail rose up from the gleaming hoard, covered in titanic, crystalline spikes about to strike her down. She sat beneath it, shaking in fright, all her power torn away once more.

Screw had wanted to own her because he was big and she was small. And Ognevika… the other Ognevika… was bigger than them all. This was the society of the kobolds. Ognevika’s lethal tail, ever poised above them, was their charter, their founding law.