‘Birth, evolve, ascend. The three steps that are necessary to achieve power in the world.’ Gez-Gez thought as his crude knife was plunging into the bowl of maggot-infested bread. ‘If only it really worked that way.’ Gez-Gez sliced off a piece and chewed and then passed the rest to the next starving goblin.

As a goblin, Gez-Gez was literate, a somewhat strange skill for a one, Gez had learned many words from multiple stories he often found in ruins during his past, but it’s been two years post purge he hadn’t been out, as it wasn’t allowed. So instead of living his life freely, he’s only happened ever to experience was generations of poverty and illness. To him, It was a pipe dream even to think that goblin scholars still existed, something that was prominent in the past, and he often aspired.

Gez-Gez watched as others passed the bread down the destroyed wooden table. Each goblin could only take what was needed to keep them from starving to death. Life was low, real low. For several years the clan could not grow. Each time a leader rose, they were murdered by some get-rich bounty hunter. Goblins didn’t exactly help out the natural ecosystem with their high levels of the industry. Since their recent numbers were being kept low, nature had begun reclaiming what it had lost.

Standing up from the table, he grabbed his knife and headed for the door when a hand grabbed his forearm. Looking back, it was Dreg-Gez, A male goblin from the same birth generation as him as denoted from his second name. “You’re not going out?” He asked with a tone of anger. “The den is safe, don’t be dumb, Gez.”

Gez snatched his arm back fiercely, “Stop me, ill eat a coward like you, Dreg,” he snarled.

Dreg did nothing to stop him after that outburst. But, because he knew it wasn’t a bluff, he had the thought too. They all probably had the ideas, and it’d be better if he died looking for something to eat than to turn on his own.

Gez climbed out from a hole in a ruined house, the only defense they had, gravity. Outside was lush, green, and brimming with life. Of course, being outside wasn’t inherently dangerous, but the fear riddled every generation of goblins, old and new.

Gez crawled to a dusty window and wiped part of it clean. Then, he looked to see if there was anything that could pose some threat or immediate danger.

Fortunately, there was nothing. However, he found some prey that made his mouth water, two delicious-looking pigs—pink, succulent, fat, and plump. However, one of them was more petite, perhaps a juvenile. But it didn’t matter, and The plan was to kill the capable and then take his time with the vulnerable. It should work in theory since the bigger one would take most of his precious and minimal energy.

He licked his lips to rid it of the saliva, and like a crazed animal, he charged the adult pig; he grappled around its neck and began stabbing like mad. 

The pig squealed and bucked. He was covered in hot red blood. So much so that it began blinding him. But he was determined.

The pig took off in a random direction, still bucking until Gez felt the sudden feeling of falling in his stomach. Seconds later, he slammed into the pig, and the pig slammed into him. He bounced off from the pig and slid several meters away. 

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However, he was fine. The pig had taken the majority of the damage. Gez wiped the blood from his eyes and looked at his kill, and it was breathing hard and kicking its front legs wildly. It was possibly suffering shock from a damaged spine and blood loss. 

“Hehe,” Gez snickered and toothily smiled. “Because Gez is so brave, he gets to eat first!”

As he got up to approach the pig, he heard a very distinct creaking noise, and shortly after, he began plummeting below the ground and hitting a concrete floor almost immediately.

The area was dark, and the windows were nothing more than just metal shutters that let in a minuscule amount of light.

Gez immediately let his curiosity take over and explored.

He found only several large crates written in the human language. Most of which were labeled saying they belonged to the military. This sent a smile clear across his face. Gez had an inkling of what the contents were while opening the first crate.

In the crate were wooden and steel weapons from the old world, rifles, and many of them. Several old human helmets were also found in the containers. Gez was more than possibly the luckiest goblin ever.

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The hall erupted with festive cheer, and pork was flung around to everyone, bones were chewed and devoured, the Black Lake goblins would not die out today. But, thanks to the rifles, they could hunt and disappear faster than ever, keeping them safe from discovery.

The fires within every goblin burned hot and bright. Weeks passed with no starvation-related deaths, so their eyes began turning from surviving to thriving; the colony’s numbers needed to be increased, and the necessary land was required to sustain it.

The current goblin leader, the highest evolution around, was the chieftain; his skin was brown instead of the usual green, and he had tusks jutting from his mouth. Stepped out into the great hall looking at the hundreds of goblins with a sneer. He crossed his arms, causing the black fur cape he had to cover his tiny body. 

The chieftain looked at the highly motivated goblins having a feast. Shortly after, the hall became quiet, and every goblin gave their respect. “I need eight,” he announced with a deep voice that echoed in the lobby.

Gez-Gez shot up immediately. To be a scout was an honor for any non-evolved goblin. But, unfortunately, the seven others weren’t so enthusiastic about it as the chieftain had chosen them randomly.

Scholars told the eight to wait by the room they converted into a makeshift armory and that the chieftain was right behind them.

 Moments later, the chieftain walked through with goblin scholars, and seemingly the chieftain must’ve kept some of them alive and into hiding, which wouldn’t be hard since they’ve walked around with a great hunch and covered all of their body in loose rags.

“Names,” the chieftain asked.

Full of enthusiasm, Gez was also the first to speak, “Gez-Gez.” The goblin scholar promptly wrote it down in a book.

The chieftain grunted, “Gez-Gez? you’re the one who brought the rifles.”

“Gez-Gez is Gez-Gez!” He nearly shouted from the pent-up joy.

The chieftain smiled. “Good, Gez is going to be the leader of this group.”

The other six gave their names, and most of them happened to be from a different generation. Five were from the Durg generation, and two were from Ertz. However, it didn’t matter as they were told from the chieftain they those names were fake as they were Khargol, to form Khargol Scouts, first-generation.

They have then suited up all the necessities for what a goblin scout team would be, a helmet, various rags, a satchel for a few food items, and four stripper clips of rifle ammo holding seven rounds each. 

Before the scouts were sent off on their mission, the chieftain called Gez over. “You’re a survivor from the purge, aren’t you?”

Gez nodded. “Gez was a baby when we were exiled.”

The chieftain painted a white ‘x’ over Gez’s face. “You are the face of our rage, Gez-Khargol. Make them beg.”