The time had come.

Just outside The Devil’s Nook, a team of diverse monstrosities took their stand at freedom. Their lives had been protected, but the cost was too great in their minds. It had been so long for some. They had grown complacent, but one tiny goblin had rallied their deeper instincts.

The world was vast and the spoils of the lands were unclaimed. All manner of riches could be found in the world above Tartarus and beyond The Spire. They’d been trapped by Gohdin; the now undead dragonkin king.

Random fights were still raging throughout Tartarus. Some factions fought one another or against those that were loyal. Any that approached the gates were apprehended or killed—depending on which group the fleeing party ran into. Some rioters were even slain in the street simply for disrupting other’s lives.

Now, the remainder of the factions that had originally come together stood as one. They’d just shown how little they cared for one another; however, the greatest threat was before them. It could only be faced with greater numbers. They knew none could stand alone, but with hope in their hearts… they stood defiant in the street awaiting Death.

Gem, the goblin most believed to be a simpleton, had shown his worth. They surrounded him as comrades. They believed in his dream. They believed in returning to the prowling and the freedom. The Spire was a prison of the mind and the body, and they would tolerate it no longer.

Or… perhaps some had simply lost all hope in the approach of their king. This was the last option. To gamble on the little angry goblin.

All of these years, Gohdin had been the tyrant ruling from high above the city of Tartarus. It was time to abandon his selfishness and madness. It was time for a change.

This, as many could believe, was not entirely a horrid request for one’s own life. To live as one wishes is but the gift of life. That each had forsaken their instinct or their monstrous desires seemed worth it at times for the safety and civilization of The Spire, yet the caged animals within wanted out.

Two leaders were prepared to face-off in the streets of Perdition; neither within their own bodies. Both were now living the lie. They’d assumed the roles of leader without the right to claim such heights. How the gods cast their die are unknown to us, and yet the field is filled with pawns and knights all the same.

Bartleboth, in his goblin body, stood with two daggers in his quivering hands. They were both coated in some disgusting liquid. Bartleboth’s new nose found this scent revolting, yet he could easily ignore the stench. A chill had funneled down the street; an air preceding the cause.

Even the air flees him. Bartleboth grinded his teeth as a figure turned onto the street. His team had moved into an area of the road with fewer branching directions. If they were going to fight, they didn’t want to be sprung upon by every direction.

“There!” Bartleboth pointed one blade forward. Those not facing the same direction turned to face the danger. Those that were needed in front moved forward; creating the front and back lines appropriately.

As his troops took their places, Bartleboth sheathed one blade. He began rummaging through the pack on the back of his waist. Have you nothing that can help? Damn you Gem. Gods damn you over and over again! He was beginning to feel his heart race in his chest—an odd sensation he almost believed to be the natural alarm prophesizing his death. His hand began to check faster.

He checked what his hand would grab. One piece of junk at a time. Then, he’d look through the front soldiers of his men. Beyond one fleshy arm of some manner of Goliath and the fuzzy arm of a creature akin to the lycans. A spool of wire?! What madness is this you goblin bastard?! He threw the wire aside and dug into the pouch again. There has to be something besides shit covered blades!

In the distance, Ormal was visible. The hobbling goblin moved across the uneven street from right to left; entering a little over a hectometer up the road. Ormal stopped for only a moment and turned toward the direction he entered. His hands rose up to point. He took out neither weapon nor shield. Instead, the tracking goblin hurried to the side and opened the way for the truest monster within The Spire.

Dammit! Bartleboth opened the hand, still trying to keep his eyes down the road, to find a few pieces of shiny metals that looked unrefined. If I live through this, I’ll figure out how you switched us. I’ll eat your limbs one at a time and heal them back. I’ll torture you forever, you goblin prick! Another handful turned out to be cloth he’d cut from the fine banners with shiny metal stitched into the fabric.

“He’s here.” A few of the more meaty monsters in front were visibly shaken by the figure. The low voice of the goliath shook as if he were a child.

“Stand your ground!” Bartleboth cried out while searching each pocket of the pack. He’d turned it to the side to look within. “This is our final chance!” My final chance. Bartleboth spotted a single shimmer within the bag. “We end Gohdin today!”

He’d given enough emotion, through mostly terror, to raise the morale. The lycan creature howled out with anticipation and reached down to claw at the stones. Hair stood on end as the beast waited for the signal. A minotaur-like man, but with a rhino’s head, mimicked this action. Huffs were heard from the widened nostrils along with the scrape of a battle-axe pulled away from the ground.

Grabbing out the jewel, Bartleboth hoped against all hope. Should the world shatter tomorrow, let him relish in the blood of Gohdin today.

Examination told him it was magical in some way; though, he couldn’t feel any magical power within himself. It could be dangerous to try magic or even have it backlash now. The hope of one goblin teetered over a canyon; every detail adding weight to the rod used to balance him.

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“GEM!” The roar of the dragonkin shook the road. He had stopped his march down the way so he could examine the ranks of rebels. They were few, but they stood strong as best their willpower could allow. Each trembled, if only slightly, at the chill running down their spine. Those yellow eyes, barely visible, were filled with a lust for blood none could appreciate or understand.

“Gohdin!” The slime in a goblin’s body tucked the jewel into a smaller, more restrained pouch on the front of his belt. He’d done a decent job in refraining from allowing his voice to shake. Gem, Bartleboth, was the heart of this rebellion. “Must it be this way?”

There was a silence that rolled over the layered city of Tartarus. Even those on the floors below could feel the tension rise. As the roars and clashes began to quiet across Perdition, the intensity of two wills at battle created a static in the air. Some of those that watched experienced an atmosphere as if gravity had increased. Their limbs felt heavy, their mind struggled to keep control, and their heart pumped faster in hopes that the brain would signal retreat.

And in truth. Much of the conflict had begun to dwindle as the riots were snuffed out all across Perdition. This; however, was the moment the king would show all citizens of his worth.

“None leave.” Gohdin spoke with a hushed voice. It was as if he were talking to himself, yet the command travelled the gap and sent another shiver down the goblin’s spine. Any vertebrae in the group shared this frozen grip.

Sashro, The Black-Eyed Wizard, stepped out from behind Gohdin. One other shrouded figure matched Sashro’s movements. The king had come to face the rebellion with only a handful of soldiers, and still he walked to the front as if the battle would be his to fight.

Bartleboth snickered nervously. “You trap us here against our will? Are we but cattle for you? Simple toys for the king?” Bartleboth began removing the second blade again. “Or is it fear?”

Gohdin’s form rose to reveal more of the dragonkin scales beneath his drawn hood. The impressive equipment, sword and book on his sides, and the blackened cloak that draped over him all combined to paint the picture of a nightmarish conqueror. Still, his momentary flinch at this distance was enough for Bartleboth to find his opening.

“Fear of failure? Fear of a loss of power? What keeps our gates locked?”

Some of the rebellion thought to look at the goblin. Why are you talking and not commanding the charge? But, most of their bodies were petrified with the image of their king down the road. Even with such a gap between them, they wished Gem’s words would be enough.

“None leave.” The dragonkin’s neck now stretched out so his eyes were staring down his snout at the gathered militia. None, thinks the human, the undead, and the dragon within. “Not. A. One.”

Bartleboth pried further; like pouring acid into the wound. “You promised us glory! Conquest when you awoke! How long must we wait?! Is mankind such a worthy foe? This kingdom is enough for you?”

Christoph couldn’t understand the underlying notions, but each believed Gohdin would. Such words carried more weight than the simplistic declaration of war or a challenge for a duel. His delayed response only increased impact of such claims.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” The goblin began to snicker, but soon it grew into a wicked chuckle. “You fear man? Would such a kingdom bring ruin to the great Gohdin?

“We do not fear mankind. We’ve done your bidding and built this kingdom, but there must be change. We cannot remain caged like cattle. Is it not our right? Or are we simply slaves to your whim? Might we carry your banner to foreign lands and spread our might—place mankind beneath our foot? Or would you keep us here to wither beneath the mountains?

“We only desire to leave. You can remain locked away as some ancient treasure in broken ruins, but we will not! We will be free, Gohdin! Do you hear me? Do you hear us?!”

All that watched waited for the response of their king. Gem’s words had carried beyond his rebellion and into the hearts of those present in Perdition. They waited for words that would alleviate all concern, yet they were only met with the weight of bloodlust and a growl that birthed a roar.

None were so moved by the words than Christoph. Freedom? His eyes widened. Live free! Beyond walls and suffering?! Heat rose in his undead chest. Is that all you would have as Malin… as my family rots?!

It can be believed that the first to scream in a debate has lost their hold. Victory is lost, often enough, with the emotional outburst of illogical instincts. However, there are times that a primal roar may gain the advantage.

This bellowing dragonkin lost his patience when faced with the questions of a goblin. His command had been questioned; and therefore, his very rule was challenged.

Lighting up all of Perdition, the flames of the beast rose into the cavernous sky of Tartarus. All bore witness to the explosive roar of the king. Fire illuminated the city as the grounds trembled at the might. Over thirty meters high, the very breath of Gohdin was enough to transform the city into a pile of ash.

Watch and feel the heat. Know the shaking bass of the roar in your chest. Your eyes dry with the sudden and intense light as your skin tightens. Your ears ring as the king exposes the foolishness of this rebellion. Know the might of your king, Tartarus. Witness the might of the crown, and know your life is but a gift he grants.

Bartleboth, as all found hope in your words, all discovered disaster awaiting you. Of all you possessed, you provided a plan and execution that any ruler would find exceptional. Yet, there was one detail that neither plan nor luck allowed you contingency.

You faced neither talented diplomat nor proud monarch.

You faced a farmer’s son.

You faced that which you could never understand.

Your words should have secured a tomorrow in negotiated terms, but each syllable found only the deafened ears of the man within the dragon. Your words meant to pacify the monster enraged the man. You asked for the lives of your monsters. For this, you were judged for your talents.