“That’s it, isn’t it? You fear man? Would such a kingdom bring ruin to the great Gohdin?” The goblin’s voice is enough to still all in the area. Christoph’s back straightens with the spark that runs down to the tip of his tail. Keep calm. He tries to still himself. Even though his heart has stopped, it feels as if it’s beating against his ribs.

“…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?” The new king tried to find an answer. They’ll kill so many. He considered this. Slaves? They are not slaves! Yet, he couldn’t ignore their plea for freedom. What adventures do they wish for themselves? How many must die for them to find solace?

“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?!”

What do I do? Christoph’s stilled blood had been boiling. A plethora of paths, numerous outcomes, were scrambled in his head. It was not a choice he could make in an instant. Of all that he could do for them, the final command came from the promise he’d dealt himself. They will kill far more than I must.

The path we travel may be paved in blood, but what if this path were the path that rose above those plunged into seas of crimson tides?

They’ll slaughter humans. The king thought back to what mankind had done to his home. We are no better. Monsters, one and all. The world was spinning. Silence allowed for him to turn over and over in his head while the citizens and rebels of Tartarus awaited their king’s decree. It’s too much!

They’ll kill us. We’ll try to kill them. The Spire won’t hold them forever. The world outside will burn. I can’t let them leave. I can’t make them stay hidden. The king’s eyes, the mad yellow, began to churn with the unforgiving manifestation of his undead side. The nature of his cuneate personality that provided the majority’s decision—the side that was entirely logical with no care for morality.

I can’t let them leave. Not now. Not as they are. Not as they’ve betrayed me. Not as they’ve betrayed the cause. They are mad dogs. I have no use for them. They are worthless now!

The boiling blood began to rise in the dragonkin as crimson bled into the yellow eyes. Sashro could hear the rumbling in the king’s throat. His feet shuffled quietly back several steps. The world was waiting for an answer, and Sashro understood what was to come.

Christoph, with his impressive vision, could see the goblin behind his line of meaty guards grinning in a victory he’d not claimed. He’d come to this battle to unleash his rage in hopes it would quell any rebellion. Now, the undead mind told him there was a new best course… it was best to destroy them now.

Just as the invaders. I must deal judgement upon the living that refuse to kneel!

A roar tore out of the man within the dragon. He aimed his head toward the Heavens; blocked by the very mountain he reigned over. Intense heat escaped with the breath. Unsure of just how he’d accessed this power, his spinning mind pushed on. With all his might, the pyre rose with unbridled rage.

Illumination of Perdition forced every eye toward the air above. Those uncertain citizens with any doubt of their king’s might fell to the ground in hopes of forgiveness. Ashamed of themselves, they forgot their rebellious intentions.

However, there were still those beside Gem. The treacherous faction leaders and their closest companions stood against the miniature dragon. Blistering heat created all manners of funnels in the streets. Winds pushed and pulled at each creature; enough to lift Gem from his feet had the larger creatures not blocked his way.

Once the roar had subsided, the light vanished in a final flash like a star beneath the mountain. Each monster’s heart pumped just short of exploding. Still, these few creatures stood their ground against the dragonkin.

There was no other choice in their minds. Neither side would budge.

Christoph dropped his head and closed his eyes after unleashing his breath. I can’t burn the city. Only a few need to die… only a few need to be made an example. He thought of the town of Carmoss. The eyes flashed open with a bright crimson.

Gohdin, King of the Undead, took one step toward the line. His faithful subjects remained where they were. Sashro looked to his student and shook his head. The king would move alone.

Christoph could see them flinch. The presented frontline revealed their fear; and, therefore, their weaknesses. The goblin behind them shifted slightly. This spread a sharp-toothed smile across Gohdin’s face.

“G-get out there!” Gem’s shrill voice commanded one of the larger creatures up front. The lycan beast growled and looked over to the rest beside him. The rhino-headed man nodded and took off. Two speeding beasts targeted their king as the rest of the rebellious lot took their positions at the goblin’s order.

Christoph watched a few archers take their positions. Three creatures were tossed up to second-levels of buildings with help from their larger comrades. Dragonkin eyes, filled with blood, kept them all in view while he walked casually toward the two charging foes.

No weapon was drawn. The monster that ruled over all beasts marched on. His two claws opened wide at his sides. Twisting and snapping his fingers; satisfying cracks released the pressure.

The rhino took the lead while the wolf shot back and forth behind him. This would disorient most targets, but Gohdin was unfazed. His cloak swung open with his considerable arms rising as if he were welcoming the charging enemies in for a loving embrace. A horn began to swing as the beast’s head swung up.

They’d closed the gap after some time. To Christoph, the time felt incredibly slow. The rhino’s horn was still meters away, but he could already tell this bobbing action was the attack meant to lead the charge. Behind this massive man-like body, the lycan tried to conceal himself. Yet, Christoph could tell he’d come around the right side of the rhino. This way, both would pincer him—horn on the right, wolf on his left.

A snapping jaw flung slobber as the wolf leapt around the corner and went for the throat. The natural weapon of the rhino rose as a battle-axe scraped across the stone behind him.

They are nothing. The undead brain considered these enemies neither threat nor worthy of true might. No more than hundreds of humans quarreling on grassy hills in the dead of night. You’re in my way!

One claw took hold of the horn as the other jabbed up into the wolf’s throat. Long nails would have sunk into the flesh, but the force of the king’s blow left the limbs flailing. The wolf hadn’t regained composure or his breath before the horn made contact.

Blood spurted out as Christoph watched the terror in the rhino’s eyes grow. Absolute surety that death was but a moment away. Taken off his feet, the momentum of the rhino had been redirected into the airborne lycan. The open jaw was now filled with the horn as the top of the skull cracked open with the natural spear. Though the rhino-man had meant to swing his weapon, it merely followed behind him as he sped up.

Christoph’s arms both moved with awe-inspiring speed. He’d released the two creatures to meet between him—creating a fleshy wall for defense. While still staring into the rhino’s one eye, Christoph launched both claws again. One slid down the monster’s arm, blood pouring from the lines he’d drawn, and took hold of the battle-axe. The other shot a fist into the head of the rhino.

Christoph spun around like an Olympian and took aim with the decently fashioned weapon. While he took his stance, the combined assailants flew several meters before contacting the stone floor. They fumbled over one another as the limp lycan twisted about the horn. The rhino-man’s skull had been crushed with one blow, and blood sprayed from his arm in all directions as he rolled. Red paint covered the road like a carpet made for the king.

Two archers were waiting for a shot once their teammates moved or created an opening. They hadn’t expected the king to already have an attack ready for them. Both fired as quickly as they could while the third attempted to prepare himself. Two were near one another on the left side, one was on the right. Each was still about sixty meters or so up the road.

Christoph saw two arrows release. They were fairly fast. He didn’t have much time to react, but he had to choose. The dragonkin whipped his right arm forward and released the axe. His tail pulled up just as he finished his arch; a limb still not fully under his control.

Dammit! None would hear the king curse his own attack. Instead, they would merely stare in horror as the weapon tore through the dense atmosphere.

Lifting himself from the ground, two arrows flew by his twisting body. The right almost struck his outstretched leg, but the left was entirely off target at the distance. His off-balance toss had seemed a beautiful dance to dodge the missiles.

With spectacular velocity, the axe almost seemed to be a solid disc. It flew the distance toward two archers on the left side.

Neither archer believed the attack would hit them; though, they had no time to react had it been on proper course. Instead, the axe became a wrecking ball to demolish the stone wall at their sides. The debris impaled or peeled flesh. An unlucky randomness to the demolition of the king’s attack.

While random and off course, the attack and proceeding dodging had been witnessed by many. It was beyond the average mind! To calculate such an attack while on the defensive! His power was truly divine!

“Here he comes!” Gem’s outburst attempted to retrieve the sense of all in the street. “Kill Gohdin!” The goblin shouted his orders, but Christoph paid them no mind.

He’s already dead. Whatever he says now simply increases the punishment.

The elfish female that had healed Gem let out a shattered scream. A sickly metamorphosis from a weak squeal to an almost noiseless exhale forced certain creatures’ eyes to quake. Her hands lifted and she inhaled sharply before shouting, “Holy Lance!”

A sudden sparkle of light filled the spaces between combatants. Two circles of yellow energy spun around both hands until they were sucked into the center. A spike began to appear out of this yellow orb between her hands. She took aim between two of the larger beasts—both shifting in hopes of avoiding the magical attack.

It shot out toward the dragonkin. Christoph saw the shift of the line and the sparkle. He’d taken to walking calmly toward the group. Two archers were torn apart as the other was preparing another shot. This lance was just another arrow to him. It fired out, and The King of the Undead watched as the rod of light grew in size as it approached him.

Her aim is off. He turned to one side and let the bolt fly into a window of a shop behind him. His cloak fluttered at the force, but it seemed unscathed by the spell. The crash of glass and items within the shop was heard behind him, but Christoph kept moving forward.

The enemy was now on the move. Each was charging or preparing a spell.

Now, it’s a fight!

As the bloated creature (the same that spoke out against Gem in the alley) stepped forward, Christoph saw the purple circles begin spiraling around him. There were a few different levels of runic symbols, but then they vanished as an aura of a deep purple surrounded the monster.

What spell? Christoph made a mental note, I really need to study more.

The bloated creature began running forward with a gurgle escaping his bluish face. Another arrow signaled the charge. Continuing forward, the dragonkin moved to the side as another arrow missed its target. Every combatant in the street realized the situation. There would be no mercy—it was fight or die.

Christoph waited for the horde to rush him. They came at him like a stampede. No order to it all. They hadn’t worked out a strategy, and this made it all the more interesting as they separated. Christoph dug on foot into the stone and examined the field—all the monsters between him and the goblin that stood at the back with narrowed eyes.

“Gah!” Christoph let out a short roar before launching himself forward. Like a spark of electricity, his form moved ten meters in a split second. One uppercut sent a gnoll up into the air. The hyena-humanoid folded backwards as the bottom jaw shattered in his head. None had noticed how a dagger had been removed from the now deceased gnoll.

A flick of the wrist sent the small blade out. The bloated monster pulled back and smiled as if he’d dodged the attack. Christoph growled in disappointment; though, the projectile rested in in the chest of the final archer. With a quick yelp, the rebel ranger fell against the wall behind him and slid down as life slowly drained from him.

Christoph turned quickly to correct himself—his tail crashing into the chest of an approaching insectoid monster. The creature took the blow like a hammer to a finger and soared back into the wooden column of one establishment. Clicking out his pain, the insect-like man bent around the cracked wood and collapsed.

“Gohdin!” The bloated monster swung one massive fist down. The purple aura manifested into a dense orb around the hand. Christoph kicked off the ground to put more distance between him and the horde. Monsters began to move around the bloated beast; a series of smaller nightmares slipping around the larger being’s limbs. Purple flames popped and crackled in the small crater he’d formed, but all his teammates moved about him knowing he wouldn’t harm them… intentionally.

“Come on!” Christoph roared out and rushed forward again. One goblin took a punch that inverted his face. The corpse flew back and collided with two of the enemies. Then a claw reached out to grab some manner of elf by the arm.

Still ignorant and unrestrained, Christoph flung the man before he could attack. The male elf’s body twisted through the air until he crashed into a wall. A snapped neck left him crashing to the ground; paralyzed.

“Kill him!” The bloated beast pointed forward. “Kill Gohdin!”

Christoph was becoming surrounded, yet his claws lashed out in each direction. A blade carved down his tail, but only a quick shot of darkened blood hit the ground. There were a few stabs that landed on target—whether by some weapon or biological tool. A flying insectoid with a scorpion’s tail jabbed downward and caught the neck of the undead dragonkin.

They were gaining ground on him, and the pain was building. Agony upon agony, yet death would not come for him. Gohdin’s eyes were opened wide with a crimson glow. His rage would surmount that which dealt him damage—a natural response for any cornered animal.

Just as on the grassy hills! His memories and vision blurred.

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“Enough!”

Christoph reached out, three blades carved into the meat of his arm and tore away scales, to land another fist into an armored humanoid’s chest. The metal collapsed in as the body paused before flying backward. This creature struggled to breathe as the mangled armor dug deeply into his flesh.

Then the claw retreated while open. Christoph simply tried to regain his defenses, yet it caught on the neck of an ogre that was readying another strike with his mangled cleaver. The claws tore through the neck and opened the veins. Like watching paper tear, the ogre’s neck separated and spilled blood over the king. Christoph continued with the momentum and threw the claw back—directly into a troll’s face.

This built creature, one that most knew could regenerate a decent amount of damage, screamed into the palm of the dragonkin. Christoph yanked on his stuck hand as his body twirled around the center of the congested battlefield. Sharpened claws removed the front of the troll’s skull; a greenish face with bone crushed beneath.

Clubs, blades, and fists were landing all over Christoph’s body. Throughout the combined assault of the rebels, the king continued to flail and lash out. He pushed on, though it was dulled, through the pain. His mind continued to cry out; mixing with his unleashed roars.

I can’t let them leave! I have to show them! No more!

Christoph took a heavy blow from a club-wielding orc. The club made contact with the dragonkin’s chest. Christoph tried to push through, but the weight of it spun him and knocked the air out of his dead lungs. He didn’t need to breathe, but the act lost him his momentum.

The King of the Undead fell to one knee.

“Finish him!”

I can’t let them leave!

“Kill him!”

The king felt a spear enter his back. A sword slashed up his right arm; cleaving several scales free. Another weapon struck bone. Whoever swung the blade found it couldn’t split the skeleton, but they pulled the weapon free. Christoph felt the pain fire jolts of distress into his undead brain—the part of his mind that seemed to smile through the agony.

I can’t let them!

“Finish him!”

A flurry of spears and blades pierced him from all angles.

Christoph exhaled slowly through his open mouth. Blood trickled from the sharpened teeth only once. His stilled heart wouldn’t force it free, but the open wounds spilled his veins. He coughed out a bit of blood that had found its way over his tongue.

Am I really going to die again?

His eyes fell to see four blades all sticking through his chest. They dripped with a few droplets of his blood. There wasn’t much of him to spill, yet they did what they could to pull him apart.

“Now!”

Christoph felt each of the lengthy weapons begin to pull away. His dragonkin body twitched as he let out a roar in response. The gathered crowd flinched away. This only hastened the sudden shift of the weapons in his body.

“Kill him!”

They pulled or pushed. Churning the stilled organs in his body, Christoph wailed as the banshee. He could feel his ribs being rubbed against. How they bent slightly at the force. Each of the assailants tried to split the king as he hunched over.

Is this really all I’d been born and reborn to do? Die, and die again?

Memories of a grassy hill become an ignited sky of massive stars. Fire unlike any other. A mad wizard’s judgement as he acted the apocryphal god.

Of course not.

Christoph’s screams ended.

With the image of some lush fields and a farm beside a flourishing village of man, Christoph’s mind flipped a switch. He could not touch such a village or farm with his own hands, but he would walk the shifting oceans of grass about it. He would ensure its survival by spreading blackened pitch about the lands and scorching the skies. Only within the center of the storm… only within this village, would he temper his wrath.

The rebels cried out and yanked on their weapons. Each prayed the next shift or stab would drop the dragonkin to the ground—his false life drained completely.

This did not happen.

Instead, all were baffled by the sudden silence… the stillness of the victim.

“’m…’ing.”

“What?” The bloated creature had taken to standing behind the circle—just over the collapsed troll with the missing face. “What did he say?”

One goblin shifted forward and turned his head. There was no breathing. There was no heartbeat. There was nothing that made him think the king had survived.

Even Gem, the spirit of Bartleboth, watched from a distance as the crowd became quiet. In the distance, Bartleboth could see Sashro staring intently at the scene. Why hasn’t he intervened? Bartleboth considered this. He can’t be immortal—he’s not a god?!

Then the roar tore through the street.

Christoph’s left arm, covered in various cuts and flayed flesh, shot out and took hold of the goblin’s throat. One leg resisted the weight of his attackers. Pushing from the ground, the dragonkin began to stand. Every set of eyes watched in disbelief as the king struggled against such injury to claim his victory.

He’s not a god! Bartleboth watched with awestruck eyes as if he’d watched an angel float down before him. This messenger of the divine brought no verse of peace or mercy.

Christoph’s bright crimson eyes snapped to the goblin that flailed wildly in his clutches. The attacks began again. Some in the circle put all of their strength into the strikes while others lost the will to fight. As if petting the king with their weapons, those that had succumb to the fear couldn’t break fabric or flesh.

“I’m not dying! Never again!” Christoph shouted as he looked into the warped expression of the goblin. A small dagger stabbed into his wrist over and over as the critter attempted to flee. Air was being cutoff, and the goblin began turning a sickly purple.

“Help!” The goblin squeaked out all the air in his lungs as he saw the flare behind the teeth.

Sudden flashes of light filled the street. A more focused beam of flames engulfed the goblin and those behind him. Christoph kept the flame centered on the goblin until nothing but a blackened shadow was visible from within—quiet and crackling.

That was not the end to his fury. He took another breath as the circle had begun to widen. Giving him more room only made it easier for him to turn. Releasing the charred remains in his grasp, the burnt husk crumbled to the ground as the king turned on his heels. In truth, this frantic mental turmoil had lost the king his footing, and he whirled wildly as flames escaped him.

As each tried to cover their face and pull away from range, flames spilled over the stone ground and rose up each body that failed to escape.

The bloated creature watched in horror as living pyres ignited around him. Two of his nearby comrades in agony. When they tried to run toward him, the creature had to put his own safety above their own fleeting lives. Both of his fists fell down to crush the burning monsters; purple flames flickered over those of orange and red. Snuffing out the fires and their lives, the beast repositioned himself to watch the carnage.

A spiral of flames had surrounded Gohdin.

From within the flames, a dark figure could be seen straightening its back and rolling its shoulders. Shadowy pillars rose from his back—spears still stuck in the king. This wall of fire blazed on for several seconds, as any touched by it ignited, before the figure made one movement.

With the blade extended out to his side, Christoph had dissipated the remaining fires of his own breath. There were only a few left that had survived the breath of Gohdin. Christoph gazed at the circle of badly burned monsters and corpses. It had all happened so quickly, yet the proximity of his enemies had made the attack easy.

Christoph glanced out over Gordan’s Reaping Render. The blade glistened in the distant glow offered by the lava streams. The blade rested perfectly horizontal as Christoph’s arm kept it steady in spite of all his sustained wounds.

“I’m not dying.” Christoph’s emotionless voice flowed down the street like a fog rolling over the cemetery. “I have too much left to do—so much to protect.” The crimson eyes flashed over the rebels. Only a handful remained alive and able to fight; one stood a distance away with disbelief falling from his opened mouth. “I will not die.”

These words, spoken in the calm bass, rumbled the very soul. There was more weight to these words than any Bartleboth or the bloated monster had ever produced. If words were weapons, then surely this monster’s voice would split the very mountain. It was as if they’d heard the gods pass judgement upon them in the soft voice of damnation.

“Gohdin!” The bloated monster pushed forward. His weight split carcasses and crispy remains as he stomped on. “Grah!” He flailed his meaty limbs with the purple flames flickering over the flesh.

Christoph waited for him. His breath wasn’t ready for another use. He could feel how it drained him of power, yet he had more tricks up his sleeves. And, I saw what you’d done. Through the flames, he’d watched how merciful this creature had been.

One swipe of the blade brought it down across the spears that stuck through the dragonkin’s chest. One swipe, and the tips of metal were removed from the wooden shafts. Clean cuts. Every one of them.

The bloated monster continued to approach the king.

Crimson eyes met the beast as one purple-coated fist flung itself downward at an angle. The King of the Undead took the hit.

“Gohdin!” The beast shouted as he made contact. Purple flames flowed out in the direction his fist had attacked. There was a moment of triumph before a sudden shift in the air.

“Combat: Parry!”

Then, blood spurted up from between two knuckles of his hand. “Gah!”

Christoph had used the combat skill taught by a cowardly man. The dragonkin had artfully slid the blade between his enemy and himself. A sudden flash of light and the proper placement deflected the momentum of the attack. The fist lifted slightly as the flames were cast over Gohdin’s head.

Then the blade aimed forward and flew up as if it were the arm on a catapult. Opening another wound on the bloated creature, the blade’s black metal began to shine slightly. Christoph hadn’t noticed as the weapon was behind him. He rushed forward, the spear poles slowly beginning to wobble their way free of their holes—bouncing from one rib or bone to the next.

Before the beast could correct himself for defense, the dragonkin was already sprinting beneath his arm. The sword carved another piece from the monster. Christoph had rushed beyond the enemy but commanded the weapon to pass through its fleshy leg. The kneecap was split, flesh had been separated cleanly, and the meat within was spread apart. Unable to put weight on the leg, the top-heavy beast began to wobble.

Christoph straightened himself and reached back to remove the last pole from his torso. He examined his arm that was missing several scales and had deep gouges down to the bone. There was a bit of pain, yet he felt only the unceasing need to conquer all that had dealt him such disrespect.

A dragon’s honor.

Those of the surviving creatures had either passed out or died due to their wounds. Christoph couldn’t see anyone moving besides the bloated beast behind him and the distant Gem. He turned to face the nameless creature’s back.

“Gohdin! Damn you!” He couldn’t stabilize himself. Instead, he cursed and slurred his words of utter anguish. Trying to place the leg down caused a sickening snap. A shiver flowed down Christoph’s back—a refreshing waterfall hidden within the desert.

Taking in a long sniff, Christoph took a moment to enjoy it all in the twisted chimera that was his mind.

I won’t let them leave.

I won’t let them live.

I won’t let them win.

Each voice made its intensions known. The verdict was passed as the three found union in the moment. His hands prepared the blade and pole for another attack.

I WILL NOT DIE!

The spear’s wooden body, devoid of any point, was thrown by the left hand of Gohdin. He was only a few meters behind the beast that couldn’t get his footing. The wood seemed to instantly teleport from the dragonkin’s claws into the back folds of the creature’s neck.

This large framed being flailed and groaned in pain as he tried to steady himself. His leg was breaking apart as shifting weight bent and snapped what remained. Those meaty arms tried to reach back and remove the wooden post, but the movement caused his knee to separate completely.

Christoph saw this opening and leapt up. His body felt so incredibly light. As if he could fly, he pulled up his legs and gracefully positioned himself. His arm swung overhead with the blade subject to his will.

A flat side of the blade struck the end of the wooden pole with a thunderous thud. It sounded almost hollow—a sudden vibration deep within the well that silences itself when noticed. The creature’s wild shifting and wails came to an abrupt halt.

Christoph watched the wall of bluish blubber as he fell back to the ground and landed. A soft pth was the only sound he made. He kept himself quiet, even holding his breath as the creature’s considerable arms fell forward; carrying the mass to the ground. The wooden post had gone almost completely into the neck. Only the end of it, flattened by the attack, was visible within the folds of flesh as it fell.

Sprawling out over the street, the deceased monster crushed each of the corpses beneath him. A sudden slam mixed viscera with the charred flakes of his comrades. Audible cracks, snaps, splats, and puffs made a horrendous boom.

Then… silence.

The city of Tartarus had fallen as still as a graveyard. None wanted to breathe; decisions made in hopes of avoiding involvement.

Bartleboth had done the same.

There was a moment that seemed to freeze in time. All the world suddenly stopped and waited. What path would be taken? As if the gods playing their various games had called for a break, the match was placed on hold while those that lived waited for the next moves.

Christoph basked in this. The madness of it all. The sheer insanity of a farmer’s son killed in action only to be reborn as king of Tartarus—the city beneath The Surton Spire. It was absolute madness…

Yet, it all made sense.

People, all manner of individuals, were beyond these natural walls. The wandering mind of a farm boy left him wishing for adventure; a reality filled with more than simple vermin and crops… struggling to get by on whatever scraps the local lord allowed them to keep. He’d wanted to take in the wonder of the world and be more than just a boy.

Now he was.

Now, he was the undead bastion that stood between the monstrous hordes of The Spire and the humans he’d left behind. It was a path he’d not asked for, but it was also a path he hadn’t refused.

Christoph broke the silence—closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. The aroma of burned flesh almost made his undead mouth moisten. The warm air carried various metals and fabrics from all the distant forges. He took in all the scents, along with the scent of a cleared battlefield… the taste of victory filling his nostrils and coating his tongue.

He opened those crimson eyes and flashed over to his right. Down the path, Gem awaited the end he knew was coming. Christoph peered at him with burning orbits; madness was the great blessing he shared with his enemy.

Those two flaring eyes pierced into Bartleboth’s soul. The slime within a goblin tried to move through the pressure. With the distance between them, his eyes could only focus on the two raging infernos within the dragonkin’s skull.

The goblin watched as a titan… a god… began to walk toward him.