Awe and respect only lasted so long. It was easy to speak of obedience to the gods, but few people would be happy if they showed up and started giving orders.

Especially the people who’d been in charge before.

The goblins had the mandril tied to a post, straining against its ropes. Its teeth bared, it screamed and howled and made the whole cavern echo with its anger. Any attempts to shut it up had ended with those powerful fangs chewing through the gag.

The chief of the goblin sat nearby, chewing a mash of bitter leaves and centipedes. Just poison enough to be narcotic. His underlings called him Tusk-Mouth. Surrounding him was a warband, passing horns of liquor and chewing dry meat. I’d already taken in the strict hierarchy here. Most of them were starving, but a few elites had strong muscle and full bellies, just enough to rise from ‘emaciated’ to ‘wiry’.

There was a space in the ring, and a bowl of liquor set down where they imagined I was.

“Spirit, you honor us with your presence. May you drink of our wine and be at peace here.” I could feel his emotions under his skin. I pressed my fingers to the metaphorical glass, not pushing far enough his mind could reject me, but scraping at the surface thoughts to read him. A mix of fear and pride. He knew full well I was powerful - but letting me push him too far meant his lieutenants seeing him as weak. “Spirit of the wastes, you ask us to give you our hunt. This is not an easy thing even if we are paid in turn. Our people’s pride is in our skill as hunters.”

I imagined weak leaders got a knife across their throat when they slept. Especially if the memory of them doing the same to the last chief was still fresh in everyone’s memory.

“This will not be a trade. The beast you have taken is my foe and will not die until I say so. My willingness to lend you aid in exchange, well, call it a token of friendship.” His tone irritated me. In another man the refusal to bend to my wishes, to accept he was the weak one here, would have been admirable.

In him it was a willingness to see his tribe suffer before he lost position.

He opened his mouth to spit back angrily before the wiry, ancient creature next to him leaned in and laid a hand on his shoulder. The tribe’s shaman had long dreads of white held together with red clay, and crusts of strange substances built up around the edges of her thin mouth. She didn’t know I could read her voice as she whispered.

“We do not know this spirit, and we have no reason to anger it now. At worst knowing our enemy’s mind is worth giving up the hunt.” Now, her I liked. She was slow and contemplative. I saw real authority in the confidence to wait me out and learn what she could.

He saw weakness. I felt the irritation spur in his mind as she spoke.

“Spirit, we have our own gods. Ancestors whose names we keep. What would they think, if we gave up our hunt to you and left nothing to them.” I could see the ‘ancestors’ he meant. Little idols huddled in a corner of the cave where a fire was kept burning. They had a little Mana to them and even a semblance of soul, a spiritual resonance grown over years of worship.

Currently the ancestors he was so proud of were trembling in fear of me.

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Actually, I suspected this would be much easier if he could see me in the way they did - I should have brought a body to the negotiations. He was literally too dim-witted to realize a foe he couldn’t see was far worse than one he could.

“I’m sure your ancestors have gone hungry before.” I felt proud of the insult. Cutting, but indirect. “But you will be remembered as one of them if you win my favor. Witness.”

I wasn’t going to rain my gifts down on them without thinking. The few at the top would simply find their appetites growing to match the new wealth. Stopping them from starving was one thing, but I was at least going to depose this nitwit before I went and made any big changes. Right now my show of calmness was aimed past him and towards his replacement. One of his lieutenants most likely.

Put simply, if I showed up out of the blue and overthrew their leaders I’d never shake the stigma of being an evil, unpredictable spirit. I needed to spur him into offending - into breaking some rule - before I could push a lieutenant into his place.

I drew water from the earth. The clay bowl trembled as I cracked the stone, dropping into the fissure that formed below. The break rushed across the floor and he stepped back, vaulting up one hand and landing with his other braced on his knife, ready to draw.

And stopped as he saw what formed within. I’d carved a knife from glittering but worthless crystals, with an edge split into many smooth facets all joining together into a smooth, unbroken edge. Each held a slightly different shade of green, from shades that were nearly black to sparkling-bright peridot, the edge itself colorless. The grip was fasted from bronze and polished to a shine, with a scalloped teardrop of heavy metal at the end for breaking skulls.

“THIS IS THE WEAPON OF A CHIEF.” I declared, raising my voice. Making them hear.

He’d have been a fool not to take it.

But when he reached to pick it up, and everyone saw him hold that glittering blade to the light, heard me declare his authority of chief - well there it was. I was declaring his authority. Giving it to him. For now.

I didn’t wait for the moment to fade. Instead, I made a tree.

The stone was thick and deep, but I split it open with ease. Dark green shoots crawled up, weaving together, making a helical tower that rose before their eyes. Those thin threads of life thickened to twisted bark-covered veins on the surface of the trunk. My tree was a symbol of power, and needed certain touches. The base bristled with thorns, the leaves were curled red and gold with eyes emblazoned on them like the wings of monarch, and I made a shape like a woman appear in the roughness of the bark, lifting her hands to become branches.

Ruby fruit waited above. I gave them an outer skin as thin and transparent as smoke, so the ripe red pips within could be seen, dark gems in a sea of rich pulp.

“This fruit will grow forth endlessly, so long as it is taken by worthy hands. If a blood-stained murderer dares to take even a single bite, the tree will wither each day until they are brought to justice.” These words I didn’t just speak. I carved them across the tree, again and again, forming a coat of silver scars shaped into my decree.

It would die within a week. At which point I’d make sure it was him that took the blame.

The eyes of the tribe were on him now, as he stood in the shadows of my tree, holding my blade. His head bowed by a fraction and he spoke through gritted teeth.

“We will bring the beast to your shrine by the next light.

It was a small victory. On some level, I was a large and powerful thing playing with my food, maneuvering him towards his doom just-so.

But I looked at the tribe, miserably underfed in their rags, struggling for survival. Their stronger, better fed leaders, having to be forced to accept a chance at a better life.

No, I couldn’t say I felt bad for using my powers this way. I was here to fix things. Sometimes that would mean crushing the people who kept it broken.