He Who Strikes from the Green

Loud cracks like thunder ring out from beyond the green. The roars of monsters sound out to meet them, the noise of battle being unmistakable, even if it is unlike anything ever heard by their kind. The Kobolds hide away in the human huts and up in the trees, silent and waiting for whatever chaos is unfolding nearby to eventually pass.

And eventually pass it does. Silence rings out over the land, made all the more noticeable after everything else has gone quiet. The silence is deafening in a way. Everyone being compelled to be still as they wait and see. Wondering if the noises will return. Wondering it whatever survived the battle may turn its attention toward the makeshift village housing thousands of their people. Many of whom are noncombatants. The elderly, the young and yet to be named, and the soon to be mothers hiding among others.

The warriors of the many tribes and villages gather, ready to throw themselves before the coming threat if they must. To stall any threat long enough for everyone else to flee as they give their lives. This won’t be the first time that the warriors have sacrificed themselves to save the others during this journey. A great migration of their people as they run from the coming tide of death.

They only hope that the Shamans’ words can be trusted. That their people will soon find salvation. Though they wish that the Shamans would just tell them of what this salvation is. Yet they remain quiet and refuse to speak further on the matter.

He Who Strikes from the Green stands side by side with his father, the chieftain, and the few remaining warriors of his tribe. Spread around them, fanned out to defend from any direction and waiting to jump down from the trees are the warriors and chieftains of the other gathered tribes.

They wait in silence. Spears held at the ready to defend. Javelins waiting to be thrown. Muscles tensed and waiting to launch themselves from the trees, to latch onto any oncoming enemy and weigh them down with their own bodies if they must.

…

Noise comes from up ahead. The snapping of twigs under foot and the soft crunching of fresh snow. Beside He Who Strikes, his father gives a birds call to those who wait above, asking if they can see anything. They quickly respond in the negative. The foliage is too thick. The trees here have stubbornly refused to drop their greenery, providing cover to not only the Kobolds, but also to any would be attackers.

The noise draws closer, many footsteps drawing nearer. They sound human. The Kobolds are in no condition for dealing with the humans today, not after their migration. Not with how many wounded and exhausted noncombatant they have.

A whistle comes from the approaching beings, confirming that it is humans that they are dealing with. Though this whistle is different from what they expect from the humans. It sounds almost like it is coming from one of their own, but slightly deeper, as if from a larger form. Asking to be allowed to approach.

A hurried discussion quickly spreads amongst the defenders, Chieftains talking about what should be done. Many of the tribes do not trust the humans. Not all of them feel it safe to interact with the larger people. Most of those gathered call to refuse them from approaching.

A chief from the Needled Trees Tribe stands and calls back to the humans with noise promising violence if they approach. The humans do not know the language of the Kobolds, so threats of violence through tone is their only ways of telling them to stay away.

The approaching group comes to a stop and the sound of the humans talking can be heard from beyond the brush. After a short while, another whistle comes. They’re coming anyways.

Up in the trees, the Kobolds above call out that two figures are approaching while the others have stopped and are waiting.

Calls are sent out for them to stay away. A call is returned for peaceful meeting. Had the humans learned their language? How? The approaching humans do not stop, one set of steps is light, probably one of their women, while the other is barely audible, like a ghost walking on land.

“Stay away!” The Kobolds call out. “We will attack!”

“Peace, we mean no harm!” One calls back.

Above, the waiting Kobolds call out that they are near. The Chieftains give the order to attack if the humans show themselves.

From behind the lines of defenders, a wizened old Kobold comes running from the village, dressed in robes and adorned with hanging trinkets. He calls for the warriors to stand down, screaming for them to stop. He is to slow in his old age to make it in time as the humans emerge from the snow-covered brush. They don’t look like normal humans.

They both have horns and tails, and while the taller of the two is obscured by the shorter one walking in front of the other, the shorter one has traits never seen on any human. She has grey skin, clawed hands and feet, and eyes of golden halos over black sclera. The promise of power practically radiates off her person, and any Kobold that falls under her gaze finds themselves stunned and frozen, ice filling their blood.

She smiles. Her face looking like a hungry predator that just found a bunch of food.

The call goes out to attack, and javelins are let loose. The figure behind the Grey Demon tries to move forward and call out, but the Demon stops her with an arm, moving to cover her body. Before the attacks can reach them, several black tendrils erupt from the Demon's body, smacking aside the flying projectiles while several more defensibly covers the hidden figure.

Kobolds launch themselves from the trees, ready to give their lives to spear and grapple the invaders.

The Grey Demon simply looks up and smiles at them, arms spread wide as if wishing to catch them all in a hug as they descend upon her. She laughs, her joy clearly spread across her face for all to see. A pulse rips out across the area, originating from the Demon. Immediately, the world starts to darken and the strength to stand is quickly robbed from everyone. Those who jumped from the trees quickly lose control over their descent and start to flail in the air. Every last one of them is caught in midair as the shadows manifest from the trees, tendrils of darkness launching out and wrapping them all up like living vines from some carnivorous plant.

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They try to squirm and escape but the shadows continue to bind them as they dangle from the trees helplessly, wrapping them up from shoulder to foot until they are left with nothing but their heads exposed. They are left to dangle, forced to hang and watch from above helplessly. The Grey Demon laughs something out in the human’s language, a look of pure enjoyment spread across her face like a child enjoying a fun new game.

The chieftains call out to charge and the Demon answers with a smile, taking a single step forward as the pressure bearing down on the world seems to double in force. The Kobolds push through their fear and charge, forcing their legs to move under the force that practically orders them to kneel. Their families are at their backs, and they will die to see them safely into the future.

Their resolve only seems to make her happier. Her excitement increasing. She watches as the Kobolds charge and scream their war cries. She waves a single arm forward, her fingers trailing across the air as is sending a wave through water. The very air moves with her as the earth before her darkens at the Kobold’s feet. The shadows of the trees and foliage deepen and shift, moving despite the influence of the sun’s light. Moving toward the Kobolds as if the shadows of the world have had life breathed into them though her single action. The Kobolds charge, and the world around them erupts into a realm of darkness.

Shadows spring up from the ground and the trees, tangling up any Kobold warrior that is too slow to dodge. More and more they get caught and bound, many getting pulled to the ground, tied to trees, or suspended from the branches, dragged away kicking and screaming until their mouths are bound shut, their cries suddenly and abruptly cut short.

He Who Strikes from the Green runs forward even as his body shakes in fear, even as the pressure pushes down on him and reminds him of the Black Goblin that had burned away his warband. Rolling under a grabbing shadow, he yells and moves for the Demon, spear and axe held at the ready as he moves closer and closer. The Demon simply walks forward, not a care in world and a blissful smile on her face as the other figure remains safely covered behind her back.

The Grey Demon’s golden eyes shift and lock onto He Who Strikes as he draws closer, he falters, almost tripping over himself as her gaze is enough to seemingly knock the wind out of him. This Demon, doesn’t he remember her from somewhere? A memory tickles the back of his mind, trying to rise against the fear and adrenaline rushing through his body. He fails to notice the tendril attacking from his side.

Getting shoved aside, his father calls out to him as he is captured in his stead. “Move son! Don’t stop moving!” He Who Strikes watches as his father is ripped from the ground and pulled into the air, screaming for his son to fight on as he disappears into the foliage above.

He Who Strikes turns his eyes away from his stolen father and screams at the Demon. He charges and the Demon’s smile grows, her face practically splitting from ear to ear, arms held open and wide as if waiting to accept a hug from the enraged Kobold.

More shadows move for him as others get snatched and grabbed and pulled away screaming. Jumping, dodging, and rolling, he gets closer and closer until he is mere feet before the enemy. Stabbing forward with all his might, he aims for his enemy's head. Metal flying towards her eyes, she simply continues to smile and catches the spear mere inches before her face.

She pulls the spear to the side, the force of her strength threatening to swing He Who Strikes along with it. He lets go of the spear without hesitation and moves forward yet again, taking hold of his axe with both hands as he swings with everything he has for her midsection.

She tosses the spear aside and laughs as she watches, both arms spread wide and not bothering to dodge as the head of his axe buries itself into her stomach.

Only she does not bleed. She does not bend from his strike. The head of his axe simple bounces off of her as if he had just struck a boulder. For a brief moment, the image of a castle, built atop a mountain stands before him. Unmovable, unbreakable, unable to be sieged.

Fear fills him completely, flowing through his body like ice water, working along with the pressure pushing down on his body to make his legs shake and buckle. He almost drops his axe in defeat. Almost lets his legs give out and fall to his knees. Almost prostration himself before her to beg for his life. But he resists. He grits his teeth and tightens his hold over his weapon, digging his claws into the leather binding of its handle. Pulling it back he swings and swings and swings. Striking again and again against the Demon that stands before him as he screams his voice raw. She simply throws her head back and continues to laugh, her arm spread wide as she accepts all of his blows. Allowing him to uselessly attack her over and over again as the head of his axe bounces off of her body.

That is until she takes another step forward. She stops laughing. Her feet making no noise as she moves, but the world may as well have shaken from the weight of her very presence choosing to move forward, reality itself moving aside to accommodate her very presence. He Who Strikes gets one last blow in, a weak strike filled with the last of his strength, before her arms close around him.

Wrapping him up in an unescapable hug, she lifts him up off the ground and pulls him close. He tries to fight back, but he can’t move his arms, her grip may as well be made of steel. So, he does the only thing he can do. He squirms and kicks, but none of it works. Feeling desperate, he goes for a bite, aiming to rip her throat out as she holds him, hoping to kill her even if he dies trying.

A shadow manifests and blocks his bite, sealing his mouth closed. She says something to him, the words not being understood, though he knows them to be mocking. “Sorry little guy, you’re cute, but only Sky can bite me, hahaha.”

He looks up at her as she holds him, looking her in the eyes. He freezes as he sees the predatory glee that is practically radiating from her golden eyes. He can’t win… Even before he got caught, he had already lost.

He can only hope that his people were able to run away. That he and the warriors will be able to keep this predator entertained while the rest flee for their lives.

The Grey Demon gives him a little smile and pets his head as he drops his axe to the snow-covered forest floor, all the fight now drained from his little body.

Poking him on the cheek, the Demon points to behind He Who Strikes, drawing his attention to his surroundings. He turns and looks as she keeps petting his head.

Everywhere, Kobolds are bound and tied up on the ground, to the trees, or are simply hanging about the area from shadows as they watch. All of them have been captured, but none are still fighting. They simply watch in awe, their eyes refusing to look away despite being caught and bound.

A little closer, prostrating themselves on the ground is all of the Shamans of the collective villages. Their old heads are bowed low, practically buried in the snow in reverence.

He Who Strikes from the Green follows the gazes of over two hundred of his people as the Grey Demon takes a couple of steps to the side. For the first time he finally sees the figure that was standing behind the Demon.

She is beautiful. She is the sun. She is the moon. She is the sky and the earth. She is their light.

If he could cry, his eyes would surely be shedding tears, but alas, Kobolds are incapable of doing so. So, he merely continues to look on in awe. Completely forgetting that he is being held by someone that he had just tried to kill.

She smiles and turns to the demon, asking her to do something. With the wave of a hand, all of the captured Kobolds are released, those that were hanging in the air being lowered to the ground gently. Everyone prostrates themselves, all except for He Who Strike from the Green, who is still being held by the Demon.

She speak in the language of her people, her voice a bit deeper than normal for a Kobold, but unmistakable now that she stands before them.

“My people. I am here now. I have come to lead you to safety.” She says lovingly.

Her words enter his ears and every instinct screams through his body. Excitement ripping through him as his blood boils with knowledge and desire. Squirming with renewed vigor, the Demon finally releases him from her grip. He falls to the ground, tripping over himself as he quickly throws himself to the floor. Practically screaming, he calls out, “My Empress!”

All around them, the prostrating Kobolds call out as well. “My Empress!”, “My Empress!”, “My Empress!”

The Demon laughs and says something to their Empress and she responds with a giggle. They exchange a few words in the human tongue, but He Who Strikes does not care. Nothing else in the world matters right now.

His people are saved. His people have their Empress again. Salvation has found them.