Runt’s single word had certainly been enough to call the ghoul’s gaze his way. It was a crack in the dam holding in the silence that permeated every inch of the room. The word rang out in the cloying night air, disturbing a peace that had been bought through terror. As though they had finally been given permission to scream the two children indulged in a way that tormented Runt’s sensitive ears. Their piercing cries soon overshadowed by the taunting laugh that quickly followed suit. Runt was not adept at judging human ages, nor had he ever had a reason to develop that skill. To him humans were either too small to pose any real danger, or too big to mess with. There were a few ages and shapes in between that sparked differing levels of worry, but the pattern held true. The pair both looked to be about his height, perhaps one an inch or so shorter, but already he was frustrated by their uselessness. He had given them their chance and they had instantly squandered it. Using the moment to scream instead of clambering for an exit. Humans as a whole were a useless sort, but apparently their children were even more so.

Only two entities moved in the moments after Runt’s frantic cry, and not the two he had been hoping for. The ghoul contorted its bulk to fit into the hole Runt had created, bending in ways that unnerved Runt just to look at. Using its claws as leverage as it scraped its way froward, leaving gouges longer than Runt body in the process. The old guardian of the household moved to try and intercept it, stiff joints and age ridden muscles struggling to keep it upright as it began to growl. It was a futile last stand, the pride and courage of a beast used up in its last moments. Its barks were somehow dry. Mummified in a way that betrayed its frailty. Cracking and insistent despite the creature it faced. The hound stood snarling before the ghoul, teeth bared despite the empty gums that spoke of their weakness poking through.

With a sweep of its hand the ghoul crushed the last hope Runt and the whelps had. Casting the beast aside as though it was just another scrap of blanket upon the floor. Runt heard the snapping of bones as the ghoul dragged its clawed hand backwards, casting the frail body out behind it and sending the body tumbling onto the empty wooden streets. Crumbled and defeated simply as an afterthought, an obstacle in the way of much fresher prey.

Some part of Runt howled deep within him. A rage and a fury that strained to rip through and consume his psyche. A part of him recognized the injustice he had just seen. An act of bravery, of self sacrifice, tossed aside with little to no regard or appreciation. In that moment Runt hated the beast before him in a way he had never had before. A hate that threatened to drive all else from his mind. It nipped at his fear at first, before consuming it whole. Swallowing it up like a chasm within himself, burning it to fuel and drive him. The hatred was not just for what the ghoul had done to him. His shattered arm and bruised chest would heal, his suffering had been minimal. But it stemmed from a similar feeling. In much the same way he saw himself in the children cowering before the beast, he also couldn’t help but see himself as the old dog they had cowered behind. Despite all the odds against it, despite all that bared down upon it, standing firm to defend what little it had. It was weak, ineffectual, but the motion had captivated Runt. The motivation foreign, strange, but not an unwelcome one. A second later and that spark of inspiration had been snuffed out. Crushed much the same way that any of Runt’s schemes had been. Thwarted before it could achieve its goals. Discarded before it could have any meaningful effect.

The ghoul had shifted its attention away from the half dead greenskin laying to one side. Its eyes had been drawn to the delectable treats it had inadvertently unearthed. Ravenous hunger lit up its features, the humourless grin stretching ever wider with every passing second. To a ghoul a night that had started out as an annoyance, was suddenly a veritable feast. A whole trove of innocence and potential life that had yet to be spent. A meal like this would keep the creature satiated for weeks and when you spent an eternity starving and opportunity like that could not be ignored. Up until now it had simply taken what it could. Sneaking in to hovels, killing and claiming whoever stumbled upon it. Often the drunkards that stumbled about even at this late hour were its chosen prey. Easy and convenient for one forced to hunt, but never filling, never quite the right type of meal. The two whelps were a rare treat beyond anything else its twisted mind could dream of. Runt was a forgotten side effect of getting to this moment, the ghouls attention focusing solely upon its new victims.

Which gave Runt time to escape. An option he saw, but bucked against. An option every instinct told him to take but his mind ignored. He would not run. He could not run. The memory of the old hound stuck with him. It nagged at him. Forcing strength into his limp limbs as he clambered to pull himself back to full height. He struggled to lift the heaviest piece of would he could find, dropping it one side to support his weight as he stumbled forwards. He wasn’t sure any other of his clan, or even his family would have done the same thing even for him if he had been the one in the ghouls sight. He had a sneaking suspicion that they’d all be clamouring to shift his name to ‘Dumbass’ if they could see him. Spending effort to move, when it could have been spent hiding. Spent keeping himself alive, a life far more important that the two starved whelps he stumbled towards. His life had worth if he lived. What was he going to do against the ghoul? He was dooming himself, when all he needed was to let the doom befall others it was already targeting. Three lives spent to feed this creature instead of two.

He didn’t listen to that internal voice. Instead he focused on another, darker facet of his mind. The mind focused on taking advantage of any situation. The wretched, greedy, and twisted part of his mind that told him how to sneak and trick others for every inch of progress towards a goal. A part of him that had floated an idea almost lazily the moment the ghouls attention had been drawn towards the human children. A distraction that would give Runt time to act, hopefully in such a way that didn’t squander it. All this weighed on Runt’s shoulders as he limped forwards, leaning on his chosen weapon in a way that told the universe he was barely fit to wield it. A crude spear, half of a shattered board that had been completely cracked on one end. A remnant from Runt’s journey through the wall it had once been apart of. Jagged wood begged to be used as he silently stepped forwards.

He held his breath as the creature shifted its weight, fully pulling itself into the room. Huddling and stooped over as it made its selection. Runt kept quiet as he watched a single arm extend to grip a child, the younger if he had their sizes right, and pull it forward. He winced but only let a silent snarl cross his lips as he watched the creature begin to squeeze, the child buying him time much like Runt had done so for Barghest. Eventually he was close enough, and readied himself. As the creatures smile grew, Runt steadied his feet against the ground, bracing himself as he brought every still active muscle in his body to bare. With a battle cry that rent the night air, strangled and warbling he jammed the spear forwards, skewering the ghoul from behind. He was too small to reach its heart, too low to jam the makeshift spear through an exposed neck, but he made do with what he had. The jagged edge of the spear seemed to lodge itself within the creature, silence spanning for a moment before Runt let out another strangled howl, all his weight sent forwards, forcing the spear to blossom from the creatures belly a moment later. The blood that flowed down the wooden shaft in his hand seemed to creep like molasses, staining every inch it passed over a deep and rich crimson. Time seemed to freeze as both adversaries eyed the damage.

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Runt was the first to move, dropping his grip and diving to one side as the ghoul uttered a screeching cry. The sound seemed to grate and chip at Runt’s very being, the screech full pain and anger, high pitched in a way that didn’t seem to match the towering creature before him. Runt was comforted by a single noise as he dashed into the street. The thump of a body dropping, released from a rabid animals grip, and the childish cry that had arisen a moment later. His mind dwelling over the small victories as he started to run in earnest. If the whelps still trapped in the room didn’t take advantage of the opening he was giving them they were beyond saving. The energy of their old protector had won them this, but nothing more. Runt would serve as a distraction for as long as he could and they’d better make good use of it. Do what humans did best. Create a mob, hunt down others of their kind to join it, and put the torch to this beast for good. There was a small satisfaction in knowing that his action would most likely lead to a manhunt for the beast. That his death would have at least a small tidbit of revenge associated to it.

Runt felt the creature above him before he heard it. The looming presence somehow outpacing the thunderous footsteps that followed shortly afterwards. He felt a cold shadow descend from above him, blotting out the faint light of the street lanterns, his body instinctively slinking into a shadow his mind knew could not hide him. Anticipating a blow Runt rapidly changed directions as he ran, shifting his footing and the way he oriented himself with every step he took. It was a desperate gamble, one that left him unbalanced but Runt was betting on the next claw that struck him would be the last, and that every second he bought with his dodging was a second more than he had otherwise. Runt believed he was alone, that he was betting on wasting the creatures time long enough for the whelps to flee. All hope of his own survival had been lost the moment he had agreed to Barghest’s stupid fucking deal. He was convinced his death would at least have some sort of worth, and while he wasn’t content with that knowledge, ironically he could live with it. It didn’t bother him like it should. Like he knew it should. He was being selfless, putting others before himself, and that knowledge disturbed him more than impending doom chasing him. He staggered from one near miss to the next, weaving like a moth avoiding the bite of a toad, drunkenly stumbling from side to side with sharp steps drowned out by the thumps behind him.

He knew his death was inevitable. He had done some damage to the creature but not nearly enough. Its pace wasn’t slowing down like his was, its steps kept pace with his even as he ducked and weaved attempting to confuse or dislodge it. He could feel the energy being sapped from him, adrenaline and fear only barely providing enough fuel to lift his weary limbs now. He had made peace with that knowledge.

A peace that was disrupted as he saw the telltale torch of another living thing on the road before him, in the distance but slowly getting brighter as he dodged towards it. It started as a faint light, the smallest glimmer, but as he ducked and turned into a side alleyway he saw the source. One of the human guards patrolling slowly, torch raised and held high as they did so. The guard let out a lazy yawn, lifting a leather glove to their face to stifle the noise as they continued their route. Runt screamed loudly, using all the air he could fill his lungs with, his high pitched scream echoing out into the night, “Help! Fucking help me!”

The guard turned to face him just as the small greenskin twisted and dove between their legs. The warning just enough to give the guard half a second to prepare themselves for the monstrous entity following a moment behind. The torch was raised, arms crossing one over the other before Runt heard the sickening crunch of metal and bone. What armour the individual had worn was seemingly sheared from them in a single moment, crushing claws digging through the metal as though it was simple cloth. Runt could hear the strangled cry as he clambered forwards, diving to one side as the creature barrelling towards him flung the disoriented human bodily forwards. Like a bull charging through a shoddy fence the human was flung to one side, collapsing in front of Runt, a heap that almost tripped him. It took the last bit of Runt’s strength to leap over the twitching body, his tried legs clipping an outstretched and shattered arm, his tired frame unable to catch him as he tumbled hard to the ground below.

Fearfully he turned backwards, lifting his own arms to cover what he could of his face, sure the claws he had just felt whip by him would be sinking home at any moment. His life crushed from him just as the human’s before him had been. Instead his eyes full of fear and indignation saw something that filled them with a relentless energy. The beast was alight. The torch that the human had held, had swung in their last moments of consciousness, had struck the beast. The ghoul had been enraged, focused on its prey, the danger apparent slipping from its perception until it felt the energy pulsing through its skin. In a way that nothing living should burn the ghoul seemed to be consumed by an inferno in moments. What had started as a simple spark had grown to consume the beast in seconds. The ear shattering scream that echoed from its lips seemed forced Runt to cover his ears. There was a moment of struggle, of panic and torment as the beast dropped to all fours. Out of it’s mind, rabid, it scrambled to find something to put it out, only to collapse before even a handful of steps had been taken.

As the flames grew, so did Runt’s smile. The fire alighting a twin within his eyes. Standing up slowly, he stumbled forwards, stumbling to crumple against the prone barely breathing human body. Shaking arms used the human as leverage, allowing Runt to stand for a moment, his own laugh ringing out into the night as he watched the screaming form crack and disintegrate before his very eyes. A sudden presence ruined the otherwise glorious moment, his eyes peering through the flame and glimpsing the pair of eyes that seemed to glow as they reflected the flames between Runt and them.

Barghest stepped into the firelight, fur damp with blood but otherwise unhurt. Glancing at the still screaming creature, then to Runt, then to the guard at the goblin’s feet. The hounds expression unreadable as it limped into the firelight. Silence passed between the two, a heartbeat before a voice pierced Runt’s ears yet again, “I suppose you followed through with your part of the deal.” A bark that rang out into the night, slinking figures making their way into the firelight. A pack of hounds. Slum dogs each. All with their dark, beady eyes staring directly at Runt. A shaking elderly frame moving to step beside him, offering support. Allowing Runt to dig his fingers into its coarse hair, leaning on the beast instead of the still struggling human, “So I must follow through with mine.”

Something about the tone. The strained, almost pained way it spoke, disturbed Runt. It worried him. The emotion tripping alarms within his mind that he struggled to properly process. His body finally running dry of adrenaline and leaning more and more upon the dog beside him as time passed. He couldn’t quite place it, but as he stared at Barghest slowly the realization dawned.

Barghest was disappointed.