“You are an interesting creature Qolmador Siverius Tempna Veth III.” A disembodied voice said in the white void Qolmador found himself in.

  “Where am I?” He asked.

  “Think about it. We have time.” It said as an echo.

  Qolmador rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. What was the last thing he remembered? Was he with anyone? Did he see the professor? Is this a punishment?

  As he thought about each question, they reverberated around the empty space back at him. With a start, he looked around the pure white void, shocked by his own thoughts speaking back to him. To clear his mind, he inhaled stale odorless air, letting it out slowly. He waited for the voice to speak again, only to get silence. Blissful silence, nothing like the shanty….

  “You are zee goblin with the glowing eyes,” Qolmador said at last. He heard a soft laugh all around him, pushing through him.

  “It is not often I meet creatures who are able to view into my mind and fewer still who would be able to keep their sanity.

  Tell me, Qolmador, what is your goal?” The voice echoed over him and through the void.

  The question sat with Qolmador for what felt like an eternity; maybe it was an eternity. Twisting his head to either side, he saw nothing but white except for the shadow he cast on the ground. A perfect sharp shadow that mimicked him perfectly through every movement. He held up his blue scaly arms to find them bare; snapping his head down, he found his military robe missing. Only his burlap top and pants remained; he wrapped his tail around himself, running his fingers down the spines. He took a breath before answering:

  “To serve zee 7th legion und fulfill my duties as they are handed down,” He answered.

  “No.” Came the quick response.

  “No?” Qolmador asked.

  “No.” It said.

  “No. I suppose there is no reason to lie in zis space. My goal is to show the 7th legion that my professor is worth more than what zey allow him to have. I have trained to gain favor for him and restore his place amongst his peers.” Qolmador admitted.

  “No.” The voice said again. “What is your goal? What is the thing that drives you, Qolmador?” The spectral voice said, its words bouncing around him and through him.

  He thought for a long moment as another eternity passed him by, then said:

  “I want to know more about zee cave and the inconsistencies within. I need to unlock its secrets.” Qolmador said. “Who lived in this city before zee goblins? There is no sign of a single battle large enough for all zee residents to have abandoned it. Why wouldn’t any other race live here if zere was nothing stopping them from taking it? I have so many inquiries und so few answers.” He said, spilling more than he should have.

  “Ah, you seek to gain knowledge.” The voice said. “A noble endeavor that I can assist with. If you align yourself with me.”

  Qolmador sat, letting the words wash over him before asking: “How would I do zis?” He narrowed his eyes at the empty space before him.

  “I have to do something I find detestable but can see no such distaste within you.” The spectral voice said. “If you do this despicable task instead, I will grant you access to my library and unfettered access to the cave.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Qolmador asked, biting his bottom lip.

  “I will release you from my mind, and you’ll know when the time is right.” It said.

  The white void vanished, causing Qolmador to blink away his disorientation. Colors began to seep back into reality with muffled sounds and muted smells digging around his senses. He again was standing a few feet away from the goblin king’s massive table and regiment of tiny skittering goblins. Raucous goblin conversations began bouncing around his ears again, along with the burning bugs and dirt stench. Green light flooded his vision, casting a halo over the pale green goblin with glowing eyes. They held each other’s gaze for a brief second before the goblin looked around the room, nodding to the guests.

  “Hey, Qol. Qol!” Nomad thought in a stream of worry.

  “What?” He responded, feeling as though his thoughts pushed through mud.

  “The king asked you a question, and you zoned out. I don’t even know what I’m saying.” Nomad thought.

  Qolmador focused on Nomad fumbling through a conversation, making broad sweeping gestures with his hands. His black clothes and hair were matted to his body from the sweat pouring out of his pale skin. Qolmador thought momentarily about how strange that was and would ask him how androids sweat. He even removed his holey jacket, exposing his long silver rifle that bounced on his back through his animated tale. Vivid descriptions of the brain matter and viscera that exploded out of the brutes were thrown around. There was even a moment when he described, in full detail, how the elf’s head was separated from his body.

  Qolmador looked at the goblins around them, scanning their minds.

  “Go into more detail about zee dwarf brute; describe how his head imploded.” Qol thought, nudging Nomad on the thigh.

  “And then, when the beast was about to kill my blue friend here,” He patted Qol’s head. “I switched my gun’s arcane setting to on, lined up my shot, and fired.” He looked at the goblins with a big smile, pushing back his damp hair and airing out his clothes. They all looked at each other and then at him with upturned noses and pursed lips. Qolmador rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and cleared his throat to get all eyes on him.

  “Zen as it hovered over me, its eyes bulged out of its head, getting bigger und bigger until….” He paused, looking at the rapt faces of the goblins. “POP! Its dwarven eyes shot out of its head, spraying me with viscera und brain matter!” Using his hands, he created explosions out of his eyes, wiggling them in front of their faces. They clapped their tiny hands in adulation for the gory end of the story.

  “Learn your audience,” Qolmador chided. “They love zee icky bits.”

  “That would have been good to know 30 minutes ago, Qol.” Nomad shot back, his eyes rotated to a red color, knitting his brow together.

  “Thirty….” Qol said, eyes wide, as a loud argument broke out behind him. Several goblins screeched at each other, throwing handfuls of bugs all over the room. Chaos erupted inside the tent dividing the goblins to sides and surrounding both shrieking goblins.

  “He is ready now!” A sickly green goblin with a deep scar crawling up his cheek screamed. “We never been so ready!” As he yelled, he hopped on the table, ripping open his dark shirt with his claws to reveal his bony chest. Slapping his chest made a strange cracking sound, and Qolmador wondered if he had broken his ribs.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Nomad said with a chuckle; Qolmador twisted his face at Nomad.

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  “Our king lives!” The other neon green goblin argued, the tip of his long nose waggled from his rage. “No new until old dead!” In response to the other one, he hopped on the table and pulled down his torn pants to bare his ass at first. This gesture sent the room into a frenzy, and half the arguing party pulled down their pants while the other half ripped off their shirts. Nomad nudged Qol, who tore his eyes away from the spectacle to share confused glances.

  Spanking their bare asses, the ‘pants side’ yelled obscenities at the ‘shirt crew,’ who, in turn, slapped their chests and pulled their nipples. The more they cried, the more confused Qolmador felt; scanning their minds sent his world spinning. None of them had a coherent argument for why they wanted what their side wanted. Before the conflict came to blows, the Oracle’s retinue floated toward the commotion. Every goblin not in the fray scurried away and stayed ten feet from the floating circle as it started to separate. Breaking apart to form a horseshoe allowed the Oracle a clear lane to approach the pants and shirt parties. He removed both hands from his robes and held them up toward the two sides. Two radiant columns of light formed around the packs, silencing any argument at once. Wordlessly, the Oracle turned his head to both sides. The goblins bowed their heads and dropped to their knees one after the other. With a slow nod, he closed his glowing eyes, and his entourage drifted to the center of the room.

  Again the goblins cleared a lane for him toward the king’s long table and throne. Nomad and Qolmador looked at the Oracle for the first time. His scarlet robes had subtly embroidered darker red runes all over them. Scrawling gold text edged the entire robe, but now Qolmador could see it was written in abyssal. Ritual wrappings covered his entire body beneath the ornate robes. His pale green skin was smooth and flawless, not just by goblin standards.

  “He’s kinda big for a goblin,” Nomad whispered to Qol.

  “Ja, he is,” Qol responded mentally.

  A few feet from the king, the Oracle stopped, glanced at Qol for a moment, then focused on the king. Dipping into a deep bow, he swept his robes back, revealing a serpentine kris loosely hanging on his belt.

  “Whoa, see that dagger?” Nomad asked Qol.

  The moment his question entered Qolmador’s mind, he saw the Oracle’s hand knock the kris free. It spun once in the air, falling point down, about the stick into the tarp-covered floor when he stopped it with his mind. His eyes darted to the Oracle, who gave an almost imperceptible nod that he wasn’t even sure he saw.

  “Did you catch that?!” Nomad’s hurried thought hit Qol. Shooting him a quick glance, Qol narrowed his eyes at him. Nomad straightened up, curling his lip down at Qol. “Screw you too.”

  “Grotesque leader who sits high upon the throne of Goblinkind.” The Oracle said, splaying his hands to either side of his bowed head. “I come to you for discussion and camaraderie, yet, you have also given me and my kin a gift!” His voice boomed supernaturally throughout the tent. Several small cheers erupted from the pants and shirt goblins. The rest of the room seemed too enthralled with the Oracle’s presence to talk. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned and nodded to the cheers. Lingering on Qolmador before turning back to the king, he bowed again.

  “You have my… thanks for coming….” The king gasped. “We are strong… goblins here.” One of his attendants raised his fist to the crowd. Louder cheers than before erupted through the tent.

  “It is I who thank you, Oh great king of kings, for showing how strong goblins are by clearing the cave of the five. But it concerns me for how long it took, oh vile king, to rid us of the corpses of the Five Great Heroes of old.” He paused for effect, letting the crowd jeer and curse. “Goblins, as of late, have become a joke to the other eleven tribes still scattered across the world. Not only that, but the goodly kingdoms have been bolstering their armies since the rise of the Second Demon Lord. While I applaud the use of the 7th legion and these fine soldiers. I worry what it says for our kind.” He floated closer to the king, halted by the tips of tiny spears. His retinue of floating goblins turned as one to stare at the goblins with the spears; they squirmed under the piercing gaze of the glowing-eyed goblins. A few spear-wielders backed up, hitting the table with their heads. The Oracle never took his eyes off of the king.

  “Careful, Ikemah,” the king rasped. “I see cold… death in your eyes…” He finished by waving his hand to his attendants, who brought him a set of silver teeth. Each tooth was filed to a fine point, forming a perfect scissor bite.

  “You are not ready for the crown and what comes with it.” The goblin king growled. “And you or your freaks cannot strike me down lest I allow it.”

  Qolmador watched the facade of a feeble little goblin melt away into a two-and-a-half-foot tall beast, baring his silver teeth. The kris still floated within the robes of Ikemah, ready to strike.

  “I know the laws, oh vilest of kings; I merely seek to praise your inclusion of the 7th legion. Even though you have no intention of following the Second Demon Lord, I know they will happily leave empty-handed.” He said with a deep bow, opening his robe at the perfect spot. In a flash of jet-black steel, the kris rocketed out of the robes, piercing the king’s heart. Thick yellow blood shot out of his slack mouth, dripping down his chest and flowing out of the wound. Not a single sound could be heard outside the gurgling king. Ikemah floated toward the king with an outstretched hand.

  Gingerly he tested the hilt of the blade. He looked around the room cautiously as if waiting for something to happen. Gripping the handle, he rushed forward, sinking the curved blade deeper into the king’s chest. Gasps erupted from every inch of the tent.

  He turned to Qolmador and Nomad, a splattering of yellow blood across his face, and smiled wide. Locking eyes with Qolmador, he nodded his head in appreciation.

  “The king is dead!” He announced in a booming voice. “We goblins are stronger for it and will join the new Demon Lord on his campaign! I have seen great victories for us and all our kind!” He cheered, ripping the knife out while the old king slid face-first on the floor in a sickening crack.

  His entourage descended on the king’s guards, tearing them apart as one efficient unit. Never touching the floor, they broke bones, smashed faces, and snapped necks with cold efficiency. In the blink of an eye, the guards lay scattered on the floor in a bloody mess. Ikemah held Qolmador’s gaze the entire time.

  “Come, my friends.” He said to them. “Let us discuss the new future.”