Gifted

Kral watched as Jik stirred the pot slowly, the liquid bubbling and hissing, warmed by the fire beneath. Filled with meat and mushrooms, the stew should feed the tribe for days. All thanks to Kral. Because Kral knew things. Things that other goblins didn’t know. Once, he had been a shaman’s apprentice in the Gutripper Tribe that had lived lower down the mountains.

They were all dead now, sacrificed on bloody altars right before his eyes. A fate that had been intended for him as well. But, he had been spared. One of his captors, a human with eyes blacker than the deepest cave, had pulled him from his cage and shown him things that even the Gutripper tribe’s shaman hadn’t known. Symbols and rituals to talk to things that lay beyond this world, and those things talked back.

The human had helped him perform his first ritual, lines of fresh blood crisscrossing his body, as he spoke with something that was formless. The reward was a Path. A new one, that Kral had never heard of. The Path of Soul Sacrifice. The greatest Path Kral had ever possessed. Then Kral had been brought back to the altar, another goblin from his Gutripper Tribe strapped to the stone. Kral didn’t remember the goblins name, only how it had screamed as he cut his own palm with the serrated dagger and began to draw the symbols in blood on its green skin so like his own. When he rammed the dagger into its chest the screaming had stopped and Kral’s power had grown. The aether in his chest, once so weak, had grown stronger as his new Path reached the first Tier. The feeling had been indescribable.

He had wondered, of course, if the human was just fattening him up for his own slaughter. Kral’s fears had never come to pass. After the human and his companions were done sacrificing the rest of his tribe, they had let him go. He had wandered for days, higher into the mountains, looking for a new home. A bear had tried to attack him, only to realise too late that Kral was no easy target as the earth itself trapped the beast. Kral’s Skill, Manipulate Earth, had once only been good for carving out new sections of the Gutripper Tribe’s cave. Now, with more aether at his command and in his channels, it was a weapon.

Kral took his time with the bear, beating it in the earthen trap using mounds of hardened dirt and rock until it was barely clinging to life. Then, he climbed in with it, taking the serrated dagger he had been given, and drew the symbols on its fur and head. It took him over a minute to carve his way into its heart but when he finally did, his Path of Soul Sacrifice went up a few more steps.

Over the next few weeks, Kral maimed and killed every beast that came for him, sacrificing them all to the whispers in his mind as they granted him more and more power. But, soon, the beasts he killed offered little to no advancement for his Path. The voices demanded more, and so Kral went looking, finding a new tribe. The Skullscar Tribe was smaller than the Gutrippers had been at the height of their power. Less than a hundred goblins, but they willingly took in Kral, thinking him weak given his gangly form, a new runt for them to beat.

Kral knew he was smaller than most other goblins, but he was also smarter. So, he waited, letting some of the weaklings bully him into joining them on a hunting trip. He knew they would use him as bait, because that’s exactly what he would’ve done. But once they were far enough away from the tribe, he trapped the three goblins he was with in an earth pit, sacrificing all of them in blood and screams to the whispering voice. Their deaths pushed his Path forward once more, granting him even more power. An aether core that could support more powerful spells. But, Kral didn’t know more powerful spells.

The voice had a solution though. It just needed a vessel, a body to inhabit, so it could show him how. The Skullscar Tribe shaman was the body it wanted, but Kral wasn’t so foolish. He had grown to like being powerful and he knew that if he gave the voice a powerful body, then it would rule over him. Kral wanted to be the one to rule. So, he agreed, following the instructions the voice provided for a new ritual. Not just any body could become a host. First, they needed to be broken. Piece by piece, they needed to have their body and mind fractured. Only then, through those cracks, could the voice take control.

Kral reassured the voice that he had captured the shaman and was in the process of breaking him. In truth, Kral had killed the Shaman and the Chieftain, claiming the tribe for his own. Females warmed his bed every night, lavishing their attention on him, while the smallest and weakest runt of the tribe was kept in a cage and beaten every day. Kral took pleasure in starving Jik, making him weaker and weaker until the little goblin could barely even stand. Only then, did he relent, reassuring the voice that his vessel was ready.

Jik was tied down atop a new altar, consecrated in blood, as Kral whispered guttural words that echoed in the darkness as though eternal. The runt’s screams frightened even Kral as a dark presence entered Jik’s body and the little goblin opened eyes that flashed yellow then red in the darkness. Kral had waited, savouring the moment when the crimson glow faded, and the reality of the situation set in. Kral had summoned the voice into a vessel so weak that the being from beyond would become Kral’s slave, rather than his new Chieftain.

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Kral took to beating Jik, threatening to kill him and send the voice back to the beyond. He had the Path of Soul Sacrifice, what else did he even need Jik for. Kral had expected that Jik would resist. The runt didn’t, revealing new truths. The voices were those of demons, ones strong enough that under the right circumstances, they could make deals with the living. The power Kral received from his Path was an exchange, a gift from the demon for all the tasty souls that he had delivered to its gluttonous maw. But there was more. Other Paths that Jik could help Kral unlock. Paths that would grant him the Skills to become truly powerful, and all Kral had to do in return, was deliver more souls to Jik.

Kral debated turning down the offer, but Jik whispered to him constantly of the Paths of Blood or Death Magic. Of Stone Magic that could elevate Kral’s Earth Magic Affinity to new heights. But always Kral came back to the thought of Death Magic. His Path of Soul Sacrifice had granted him an extra Affinity slot and his Adept Path of Dark Ritualist had given him plenty of Skill slots. All Kral needed to do was the ritual to gain the Affinity for Death Magic.

Beneath the stars, on a night with no moon, Kral drank a mixture of deathbloom and honey. The bitter taste had immediately been forgotten as he began to twitch, his body dying as the deathbloom started to turn his innards to mush. Nearby, held in a cage of earth, Jik screamed bloody murder. Kral had made sure the little demon-possessed runt couldn’t interfere with the ritual. He’d even made another goblin test it first. His new apprentice, Pimf. She still warmed his bed, but her sacrifice had granted her a new position in his Skullscar Tribe.

As Kral was dying, he held down the scared rabbit and started to cut. The connection between them forged, the knife opened the rabbit’s innards and it began to bleed and thrash uncontrollably as it died in Kral’s place. When he was done, he licked his blood covered claws and looked at his new Death Affinity.

Jik’s anger lasted for weeks despite the beatings. It was only when Kral began starving him to death that the demon-possessed goblin finally relented and explained how to gain the Path of Death Magic. The danger was real, the ritual as dark as any Kral had done before. But what was the price of half his tribe when compared with real power? He would keep all the females alive and enough of the males that they would repopulate in a season. It would take longer for their power to grow, but enough of the females were hunters that they wouldn’t starve.

And it had been worth it.

Dark light danced around Kral’s claw as he watched Jik stir the stew. Nearby, a rat snuck out of a hole, running towards Jik and squeaking something before it vanished again.

“What did it say?” Kral asked, stroking himself as Pimf practised nearby.

“It said two mountain trolls are moving south further down the mountain,” Jik answered, his voice the same as it had always been to Kral’s ears.

“Why do you summon them into rats and small birds?” Kral asked, watching as the demon-possessed rat left.

Jik sneered at Kral. “For the same reason you did to me. To keep them under my control.”

Kral sneered back, pointing a finger wreathed in death aether at Jik. “What about the ones I made you send south? What have they told you?”

“Only one returned,” Jik answered. “The other two have not yet. Either they decided to take the risk of escaping over the reward of a new, better body. Or they died. Probably died.”

“And the one that did return?”

“Said there were humans. Not many. Maybe twenty.”

Kral’s smile widened. Twenty humans. Perhaps enough to progress his Path of Soul Sacrifice to the fifth Tier. The thought had him so aroused that he stood, stumbling towards Pimf before dragging her by the ear towards his tent. She screamed just how he liked it.

“Feed the tribe, Jik. Feed them, and you can take a runt tonight.”

Kral ignored Jik’s sneer as he entered his hut. The skeleton beside the door rattled. Kral didn’t need a big tribe any more. Every corpse was just more material for his army. Kral liked being in charge.

***

Halkur watched as the barn burned, its flames roaring high into the night sky. The bright reds and vivid oranges were reflected in his shining armour as the sound of crackling wood turning to ash filled the night.

“Think that is the last of them?” Melody asked from behind him.

Halkur shook his head sadly. “We’ve been at this together long enough for you to know that there is always someone else who decides that it’s worth sacrificing others and themselves for just a little more power. With the orcs raiding the east and conscription instituted by the nobles…if anything, it’s going to get worse. Shove people into a corner and they will look for a way out. Some of them will take any way they can find. That’s just people.”

He finally turned to look at the short mage. She was still young in his eyes, though he realised she must be approaching thirty winters now. For many, this time would have been when they were halfway through their Adept Class Path. Halkur knew Melody was knocking on the door of her Advanced Class Path. The price and reward of a life spent fighting evil. It had started to show on her face, as it no doubt did his own, the scars of a life hard-lived.

The door of the farmhouse nearby banged open and three more members of the Shining Light Guild stomped out, bags slung over their shoulders as they headed for the horses. Halkur hated the looting, but he had his orders. Times were tough and if the looting kept the Guild members satisfied, then he was to allow it. Halkur just hoped they weren’t becoming the evil they hunted.