Black Magus

Leary.

***

It was so cold, that land of white. It felt like ages. So long, we were there. Marching. Hiding. Waiting for the tusked ones and the fur-throats to stop their brawl so we could scour and feast. Oh, it was torture!

The great rift called back to me the moment I left, giving me a piece of it even though I forsook it so. I could remember the warmth of the horde tickling my skin. The smell of simmering meat wafting from below and how it mixed with warg shit and ogre ass drifting from above. The gasps and sighs of relief and the wonderful auras coming from Booyagh's tent. The constant thrum from the hobbies and the gobbies running around. Always screaming. Always tussling. Oh, how I wished I was there, that day! But I never got what I wanted. I was always made to scoop and shovel. To prick and poke. To make bleed and then go out into the snow with the scouts and the fighters.

Oh, it was torture! The howling wind stole the warmth of the horde, carrying rot and char into the innards of our snouts to turn them up in disgust with force. Booyagh waddled far in the back, chanting and muttering to fix up the boys who went too far. Worse, no ogres or hobbies were here to drum forward our march or rip ass to spread heat. Only a band of gobbies and bear-buggies kneeling in the snow. Shivering. Waiting.

"Oi! Leary's bout ta pizz 'imself."

"N- no." I shuddered. "I ain't scared o' no fur-throat."

"Oi. Ya shud be." Ratter, the most seasoned of the gobbies around, looked concerned. "The fur-throats can spit fire, they can!"

"N- no! They can't!" my hears drooped as I gasped in horror

"Oi ya" Ratter plopped next to me, sighing in memory. "S'why they got the fur 'round their throats." He waved a hand around his maw. "S'they can breathe through the smoke an' allat."

Ratter's maddened laughter overshadowed any horrified squeals to come from my lips. Emboldened by the Most Seasoned, the horn echoed his call, responded by an ever-louder roar by the Most Seasoned as he unsheathed his twin scimitars, Tat and Tat, and charged with a bellowing howl that swept across the masses.

I was certain of being the only one to not respond to the call with a roar of my own. I was certain of being the only one pushed along by the stampede of rallied goblins. I was certain of being the first one to scream out in horror, shouting to the heavens seconds before the ground began to hiss angrily. Ratter howled as usual. But something pulled my eyes to him just as the air grew orange and began to ripple. The hiss grew louder and soon, a blanket of flames engulfed him, burning hot enough to make Tat and Tat meld and mold into glowing blobs around his hands.

I couldn't take it.

"Fur-throats! They're breathing fire! They got Ratter! Ratter's down!" I ran to the left, halting once I saw the air turn to bubbles and choke my fellow gobbies to death. "H- hummies!" I turned and saw invisible spears skewer a tribe of goblins to the ground. "Elves!" I turned…

"RAAH!" a statue of metal and fur shook the air as it bellowed and charged, thumping against the ground like a warg of wargs before it crashed into me like a wall.

"Fur-thro- ACK!"

A dull pain in my lower back was all I knew before the world went dark. Sharp. But lasting for only an instant. Voices, foreign and elegant stirred me awake. But my mind remained muddled and so, I barely heard them. I thought I was dreaming. That I died. But no pain came from my wound and no feeling whatsoever came from my back. But I could roll to allow my back to meet the cold snow. I could open my eyes. And when I did, I could feel...

I could feel the rapid pacing of my heart and the cold dread in my mind. I could feel fear. Only fear, for towering above me were two dark elves. Brothers, it seemed, despite the wildly differing visages. One, with gold eyes and gray-purple skin, had all the fine features of the fearsome elves. As did the other. But his nose was bulbous and his eyes… his eyes were something of nightmares.

"PLEASE!" I scrambled. "DON'T KILL ME, S- SIR ELF- SIR DARK ELVES! PLEASE! I'M JUST A CHI-" I stopped, suddenly remembering the screams and the fires and the fur-throats as I looked around, only to see barren fields. "-AN ORPHAN! I'M JUST AN ORPHAN RUNT, PLEASE!"

Goldy looked disgusted. But the fiendish one smiled, giving me hope.

"Please!" I dropped to my knees. "I- I just wanted to stay in the great rift. Cooking and cleaning. But they made me torture. They found a guy. Clock! They called him Clock! He kept dying and coming back so they tortured him. They made us torture him. I- I didn't want to do it! Kill! They said! You have to know how to kill! Then they brought me out here. I- it's my first battle. I haven't done anything. I didn't want to do it. I-"

"What's your name?" the drow-fiend asked, lighting a fire of hope within me.

"Leary!" I gasped, for an Owl of metal legs and glimmering eyes perched on the fiend's shoulder- a bad omen.

"Please!" I collapsed, clasping my arms. "I'll do anything to live! Whatever you want! I- I'll be your slave! Your servant! Forever and ever! I'll cook! And clean! I'll even steal! I- I... I'll kill! I'll do it! Whatever you say! Just… I don't want to die! I wish to live!"

Even I knew the dark elves loved to keep slaves. Even I knew they would rather pull me into the darkness than kill me. But what I didn't know, was that this was no ordinary drow.

I felt the world sink beneath me as he leaned forward, curling his lips into a smile filled with teeth sharper than any goblins could hope to be. And out of that devilish maw poured a disturbingly long and thin tongue that licked against the shadows beneath his chin in the most wicked way imaginable.

"Beware what you wish for, Leary."

Those words banged against my soul like a war drum. Forming cracks and crevasses for the wicked darkness to write its way in and consume me wholly.

I fell.

For what felt like an unending lifetime, I fell into myself. I plummeted, chased by… something, as I tumbled and rolled against the nothingness, suffering its taunting laughs until I landed at the bottom of the wicked pit that had become my soul.

It towered over me, the sovereign of that wickedness. A being of horned evil, umbral feathers, scales of darkness, and draconic eyes that echoed the sweetest words to my soul. "To you, Leary, I bestow intelligence, wisdom, charisma, wealth, power, and freedom. Thus increasing your station as the first Goblin Paragon. Thus granting your wish to live. In exchange for these boons, I require only your undying faith.

"Have undying faith in yourself, in that you will forever hold the power to destroy in my name. Have undying faith in me, in that I will forever stay the Shadow of Death from your head and guide you along the way.

"Have undying faith, Leary, that your name shall sing from the Underworld and echo beyond the heavens. Leary, the Faithful. Goblin God-Emperor. May your faith be as undying as your glory."

——

Voices, familiar and eager stirred me awake. But my mind remained mute and so, I barely heard them. I thought I had a nightmare. That I died. But no memories came to mind, and the greatest feeling ever came from my back. But I couldn't feel the cold as I pulled my legs beneath me. I could open my mind, however, and when I did, I could sense.

I could sense the rapid pacing of a large creature and the simmering heat of a fire nearby. I could feel bloodlust. Only bloodlust. For towering above me were two high-orcs. War brothers, it seemed, despite the wildly differing visages. One, with a gold cap on a misshapen tusk and deep red skin, had the venous muscles of an orc seeking battle. As did the other. But the tusk shone silver in the morning sun. And his eyes… his eyes wore something of bemusement.

"Hrmm?" the large nostrils of Goldy sniffed, then gagged in his mother tongue. "Back's weird. Smells like metal. Meat's tainted."

"They're bottom feeders! Goblin meat's always tainted. I'm hungry." Silver grunted in a way that made my heart pulse. "Is't the only food around and is't the hour of the Noctis. Ya know what that means."

"Goblin meat's on the menu." Goldy sulked, relieving my eyes from the axe head spanning his shoulder width as he turned away from the night to face me with a hungry glare. "Even if is't a runt."

"N- no." I began thrashing and thrashing harder once I found myself bound to a tree by a hooked branch.

"Shut it!" Goldy leaned into my face with a snarl. "You squeal, the others hear. Not enough meat on you to go 'round."

"Y- you can't." I stammered. "You can't!" I thrashed. "I- I was told I would live. I was told… many…things…"

"Bahahaha! You hear that? He was told things." Goldy laughed. "Many things, he says."

"Yes," I whispered. But what was it, I so desperately wondered. As did they.

"Tell us, O' enlightened goblin runt, what you were told?"

I tried so hard to remember. But all there was to remember was darkness. An unending dark of wickedness that dwelled where my spirit should have been. Yet, it was there, where I remembered... "Faith."

Faith. That was what I needed to live. To become smart and wise and powerful. To live.

"Oi, what wazzat?" Silver leaned in more. "Couldn't hear you."

Faith. That was what replaced my fear with burning malice. A burning malice that melted the eyes of two high orcs as I glared at them. "I said let me down from this fucking tree you rock-mouthed bastards. Or I will destroy you."

"Bahahaha! Ya hear that? Little Squirt's got some spunk! Very well." Goldy laughed, reaching behind his back to withdraw his axe head and plant it into the trunk. "Let's see how spunky ya are when you're split in half."

I was Leary, the Faithful. I had faith. A faith that kept me calm during a situation that would have brought me panic just moments ago. A faith that instead made me curious and led me to watch the gnarled bark wrap around the axe head with great interest. The way it snaked into the openings at the center was almost magical, elongating into a thick handle that the high orc gripped eagerly.

I was Leary, the Faithful. I had faith. A faith that kept me calm while Goldy freed his weapon from the tree with a feral scream. He stepped in, trailing the blade behind him to swing it lazily into my belly, cutting clear through my skin and organs until it met my spine and bounced with a metallic clang, forcing air through my lungs to compete with the sounds of creaking wood and raucous laughter. The branch stood no chance, let alone the tree. And so, I fell. There was no pain to come from my stomach, though. Only a simmering fire in my spirit that billowed a wicked smoke over my eyes. And for the first time in my short life thus far, I lost myself in bloodlust.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU ALL! IN THE NAME OF MY GOD I'LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU TUSK-TOOTHED BASTARDS!"

What followed remained to this day as a blur. I saw nothing. I only heard absolute chaos. An indecipherable cacophony of violence that sang the sweetest song to my soul without me being conscious to hear it. But I saw the aftermath. When I came to, I found myself in a desolate plain of charred land and upturned earth, of blood pools and outcroppings of bone, craters, and cuts along every surface in sight. But no corpses. No orcs.

What became curious to me later was the fact that I didn't even notice. What was curious to me at the time was the fragmented memories of my dream. That, and the haunting whispers scratching at the back of my mind. Repeating a single word. Uttering a single direction. A command.

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