Last Bastion: Reincarnated Prince of Stormwatch

"Why fight a wall when you can sell the hinges, bribe the guards, and sell the stones as souvenirs?"

—Twitchblade Rakka, three minutes before detonating Choir Node Delta

Location: The Hollow Cartel – Sunken Spire Hideout

The Hollow Syndicate operated beneath the roots of the old world—within sprawling tunnels, rusted pipes, and long-dead cities no longer marked on maps. It was not a kingdom, but a network, a crawling market of sabotage and blackmarket Choir relics.

And in the heart of it all stood Twitchblade Rakka, goblin overlord, inventor, broker of war.

He wore a crooked vest stitched from human war banners and bells around his wrists that chimed off-key with every twitch of his lanky fingers.

Around him, a dozen gob-tech crawlers scuttled—spidery contraptions made from scavenged tower metal and dwarven gun cores.

He snapped his fingers.

"Bring me the Prince's face again. The sappy one."

A goblin assistant projected Jag's latest broadcast onto a rusted wall.

Rakka watched with wide, oily eyes.

"He still thinks he's defendin' somethin'. Ooooh, that's adorable."

POV – Twitchblade Rakka

Let the orcs burn walls. Let the elves drown towers in vines.

I just need the tower doors to open and the safes to be empty.

Rakka had no love for war.

He loved breakpoints.

The moment when cities cracked—not from force, but from betrayal, fear, and sabotage.

And Choir towers? They were full of all three.

"They hoarded tech. Sealed 'emself off from the rest of us. Now they're the last buffet in a dead marketplace."

He turned to his underlings.

"We don't fight the Prince. We sell his pieces."

Cut to: Goblin Syndicate Operations Map

Each blinking red dot marked a sleeper agent.

Each pulsing green icon marked a trapped supply line, sabotaged Choir amplifier, or doomed garrison.

Rakka leaned over the board.

"Start with Bell Node 5—New Casterfell. Their security chief? Took our bribes six weeks ago."

A goblin tech-thief grinned. "Their Choir relay is lined with unstable bronze. Easy overheat."

"Perfect," Rakka giggled. "Melt their tone. Blame it on sabotage. Sell the repair tools. Then sell the sabotage instructions to the next town over."

System Broadcast: Internal Choir Compromise Detected

[WARNING – SYSTEM INTEGRITY THREATENED]

Detected: Syndicate Interference

Primary Agent: Twitchblade Rakka – Class A Threat

Internal Bribery Level: 32% of outer garrison personnel compromised

Node 5 (New Casterfell): Security breach in 8 hours

Scene – Rakka's Private Vault

He stepped into a vault lined with disassembled Choir cores—once sacred tech, now looted, rewired, and profitable.

On one table sat a nearly-complete replica of the Stormwatch Choir Relay.

"Once this baby's done," Rakka whispered, "I'll be the loudest voice in the land."

He didn't want to destroy Stormwatch.

He wanted to own it.

Cut to: Stormwatch – Internal Command Room

Ashra slammed her fist into the console.

"New Casterfell's gone dark!"

Rain frowned. "Three sabotage warnings in 48 hours. This isn't random."

Jag stood still. Calm.

"It's the goblins."

Ashra blinked. "You think they're behind this chaos?"

"No," Jag said coldly. "They're selling it."

Rain gritted her teeth. "We can't fight something that won't stand still."

Jag's eyes narrowed.

"Then we stop trying to catch them."

"We make them afraid of what happens when the bells stop ringing."

Back to Rakka – Watching Chaos Spread

His screens showed panicked human villages, sabotage victims, and Choir towers frantically redirecting power.

He sipped from a flask made from a melted Choir bell.

"When the last bastion rings, I'll be the one sellin' the rope they hang from."

He raised a glass to the shadows.

"Long live the Dusk Covenant."

"Longer live the profit."