The sun had descended plunging the area into darkness but the moon was yet to make an appearance. The air was crisp with the sharp bite of fear and the faint rusty smell of the blood from small fights the day before.

Goblins stood in messy groups, their green skin dull and tired in the weak light. They gripped spears and clubs with shaky hands. Their eyes darted between the barred gates and the blurry shapes of orc warriors circling outside. Whispers spread like wind through dry grass. Talk of giving up, of offering Vrognut to the orcs to end the nightmare. Their stares burned with purpose. Hand him over? Make a deal? The idea felt close, so close they could taste it. But fear held them still, a thick chain around their hearts. Fear of the orcs' axes. Fear of Vrognut's teeth.

They had to wright the two evils and see which one was greater and it wasn't something they could gamble on carelessly either.

Vrognut stepped out from the dark tunnel mouth, his lean goblin body moving with a hunter's grace. Scars crossed his green skin like paths on a map, and his sharp teeth flashed in a wide, chilling grin. He stopped right in front of the crowd, his scarred but deadly frame reminding them as to why they couldn't touch him. The goblins stared hard, their minds spinning with plans—could they talk to the orcs? Trade the cannibal for peace? End the siege without more blood? The thought danced in their minds, tempting and dark. But that same fear rooted them in place, cold and heavy, stopping any attempt to be brave because there was no way of knowing if the orcs planned to honor the bargain.

Vrognut's grin widened, like he could smell their minds, his beady eyes scanning their faces one by one.

A low ripple ran through the crowd. Heads turned. Gribnox appeared from the side tunnel, stepping into the light.

The whispers shifted from Vrognut into their cowardly leader, the goblin who would be the first to run away if he was met with a fate other than fornication.

Yet, there he was—the quiet overseer who fucked and settled petty fights—not dressed for battle. But now? Armor covered him, pieced together from what Byung had created and thick leather straps. It wasn't pretty or refined, but it was real armor, glinting faintly amid the torches. The goblins stared wide-eyed.

They never thought Gribnox would fight. He was the soft one, the safe one. But his eyes... his eyes were different now. Steady. Burning with a fire they had never seen. All attention locked on him as he climbed onto a sturdy crate, rising above the crowd like a new leader born from fear. Gribnox cleared his throat.

"I know fear," Gribnox began his speech, the words simple but full of truth, echoing off the rocky walls.

"I'm scared out of my mind right now. My knees want to shake. I don't want to die—who does? The orcs out there? They're monsters, waiting to crush us like bugs if we slip even once," Gribnox added and this only intensified the fear of the goblins.

But this was no doubt something they all feared as they could relate to the words coming out of his mouth. It was their fear, spoken out loud. Not some big, brave lie

"But Byung taught me something," Gribnox went on, his voice growing stronger.

"Maybe dying for others isn't so bad. He fought for us, built tools to make our days easier, saw us as more than just workers or friends. And I see you the same way—you're not just goblins digging for scraps. You're an extension of me. My brothers. My family in this hell. If you're going to fight for me, then damn it, I'll fight for you. To the last breath," Gribnox's speech was gaining momentum.

The crowd stirred. Whispers turned to shouts, weak at first, then louder. Cheers rose, ragged but real. Fear shifted, turning into something harder, something like hope.

Naz and Naruz watched from a distance, perched on a rocky ledge above the entrance. A soft smile spread across Naz's tusked face, her eyes warm as she saw Gribnox stand tall.

"Look at him," she whispered to Naruz, her voice full of pride.

"He was always a coward—hiding from fights, talking his way out. This has to be the hardest thing he's ever done." Naz was proud of the development she was seeing but this was also Gribnox potentially had a child on the way.

Naruz nodded, her own smile matching.

"But he's doing it. Shows goblins can change with the right push. Byung's influence—it's like magic. Spreading even when he's not here," Naruz knew none of this would be possible if Byung didn't exist.

Drekk and Vrognut exchanged glances from the side, surprise on their faces. Drekk's brow furrowed in thought—these goblins needed this, a leader who felt their trembling fear, not one who lorded over it with brute force. Vrognut's expression was more complex, a mix of amusement and something darker.

Byung's name hung in the air like a sweet smell, pulling at Vrognut. Vrognut's mouth watered, his eyes gleaming with a deep craving—not just for meat, but for the chaos that name always brought.

The orcs outside wanted to wait them out? Starve them slow, watch them break from hunger and fear? No. Vrognut wouldn't allow that weak game. As the crowd broke up with a new spark of fight in their eyes, he slipped into the shadows. He gathered his two trusted horse riders in a dim tunnel, their faces hidden by flickering torch light.

"We strike while they rest," Vrognut hissed, voice sharp as his teeth.

"The orcs are spread thin. Tired from their long ride here. We hit the north-eastern side. Two there—one asleep, one watching. Take the watcher quiet."

He knew attacking Kraghul at the main entrance was suicide—the orc was a wall of pure fury. But the others, on the far side? Weak spots. If he couldn't claim the big prize, he'd carve pieces from the edges. And deep down, Vrognut's true hunger burned. Orc flesh. The tough chew of muscle. The rich, iron taste of blood. Nothing satisfied like it. Telling Drekk would be useless—the goblin would argue, waste time. This was Vrognut's hunt.

He had promised not to eat anyone but this was a promise he had no plans upholding.

-

Much later into the night, as the moon climbed high and threw silver light across the rough land, Vrognut made his move. The orcs' camp fires dotted the edge like scattered stars, but fatigue had set in. The long trip to the mine left them worn out. Eyelids heavy from no sleep. Vrognut knew this—the time it took them to get here meant they were running on empty. Perfect. He slipped through the shadows with his horse riders, their forms blending into the dark bushes like ghosts in the mist.

The north-eastern side was just as he pictured. Two orcs in a shallow dip by some rocks. One slumped against a boulder, snoring soft and deep. The other paced slow, axe slung loose over a shoulder, eyes half-closed from boredom and fatigue. They took turns watching—perfect for a silent hit. Vrognut signaled with a quick claw motion.

Circle. Quiet. The riders spread out, moving like wind through grass.

The orc awake paused to yawn wide, rubbing his eyes. Vrognut lunged from the dark, dagger flashing in the moonlight. A quick slash across the throat—blood sprayed in a dark arc, hot and sticky. The orc gurgled once, hands clawing at the wound, then collapsed with a half-cry. The sleeping one shifted at the soft thump, eyes fluttering open in confusion. He sat up slow, blinking—and froze. His partner's head was gone, severed clean. The lifeless body sat propped against the rock, blood pooling black in the moonlight.

The orc's eyes frozen in shock.

The scream shattered the night—"Attack! Gob—" cut short as a rider's club smashed his skull but he didn't have enough strength to kill him but it was enough to send him back to sleep. But the cry had carried, horns blaring in the distance as orcs stirred from their camps nearby but it was too late.

Vrognut could have killed the one they knocked unconscious—easy, quick. But what good would that do? No. This was war, and Vrognut knew a thing or two about breaking enemies. If they couldn't sleep safe, couldn't close their eyes because they were scared of dying then they would be too fatigued to fight sharp.

News of this would spread like poison, exhaustion plus terror—deadly mix.

He tore a chunk from the fresh head, sinking his teeth into the warm orc flesh. The taste exploded—rich, iron-strong, better than goblin or human. His favorite. The riders and Vrongut vanished into the brush, leaving the headless one posed like a grim warning for the dawn patrol.

"What would you do now, Kraghul?"

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