Smoke hung thick in the clearing, curling between the makeshift huts and rotted banners of the goblin war camp. Fires hissed low in their pits, casting long shadows that twitched like insects across the mud and bone-littered ground. Somewhere in the distance, a runtling whimpered, too weak or too stupid to know when to stay silent.

At the heart of the camp loomed Eye Stabber Ha-Rashion, the goblin war-chief and terror of the Northern wilds. Towering nearly eight feet and built like a bloated war toad stuffed into cracked leather, he was less a creature and more a living blight. His swollen body rippled with layers of fat and muscle, giving him the bulk of a siege beast. His skin was a diseased mix of bruised green and corpse-grey, sagging in folds that looked half-rotten in the firelight.

A massive greatsword, chipped and caked with dried gore, hung from a harness on his back—more rusted cleaver than blade. It pulsed menace with every sway. His face was a horror mask of scars and pox, his eyes gleamed with cruel intelligence. When he grinned—those black gums and jagged, yellow teeth—it looked like death itself had learned to smile.

He'd tried to wait. Tried to plan. His patience—such as it was—had stretched thin over the last two days. First came the reports of the lost scouting party. Then, the stupidity of the recon party, the complete failure of the bait team.

And worst of all—not one prisoner.

No sacrifices. No fun.

He'd been humiliated. Again.

He stared into the weak flames of the central fire, hands clenched at his sides. His breath came out in wheezes. His thoughts scratched like claws in his skull. Too many thoughts. Too many failures. His eye twitched.

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A hobgoblin stepped forward, nervously licking its tusk. "Chief, maybe—"

That was the moment the dam burst.

With a bone-cracking roar, the Goblin Chief lunged forward and bit the hobgoblin's face clean off.

The camp erupted into screams.

The Chief was beyond fury—he was a storm of muscle and teeth. He grabbed the twitching hobgoblin by the throat, lifted it high, and ripped both arms from the socket. One went flying into a cooking pit; the other he rammed into his own mouth, chewing the thick muscle like gristle. Another goblin turned to flee. Too slow. The Chief barrelled forward and stomped the runtling into the mud until only ribs and green pulp remained. Then he spun, grabbed a sharpened stake from a nearby barricade, and hurled it like a javelin through the skull of a second hobgoblin trying to run away.

Goblins scattered in all directions, yelping and screeching, tumbling over themselves in a mad scramble. The smart ones didn't stop to look back.

The very smart ones had already left earlier.

By the time the Chief's rage burned low—by the time his breath came in thick, blood-flecked gasps and his jaw ached from gnawing on bone—only two sounds remained:

The crackle of fire. And silence.

The centre of the camp was strewn with corpses, mangled bodies piled like garbage. A half-eaten hobgoblin head stared up at the stars with hollow eyes. Broken spears, crushed shields, and discarded scraps of meat littered the mud.

The Chief stood alone, his chest heaving. His hands were soaked to the elbow in blood. He dropped to one knee, breathing hard, teeth clicking as the bodies of his own Warband dissolved into black smoke, and then that seeped into the ground. His rage had cleared something. Opened space in the thick fog of his mind. He would not rely on runts anymore. No more bait, no more slow waiting, no more hiding in the shadows hoping the humans would trip. He would drag them out himself. Smash the house. Burn the forest. Rip them apart one by one.

A cruel grin split his face, tugging the corners of his mouth so wide his jaw popped. Blood trickled down his chin.

"Yes…" he growled to no one. "We go now. No more wait."

He rose to his full height, towering and terrible.

"Sound the drums. Wake the hounds. And bring the fire oil."

In the far edges of the forest, those goblins who had run—those who had survived the Chief's fury—heard the call. They turned. And they obeyed.

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