The new kingdom was a vast, cold, dark tomb, smelling of ash and old fear. The only light, the only warmth, was the greasy, greenish-orange bonfire of roach-husks that Klik had ignited. It cast long, dancing, monstrous shadows that made the cowering tribe flinch at every flicker.
Klik, their new, raw-pink, skinless god-king, was in agony.
He sat by the mouth of the main tunnel, a crippled, broken, Lvl 15 creature, his 14 Agility and 12 Strength a cruel joke in a body that screamed every time he moved. The [E-Rank Acid-Burns] were not a wound; they were a state of being. His 32 Intelligence was a diamond trapped in a box of burning acid.
He was vulnerable. His kingdom was vulnerable.
His tribe—his twenty-nine useless, starving, Lvl 1 and 2 subjects—were huddled on the other side of the fire, as far from him and the dark-tunnel as they could get. They were his, but they were pathetic.
He looked at the two goblins he had armed. Grik (Lvl 3) and Bruk (Lvl 4).
They were also terrified. But they were armed. They were fed. And he had given them an order.
"FOOD. IS. GONE." he had rasped. "FIND. FOOD."
He had pointed them to his old hunting grounds. The crawlspace network.
Part 1: The First Hunt
Grik and Bruk stood at the mouth of the crawlspace, peering into the pitch-black, meter-high tunnel.
"Dark..." Bruk (Lvl 4, STR 7) muttered, his voice a low rumble. He banged his [Nail-Studded Club] against his new [Chitin-Studded Hide-Shield]. The THUD was a good sound. It made him feel strong.
"Klik-God said..." Grik (Lvl 3, INT 4) whispered. He held his [Chitin-Edged Bone Spear] in a white-knuckled grip. It was light. It was sharp. He loved it. He was terrified.
His 4-INT mind was whirring. Klik-God made fire. Klik-God cooked food. Klik-God wanted food. If Grik brought food… Klik-God would be pleased.
This simple syllogism was the most complex thought Grik had ever had.
"We... hunt!" Grik declared, puffing out his scrawny chest. He was the King's-Hand!
"HUNT!" Bruk roared, his 3 INT loving that simple, powerful word.
They plunged into the darkness.
It was different from the main cavern. It was tight. It smelled of old roaches and Klik's scent (acid, ozone, and power).
They crawled. Grik, with his spear, took the lead. Bruk clattered behind him, his shield scraping the walls.
"Shh!" Grik hissed, having learned the concept of stealth from watching Klik.
SKITTER-SKITTER-SKITTER.
They froze.
From the darkness ahead, a shadow moved. It was a [Cave Roach (Bloated) (Lvl 1)]. Its antennae twitched. It sensed them. It hissed, a wet, pathetic TCHHHHH.
Grik screamed.
Bruk roared.
It was the clumsiest, loudest, most incompetent ambush in history.
Bruk, in his panic, shoved Grik aside and charged, his shield raised.
The Lvl 1 roach, also in a panic, lunged.
SPLAT!
The Lvl 1, F-Rank insect bouncedharmlessly off the [Chitin-Studded Hide-Shield].
Bruk's 3-INT mind stalled. It… didn't hurt?
He roared in joyful rage and smashed his [Nail-Studded Club] down.
CRUNCH!
The roach disintegrated.
[Subject [Bruk] has slain a [Cave Roach (Lvl 1)]!] [Experience Gained: 2 EXP!]
They both stared at the blue-light that only they could see.
"Grik!" Bruk yelled. "Magic!"
"It died!" Grik gasped.
This was easy.
They found another. This time, Grik was brave. The Lvl 1 roach hissed.
Grik remembered how Klik stabbed the King-Bully. He screamed and thrust his [Chitin-Edged Bone Spear].
SHLICK!
The sharp, Common-grade chitin torethrough the roach's shell.
It died.
[Subject [Grik] has slain a [Cave Roach (Lvl 1)]!] [Experience Gained: 2 EXP!]
They looked at each other. Their yellow eyes were wide.
This was nothunting.
This was fun.
They were the monsters now.
For the next hour, the crawlspace was filled with the sounds of goblin-laughter and roach-screams. They massacred the last survivors of the colony. They were clumsy. They were loud. They smashed and stabbed and tripped over each other.
And they won. Every. Single. Time.
They leveled.
[Subject [Grik] has Leveled Up! (Lvl 3 -> Lvl 4)!]
[Subject [Bruk] has Leveled Up! (Lvl 4 -> Lvl 5)!]
The rush of new power was intoxicating.
They gathered their prizes, dozens of [Tainted Roach Meat] husks, piling them onto a [Tattered Sack-Cloth (Junk)] they found.
They returned to the Great Cavern not as goblins.
They returned as Conquerors.
Part 2: The Watch
Klik sat by the black, gaping maw of the main tunnel. He was alone.
His 28 Perception was all he had. He listened.
The silence from the crawlspace—the absence of Grik and Bruk—was unnerving. Were they dead? Had he sent his only two useful subjects to their deaths?
No. The roaches are Lvl 1. They are Lvl 3 and 4. They arearmed. They will be fine.
He focused his senses on the real threat. The main tunnel.
The Grave-Hound came from there. The Slug came from there.
What else?
His 28 Perception strained, his 33 INT processing every tiny datum.
He heard it.
Far away. Miles, maybe.
A rumble. A deep, subterraneangroan, as of rocks shifting.
And then… closer.
Scrape…
…click-click…
…scrape…
It was not a slither. It was not a snuffle.
It was deliberate.
And… metal. A faint, metallicskittering.
His acid-burned skin crawled.
Metal.
Metal meant tools. Tools meant crafting. Crafting meant… Intelligence.
This was not a beast.
This was competition.
"When you hear the dogs barking in the village," his 33 INT whispered, "it is either a thief, or a lover. Either way, someone is where they should not be."
He was crippled. He was Lvl 15, but his 12 STR and 14 AGI made him Fodder.
He could not fight.
He had to think.
His eyes snapped to his skills. [Trap Crafting (Lvl 2)]. [Junk-Tinker (Lvl 1)].
He looked at the tunnel-mouth. It was wide. Too wide.
He hobbled, his pink, raw body screaming in protest, to the ruins of Gruk's throne. He dug through the acid-sludge and bones.
His hands found them. The [Rusted Iron Shards (Poor)] he had seen earlier.
He limped back to the fire, his only light.
"[Refine Material (Lvl 1)]!"
Mana-Cost: 1.
The rustflaked away, leaving [Iron Fragments (Common)].
He did it again.
He burned his 16 Mana. He waited.
The scraping sound was closer.
Scrape… click-click-click…
He panicked. He neededmore time.
He Refined. He Crafted.
He slammed the Iron Fragments against the stone floor, using his club-crutch as a hammer.
[Activating Skill: [Trap Crafting (Lvl 2)]!]
[You have created [Iron Caltrops (Common)] x 10!]
He scattered them, his bleeding, raw hands wincing at the sharp metal, across the entrance of the tunnel.
It was not enough.
He needed an alarm.
He grabbed a long, dried piece of Grave-Hound sinew from the corpse-pile.
He Refined it. [Cured Sinew-Cord (Common)].
He activated[Junk-Tinker (Lvl 1)].
He strung the cordacross the tunnel-mouth, low to the ground.
A tripwire.
He connected it to a [Pressure-Plate (Junk)] he built from Gruk's shattered-shield-scraps.
What now? He needed a noise.
He looked at the burning bonfire.
His 33 INT saw it.
He took one of his last, unused[Tar-Pots].
He rigged it. He used his [Junk-Tinker] skill to build a [Hinge-Trigger (Junk)].
It was madness. It was genius.
The tripwire would pull the pin. The hinge would swing.
And the pot of flammable, sticky tar would spill… directly… onto the bonfire.
It was not a trap for an enemy.
It was a trap for himself.
It was an alarm. A massive, fiery, FWOOMPH-alarm.
If anythingtripped that wire, the entire cavern would ignite.
It was the only way he knew he'd be alerted.
He finished it. His Mana was empty. His 19 Stamina was at rock-bottom. He was bleeding again, his woundsweeping from the exertion.
He collapsed, his back to the wall, his [E-Rank Chitin-Shiv] in his lap.
He stared at his trap.
He waited.
Part 3: The Return and The New Order
CRUNCH!
THUD!
"...King-God! FOOD!..."
The sounds of triumphjolted Klik awake. He hadn'tslept, but his 28 Perception had dimmed from pain and exhaustion.
He looked up.
Grik (now Lvl 4) and Bruk (now Lvl 5) were standing before him.
They were covered in black, roach-guts. They stank.
They dropped a massive, overflowing sack of [Tainted Roach Meat] at his feet.
They were beaming. Their yellow eyes were shining with pride.
They prostrated.
"King-God! FOOD!" Grik yelled.
"WE... STRONG!" Bruk roared, banging his shield.
The starving tribe saw the mountain of food.
A new sound. Not a scream. Not a whimper.
A cheer.
A *reedy, pathetic, hissingcheer.
"Food! Food! Food!"
Klik looked at the mountain of [Tainted] meat.
His 33 INT calculated. It was enough. For days.
"Grik," he rasped. The King's-Handsnapped to attention.
"Fire. Cook. All... eat."
Grik gasped with joy. He was the Cook-Master! He was the Fire-Tender! He loved this job!
He grabbed the sack and dragged it to the fire.
"Bruk," Klik hissed.
The Lvl 5 brutestomped forward. "KING-GOD!"
Klik pointed his raw, pink, trembling finger at the main tunnel. At his new, complex, tripwire-alarm-trap.
"Bruk. Guard. Here."
Bruk looked at the dark, scary hole. He looked at the food being cooked. He looked back at Klik.
Klik stared at him.
Bruk's 3-INT mind understood. Strong... Guard. Guard... then... Eat.
"BRUK... GUARD!" he roared. He stomped to the tunnel-mouth. He banged his club on his shield. He stoodright next to the tripwire.
(Klik's 33 INT winced. The idiot was standing in the blast-zone. Better than nothing.)
It was done.
His nation was secure. (Barely.)
His people were eating.
His army (of two) was leveling and guarding.
He pushed himself to his feet. He hobbled, past the cheering, eating tribe, past his flaming, tar-bomb-trap, past his idiot-guard.
He disappeared into his crawlspace.
His Workshop.
He was safe. For now.
He collapsed onto the cold stone.
He had to heal. He looked at his supplies. He had nothing. The [Glow-Cap Shrooms] were gone. His [Queen's Jelly] was gone.
This [E-Rank Acid-Burns] debuff... it was permanent.
He could notwait for a cure.
His 33 INT raged. He could not be crippled.
If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, his 33 INT snarled, then Muhammad mustmasterthe mountain.
He could notheal his skin.
So, he would replace it.
He looked at his loot. [Warped E-Rank Chitin Plate (Poor)]. [Hardened Chitin Fragments (Common)]. [Cured Leather Scraps (Common)].
He was a Lvl 7 [Field Scavenger]. He was a Tinker.
He would build himself a new skin. He would build... armor.
But first...
He looked at the glowing, yellow, bomb-core in his lap.
The [Volcanic Gastropod Core].
Risk (Tinker): Difficulty 25.
He smiled. A horrible, raw, pink-skinnedgrin.
"The monkey that tries to crack a nut with itsheadwill only get a headache."
…But what if the monkey has 33 Intelligence?
He pulled his junk-pilecloser.
He began to tinker.
The Kingdom was eating. The King was crafting.
And deep in the main tunnel, miles away, the sound of metal on stone...
Scrape... click-click-click...
...stopped.
And listened.
It had heard the distant, joyfulcheer... of fresh meat.