"Goblin."
The Vice Captain's voice carried no force, yet the room stilled instantly.
"Is this the man?"
The goblin's throat tightened. He glanced once at the old merchant before lowering his head.
"Yes, sir. It is him."
The Vice Captain studied him instead of the prisoner.
"And how do you feel?"
A brief pause.
"Speak honestly. What is on your mind right now?"
The goblin swallowed. His voice trembled, but he answered.
"Nothing, sir. I am grateful. Happy to be acknowledged. Happy with the upgrade. We fight for a greater cause. For what you made me see."
The Vice Captain nodded once, as if that was sufficient.
"Good. You may both leave."
They turned toward the exit.
Then...
"Oh."
His tone did not change, but it stopped them mid-step.
"I did mention there would be punishment, didn't I? Return."
They came back immediately. The old man collapsed.
"Sir, I am already yours. Please forgive my past mistakes. Please..."
"That's enough."
The Vice Captain raised a single finger. Silence pressed down.
"Goblin. Slap him."
The goblin froze. "M-Me, sir? I would never dare lay a hand on a human. Please, sir..."
"I will not repeat myself."
The air shifted. The weight in those words left no room for refusal.
"Slap him."
The goblin stepped forward and struck. It was light, barely more than contact.
Golden light manifested behind the Vice Captain. A radiant compass formed above them, and pressure descended, crushing and restraining. It felt as though mountains rested on their shoulders. They could not stand fully upright, yet they could not fall. Suspended between endurance and collapse.
"Harder," the Vice Captain said.
This time the goblin did not hesitate. The slap echoed through the hall. The old man staggered.
"Harder."
Another strike. Skin split. Blood surfaced.
The pressure intensified. The goblin's breathing changed. Something inside him shifted. The strikes grew heavier, faster, less restrained. The old man's lip tore; a tooth struck the floor.
The Vice Captain stopped speaking. He simply watched.
The goblin continued. Slaps turned to fists. Each blow carried more force than the last. No longer commanded, released. The old man collapsed under the assault, unable to resist beneath the golden weight.
The Vice Captain observed, and a faint smile appeared on his face.
"Enough."
The word cut cleanly through the air.
The goblin stopped mid-motion, breathing hard. He stepped back. The pressure lifted, and silence filled the hall.
The lesson had been delivered.
The Vice Captain watched in quiet contemplation. His smile lingered. Amusement, yes. And something rarer.
Surprise.
He was not watching the violence. He was watching the shift.
Something subtle had changed within the goblin. The rhythm of his spirit had altered. The tension inside his core had redirected. It was small, but it was real.
The possibility was there.
Phase One.
Not immediate. Not guaranteed. But possible, within months, perhaps years.
A hereditary ability does not awaken because one person changes. It requires resonance. Multiple fractures. Multiple transformations aligning.
The son had changed drastically. He broke the chain. He severed submission at its root. That was violent divergence.
The father had not changed so dramatically. He had not rebelled. He had not shattered his world.
But he had just done something essential.
He had struck his former master.
That mattered.
Before the leash had formed, he idolized humanity as a whole. Every human could hold his chain. Every human could define him.
Now that illusion was gone.
He had chosen.
The act was not about anger. It was alignment. He no longer followed all humans indiscriminately. He had selected one to follow and rejected another.
That distinction was evolution.
Small, but foundational.
Differentiation is the seed of advancement.
The Vice Captain had not expected it to manifest so cleanly, so quickly.
"Good," he said calmly. "Very good. You did not disappoint me."
The goblin straightened. Something inside him still trembled from what he had done, yet he did not lower his gaze.
"Return to your duties."
The goblin nodded once and exited.
The old merchant remained on the ground, bloodied and barely conscious. The Vice Captain did not spare him another glance. His attention had shifted.
He felt it.
A disturbance in the air.
Pressure gathering beyond the chamber walls, like a storm forming without thunder.
Someone strong was approaching.
The Vice Captain closed his eyes briefly, sensing the direction of that presence. When he opened them again, the faint smile returned.
It seemed the day was not yet finished.