Broken stone slabs filled the cavern. The few torches that lit up the room scattered orange light and shadow in drastic violent ways. The orange light collided with the green skin of two large muscular creatures guarding the entrance. Their strength was marked on their bodies with intricate light red tattoos and within their steady yellow eyes. They held themselves with such vigilance that even an insect couldn't escape them in the shadows. They watched the room suddenly fill with small green bodies and an amazing amount of amniotic fluid. The mothers all began to take care of the children, each child's screaming instantly quelled by their first grasp of breast milk. Soon they would grow and become soldiers, workers and craftsmen; their only experience of a mothers touch would end as quickly as it began.
In the center of the room a single child, a monster among beasts, watching everything move with its yellowed eyes. He was the only creature that did not scream. A thousand thoughts assaulted his mind, he had no time to truly grasp the pain of his first breath or his timid mother feeding him and the soothing melody she hummed in his ear. He could feel deep within his mind an ache that coursed through his body. Where the fuck am I? What did those fuckers do to me? He thought to himself. He swore he had died, the pain he was feeling could only be considered hell and he truly believed he was there. In the depths of hell reborn as the monster he was.
Hell responded.
The pain echoed in his eyes a collage of memories running through his childhood, when his father would beat him until he could not move and the words he could never forget, "I'm doing this for you." His father would drag him by the hair, torture him, ridicule him and call it a favor. Then that sly drunk of a mother that would watch and laugh. If only he could see them now, how would their reputations and images crumble from their dead son? He enjoyed the thought. He writhed in the thought and deluded himself in the cocktail of pain and recollection he was on. His shaking caused the green creature to grow concerned.
She gently set him down on the cold slab she had just birthed him on and rested him between her legs. He aimlessly watched the dozens of mothers and their plentiful offspring as he twitched with each wave of torment and each pulsing tinge of pain. Soon the pain became too much to look into the dark room and his eyes could not take the light, rolling back into his head. A headache in the form of images and voices wrapped in a fog, a world of memories, a gorgeous being clad in white and her words playing on a loop over and over. He was assaulted with his death and gods over and over in his mind, until the pain eerily disappeared.
My life is on the line and I'm nothing but entertainment for a bunch of gods who weren't specific about what they want.. What could go wrong?
A twisted smile filled his face sending a shiver to his mother that was now holding him tightly in the same material that clothed her. She spoke in an unfamiliar language that he could only hope he'd grasp soon. She lifted him to her teet and although reluctantly he began to drink. As the milk entered him, he could feel his body writhe in even more pain than being born. He was brought back to the first fight he had ever been in.. Man how much my father beat me into the ground. I was hurting for weeks.
He still couldn't understand the language just yet but a word or two seemed self explanatory; baby and hurry. Michael couldn't understand the specifics but he saw the mothers grab six or so children each, he seemed to be the only child for his mother, an exception he felt that would give him trouble later. They all left the room in droves of about a few hundred children for a few dozen mothers. The guards led them through a corridor that grew brighter with every passing step until they were faced with giant wooden doors, intricate patterns and beautiful stone work beside it. Michael was actually shocked by the intelligence and regality necessary for this. Maybe it won't be too hard to survive, he thought as long as the social structures aren't too complex.
The guards knocked on the wooden doors and they swung wide into a beautiful chamber. Michael couldn't see too far ahead with his mother being in the back of the crowd, but he could see the pillars that lined their walkway and the flags that hung on each one. He knew then he was within the throne room. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from the anticipation. His eyes ran wild among the walls and pillars and he gazed into its beauty.
He took in the atmosphere and the flags, which seemed to be made of hide dyed with blood and black ink marking out a crescent moon and what looked like the severed head of an alligator. It was simple but stood proudly. Modernity was not valued here, just conquest and that idea bloomed within his mind. Oh how he wanted to play in this world, a world that might just give him the release he had always craved.
Soon the sounds of movement had faded and Michael had found himself placed in a group of children. Rows of ten lined the floor each spawn laying naked while Michael still held a piece of cloth. He could tell how much each one of them had grown. After being fed they all seemed more intelligent and far more quiet, but their small size was still equal to their intelligence. An hour of life might be enough for growth as a goblin but not enough time for anything more. While the children curiously looked around moving their arms and legs, Michael knew what was happening.
They were being presented to the Monarch.
Michael wondered how strong the King would be and whether he would have the opportunity to take his place. His fangs peered out from his lips in a twisted smile. He could feel a shiver run through his spine. In his mind this was a perfect place to fight, for blood to spill and his death did not deter him but force him forward to achieve even more violence. He thought of the guards and knew the king must be just as strong, one day he would fight them, feel their blood fall onto him and he would writhe in ecstasy.
It wasn't long until Michaels sharp ears picked up the beating drums and what sounded like a powerful warcry from every able bodied goblin in the room. In a second every mother behind him and the guards that filled the room kneeled down in reverence. Then in that second she was seen. She was dressed in leather scaled armor and a red stained pelt that hung around her shoulders. Two steel daggers were strapped to her calves and a short sword laid on her hip. She did not walk like a warrior but walked as if she had faced death and held the confidence of a God. Even while fresh blood fell from her face it only matched her deep scarlet eyes. Each drop danced with her emerald skin and filled the room with her presence. It was only when she sat on her stone throne, cut by the labor of her people, did they raise their eyes.
Soon the queen in her majesty gazed across the room into each one of them and as they fell on each of her subjects they smiled as if touched by the hand of god. The queen did not smile back but nodded in understanding. Michael could not tell if some strange ritual had taken place but he was aware of how her eyes seemed to burrow into your veins and take what it wants.
Soon after her a short stout demon of a goblin came rushing to her side. His long greasywhite hair and large belly pushing through the obviously stolen clothes. He got to her feet and kissed tShe wove her hands and the guards moved in an instance. They stood and grabbed a few children, placing them in front of her. The queen took her hand and cut a small incision into her finger, and let each drop of blood in her finger touch the lips of the first few children. At first they seemed fine. Of course they seemed fine, it was just blood but then they all began convulsing. They screamed in pain and true fear was seen on all of the babies faces. Even Michael was visually concerned. Out of the ten children who were grabbed seven of them began to convulse more and more and more. Blood began to pour out of their ears and eyes and then out of each pour of their body. Each part of them grew and shrunk as if the queen's blood was speeding their growth, but it was obvious to Michael that those seven were not doing so well.
POP.
Michael couldn't hide his smile as he watched them pop one by one. He tried hard not to laugh as he watched the blood spray the children in the front. Only three survived, but they had grown ten times their size, looking just like the guards that had carried them there, each having their own unique mark and facial features of course. However no human would be able to tell them apart, Michael assumed it was the biological wiring within his brain that allowed him to see them as individuals. Not that would affect his sadistic tendencies. They grabbed the next batch of ten after removing the three survivors who were sleeping from the transformation. Something about them was different. As if they were as aware as him.
Each one survived with the most unique transformations. Each goblin's skin changed into varying shades of green, different from the muddled grass of the normal guards. A few were shorter and thin, but their claws seemed longer and their eyes a bit sharper. One was far larger than the guards, his muscles seemed to have muscles.. The rest were a mismatch of sizes, but each one oozed with strength. The Queen lit up and ordered these ten to be taken away. Obviously she was treating them highly. It seemed the survival rate increased slightly after the first batch, about half was surviving each time. Micheal knew then that it was tied to will. He wondered why The Queen didn't wait until the children grew to maturity. A part of him was curious but he only cared if it meant more to fight.
The batch before him was the most bloody, only one survived. A girl goblin with grey green skin and hazel eyes. Something about her piqued his interest, something that seemed similar to the Queen. He wouldn't have time to think about that now though, since it was his turn to go. Michael was part of the last group and it gave him plenty of time to really figure out what this ritual was. The Queen was marking every goblin that was born with her blood. It definitely was a form of magic, he couldn't be sure if it was something similar to slavery or something that just guaranteed loyalty until he went through with it. It also seemed to unlock something within them, like it evolved them somehow. Michael thought back to his mother then. Not his human mother but the goblin. She was the only one who held him tightly and even kissed his head when she walked him to the throne room. His other mother wouldn't dare, she would rather drink than touch him. He would repay his new mother for her kindness.
Michael stole one final look of his mother, and saw fear wavering in her soft yellow eyes. Tears pulled her green skin down into her hands. Michael wondered what she could be thinking. How many children had she lost and oddly for the first moment in his two lives he felt something deeper than pity. He shifted his eyes before anything else stirred him. He looked directly towards the queen. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when I outshine them all. Let the pain begin.
The white goddess looked down on Michael and into his thoughts. "How disappointing. Not even for two moments could he share any love for his new mother." The abyss she resided in, held a whirlpool of images, every creature and being under her dominion watched and recorded. However in the center laid Michael, she had given him the perfect environment, a twisted but caring beginning and the fool can only think of blood.
"Sister, there is promise," echoed the great darkness, "Remember his death, there is hope for the child."
"Brother, how could you even mention that Coincidence. He saved one life in his seventeen years of existence and you expect him to save us all. He barely even counts as entertainment." She slashed the pool of images with her white claws. She was annoyed that out of all the beings across the countless plains she was given this blood thirsty monkey.
The abyss was silent, and so were the many gods that always laid in the audience of their majesty. The whirlpool spun until all that could be seen was the life Michael had lived. Every moment of cruelty and pain, he had inflicted, his pure undeterred damnation of those who were wicked. His anger towards his abusers and his twisted intelligence that had led to blackmail and constant manipulation. Nothing about him was moral or selfless. Finally his death was the culmination of all of his anger and thirst for carnage. His self righteous path that all led to one redeeming moment, lost by his death and in a place far from this one.
"We will see."