The crowd's chant echoed long after the humans had been dispersed back to their homes, a sound that Kevin couldn't shake from his mind. "We stand with Harrod." Three words, repeated over and over until they drowned out the promises of power, dominance, and control he had built his rule on.
Kevin stalked through the darkened corridors of his fortress, his cloak trailing like a shadow behind him. Grom and Rax followed silently, understanding that their leader's mood was a dangerous one. His plan had backfired—what should have been a public breaking of Harrod's spirit had instead bolstered the humans' resolve. Kevin had not expected them to rally behind a broken man, but now that they had, it was a problem he could no longer ignore.
Back in his private chambers, Kevin slammed his fist against the stone wall, the crack echoing through the room. The pain shot through his hand, but it didn't matter. What mattered was how he had underestimated his enemies. He had played his cards too boldly, and now he would pay for it.
"Get me the spies," he barked, his voice slicing through the tension that filled the air. "I want reports from every corner of the city. Find out who started that chant. Find out where the resistance is hiding, and bring them to me."
Rax bowed and slipped out of the room, his steps quick but measured. Grom lingered, his expression unreadable beneath his scarred brow.
Kevin turned to the hulking goblin, his patience hanging by a thread. "What is it, Grom?"
"There's more to this than the chant, boss," Grom said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "People are scared. But now they've seen Harrod won't beg, and they're thinking maybe they don't have to, either."
Kevin's gaze narrowed. He had always relied on Grom's brute strength, his loyalty and straightforwardness. But even Grom's words carried a warning. Kevin crossed the room, staring out the narrow window slit at the city below. Fires still burned from the previous night's unrest, and he could see the movements of his goblin patrols attempting to restore order. But it was clear now that control was slipping.
"You're saying they might try something more," Kevin said, his tone low but sharp.
Grom shrugged, his muscles rippling beneath his armor. "People don't just stop at words, boss. Not when they've got something to fight for."
Kevin turned his back on the cityscape and faced his lieutenant. "Then we take that something away. If hope is what drives them, I'll stamp it out. One way or another."
Harrod's cell was deeper in the dungeons now, far away from the rest of the prisoners. Kevin had moved him after the public spectacle, determined to isolate him from his supporters. The dungeon here was different—colder, damper. The air was thick with the smell of rot, and the darkness was so oppressive that even the torches barely pierced it.
As Kevin approached, he could hear Harrod's labored breathing. The blacksmith's body had taken a beating, but his spirit hadn't faltered. Not yet. Kevin stepped into the cell, the torchlight casting long shadows over the stone walls. Harrod was chained to the wall by his wrists, his head hanging low. His clothes were torn, his face bloodied, but when he lifted his eyes to Kevin's, they still burned with defiance.
"You're resilient," Kevin said, almost admiring the man's stubbornness. "But you should know by now that I always get what I want."
Harrod's voice was hoarse, but he spoke with clarity. "You want me to break. I won't."
Kevin smiled coldly, stepping closer until he was looming over the bound man. "You misunderstand. Breaking you is no longer the goal. I'll use you however I need to, and if that means making a martyr of you, so be it. But I'd prefer to see you suffer a little longer."
Harrod didn't flinch. "The people—" he started, but Kevin cut him off.
"The people are afraid, Harrod," Kevin said, his voice low and dangerous. "They're afraid of what will happen if they step out of line. You gave them a glimpse of something more. But I'm going to take that away from them."
Harrod struggled against the chains, though it was more a symbolic gesture than anything. His strength was nearly gone, but Kevin could see the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. "You won't win, goblin. People like you—tyrants like you—never do. You might kill me, but the resistance will grow."
Kevin tilted his head slightly, considering Harrod's words. Then, with a calm he had perfected over the course of his rise to power, he delivered his next line with chilling finality. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps they'll grow. But before they do, they'll learn the price of defying me."
Harrod's breathing was heavy, each intake labored. Kevin could see his resolve cracking—slowly, but surely. He had learned long ago that breaking a person's spirit wasn't always about force. Sometimes, it was about taking away the things that mattered most to them. And in Harrod's case, that was the people.
Without another word, Kevin turned and left the cell, the door slamming shut behind him. Outside, he gave his orders to Grom. The humans who had started the chant would be found. They would be punished publicly and brutally. Harrod would watch from the walls as the people he had sworn to protect were torn apart by Kevin's regime.
But this was only the beginning. Kevin knew that fear could only last so long. Eventually, hope would rise again unless it was suffocated completely.
The following days were filled with dread for the humans. Kevin's spies worked quickly, rounding up the ringleaders of the rebellion—the ones who had been whispering in dark corners, organizing against the goblin overlord. One by one, they were dragged from their homes and brought before Kevin. Some of them were young, too young to have fully understood the consequences of their actions, but that didn't matter to Kevin. Each one was a symbol, and symbols needed to be destroyed.
Public executions were held in the city square, the same place where the chant of "We stand with Harrod" had first risen. Now, those same people stood in the square again, but this time their voices were silent. The ringleaders were brought forth in chains, their faces pale but determined. Kevin watched from his balcony, arms crossed over his chest, as the crowd gathered below.
"You think this will break them," Harrod had said, his voice a rasp after days of silence. "But all you'll do is fuel their anger."
Kevin's gaze had been cold and unfeeling. "Anger is only useful when it's directed. Right now, it's scattered. Disorganized. But after today, it'll be gone."
From his vantage point, Kevin could see the faces of the humans below. Some were pale with fear, others were shaking with quiet rage. But none dared speak. That silence was what Kevin had aimed for. Fear was a powerful tool, but it needed to be cultivated carefully. Too much, and it would break. Too little, and it wouldn't be effective at all.
The first execution was swift, a single swing of the executioner's axe. A young man, barely old enough to wield a sword, fell to the ground. The crowd flinched as one, but no one dared to move. Kevin could feel the tension in the air, thick like a storm about to break.
One by one, the executions continued. The ringleaders were cut down without mercy, their bodies displayed for the crowd to see. Kevin's gaze never wavered. Each death was a reminder that defiance came at a cost. And with each passing moment, the crowd's will to fight ebbed away, replaced by the cold grip of fear.
But even as the last body hit the ground, Kevin knew that this wasn't over. The seeds of rebellion had been planted deep, and cutting down the ringleaders wouldn't be enough. The people were scared now, but fear alone wouldn't hold them forever. He needed something more—a show of absolute dominance. He needed to shatter their hope completely.
And Harrod was the key.
Later that night, Kevin stood in the dungeons once more, staring at the broken blacksmith. Harrod's face was gaunt, his body weakened, but his eyes—those damn eyes—still held defiance.
"You saw them die," Kevin said softly, stepping closer. "You saw what happens when people follow you. They die. And soon, more will follow."
Harrod's lips were cracked, his voice a weak whisper. "You're wrong, Kevin. You think fear will keep them in line. But it never lasts."
Kevin leaned in, his face inches from Harrod's. "Then I'll make sure they have no choice. You'll see."
Harrod didn't respond, and for the first time, Kevin saw doubt flicker in his eyes. He had planted the seeds of despair, and now it was only a matter of time before they took root. Kevin turned and left the dungeon, his heart filled with cold satisfaction.
But even as the door slammed shut behind him, a nagging thought gnawed at the edges of his mind.
What if Harrod was right? What if fear wasn't enough?
Kevin shook his head, pushing the thought aside. There was no room for doubt. He would rule with an iron fist, and nothing—nothing—would stand,