The room had fallen silent. The escaped slaves gazed in wonder at what Grae had done.

Magic.

Grae had come to understand it was a science, with ruling laws and disciplines, operating under a strict exchange of powers. And yet, even so…

He couldn’t lose, in his soul, the fantasy of magic. The belief that it could accomplish what nothing else could; the promise of receiving something for nothing.

And how utterly mouth-watering was the promise of magic, for slaves who had lived their whole lives in fear? For whom magic had always been a tool of the oppressor?

With a single display Grae had won them over.

He suspected he could have led them to their deaths without complaint, just then…

But instead he'd lead them towards freedom.

---

Eight humans sat around a fire, chewing at the remains of a scrawny deer. They cut away pieces with long, sharp daggers, and carried weapons on their back. Grae saw bows, axes, swords…

It had been a long time since he’d seen a weapon that was shiny and new, with the edge still bright. Longer since he’d seen a human carry one.

For a moment, yes, Grae felt the old familiar fear. The fear that had grown in him as he listened to the sounds of fighting beyond his hidden door. The stagnant, dull terror that had been reflected in the glazed eyes of the dead, when he finally found the courage to confront them.

A fear that had lived inside him like a burning coal in the center of his guts, hurting until the pain became familiar but still reminding him, now and again, of its presence.

He was reminded now.

Eight humans.

Eight of the most terrifying creatures to stalk the earth.

And Grae would lay his fear in the ground when he put their corpses there.

That was his promise to himself.

That he would be no coward anymore, if he could do this.

The humans had their campfire, and at its edge was a wagon, a kind of cage that rolled on wheels as two heavyset horses with chestnut fur pulled it along the decaying roads. Within that cage were small, huddled creatures. A few kobolds and a single goblin. They stared out with hungry eyes at the fire and the food roasting away…

None of them - man nor beast - noticed the shadow crawling through the weeds and bushes. Even now, Larktongue was crawling towards his goal.

He too was a coward.

Grae wouldn’t ask him to fight- only to cut the horses free with a crude dagger when the signal came.

And as for the signal…

What else could it be?

Grae lifted his hand. A water bullet formed, numerous small and unsteady flecks of water combining into a single perfect sphere that shined with a faint blue light as it hovered in his palm, like a drowned star.

The mushroom-folk stood behind him, ready to charge. With crude clubs in hand, their wiry, muscled physique made them far more intimidating than the kobolds.

As for the hobgoblin, he led the other fang of the attack- lurking on the far side of the forest clearing.

For a moment he hesitated...

Letting the last twinge of fear pass through him…

And holding his mind steady against that familiar terror.

Grae released the water bullet. It shot into their camp, bending from a perfect sphere into a warped droplet surrounded by spiral trails of water. It slammed into the fire and, in the blink of an eye, their light died.

Instantly the camp was plunged into darkness.

He lifted his head to the sky.

With all the force in his lungs, Grae lifted his head to the sky and howled.

The war-cry of a tuskling was deep and powerful, a grating, strained rumble that peaked into the nasally squeal of a pig. It sounded like something was dying; it sounded like you were next.

The horses panicked, and threw themselves against tethers that Larktongue had already sawn away at until only threads remained. Snapping free, they bolted into the woods, towards the hobgoblin's warband.

Three of the humans broke off to follow. Whether they were chasing the horses, or simply running with them…

It didn't matter.

Grae lifted his hand once more. Another water bullet formed, glinting in the dark.

One of the humans spotted it and pointed, calling out. His corpse was left in that position for a moment as the bullet tore his head from his shoulders, crushing his skull; after a moment where it seemed his body refused to believe it was dead, standing stubbornly upright, his knees collapsed and the corpse crumpled to the floor.

The humans began to scream. Steel flashed in the light of the night-star as swords were drawn.

One man lifted his hand and made a strange, twisting gesture. A ball of light appeared in his hand and flooded the camp with light.

Grae was revealed among them, a towering shadow.

The nearest man wailed out in fear as Grae’s huge hands grasped him by the waist. He kicked and struggled helplessly as he was lifted up, slobber falling over his face as Grae’s mouth opened wide. Teeth like tombstones clamped down around his skull.

With a single wrenching twist, Grae ripped him apart and ground the remains to pulp within his jaws. Blood glinted on his muzzle as he tossed the corpse away.

The voices had marked him as ‘Gentle’.

A kind beast, a noble beast. Grae knew no such thing existed. It was his nature to fight. To roar and thrash and bite. Denying that nature…

That had cost him everything. His friends, his home…

To be gentle to a killer was to deny the dead their justice.

If the voice rung out now and snatched back its gifts, Grae could not care less. His chest rose and fell and his blood beat to the wardrum song of righteous fury. He opened his mouth to roar again, spraying out blood mingled with spittle.

The humans rushed for him. One wielded and axe and shield, keeping his body tight behind the wooden barrier, moving in crab-like darts and dodges. His hatchet swept across Grae’s shin- but Grae’s skin was armored, reinforced by magic. The wound bit in only a shallow half-inch.

In retaliation, Grae’s hand thundered down. The shield broke with a splintering crack and sent the man sprawling to the ground. Grae reached for him, caught him around the wrist, and by one arm swung him upwards into the air.

He felt bones crack and ligaments twist as the man’s whole weight was swept skywards, twisting the limb in its socket until it shattered like dry wood.

The man went flying up with a pained scream. He landed with a sudden, violent stop to that pitiful sound.

Grae advanced.

Into his path stepped another warrior, a long blade drawn and held at shoulder-height in both hands. A ripple crossed over the man’s body, turning his sensitive, soft pink flesh into gleaming chrome steel. He too was protected by magic.

“Come on, beast.” The man showed his teeth. “I’ll have your head hanging on my wall tomorrow.”