This wasn’t working.

Gorren smacked the wrench on the contraption he was working on, cursing loudly. The machine, a silver-laced metal cube crammed with copper wires and Mana Cores, protested the abuse by giving out snaps and fizzles.

Gorren ignored it, turning to regard the chamber. Half-assembled machinery and parts cluttered the floor, with bundles of copper wires snaking their way between. Sheets of lead covered portions of walls and ceiling, showing off rows of glyphs inscribed with silver. A malformed, crystal-like block of green quartz throned amidst the mess like the king of a garbage heap, held into position by beams angled against the ground.

Out of frustration, Gorren kicked a contraption, just to take a sharp breath, grab his foot and start jumping. Goddammit, this wasn’t working!

He had decided that, if he had to take a risk, might as well be with a Mana Generator. Problem was, he had underestimated the difficulty of building one quickly. Back in his tower, he had never needed one, and when it had happened there were the guys of the Academy to help him.

Foot throbbing, he threw an incendiary glance at the chamber. He hated to admit it, but alone he wasn’t going to accomplish anything, not with this kind of work. He needed help. He needed someone to carry stuff for him, to tell him if the Throklin Current was at the right wavelength while he worked over the Dupple Stabilizer, to send Fire Mana into the Arcanomantic Orbs while he kept the Central Engine stable, to confirm that the stupid red light blinked when he pulled the damn lever.

Assistants, servants, whatever. He needed them, now. Yesterday.

He stomped out of the chamber, fuming. A part of him was unwilling to have other people there. In fact, there was a little voice in the back of his head that bristled at the simple notion. Maybe it was pride, maybe something else. He didn’t care. But he needed more hands, that was an inescapable truth.

He had hesitated to try his hand to create life from the Crucible. That was the realm of the Gods and while he had the pride to try and invade it, fear of possible repercussions had stayed his hand.

Eventually, he had caved in. He blamed it on curiosity and necessity.

He had tried to summon life, intelligent life, and so, souls. The word there was tried. Forget the Kor, fashion a soul was the most damn most difficult thing he had ever seen in his entire life. Not like he hadn’t poured sweat over it. He had, torrents of it. He had recalled everything he had ever seen, heard or scented of souls, the memory made perfect by his trance. All useless. The true nature of the soul escaped him and without it, he couldn’t recreate it.

Next, he had tried to create animal life, but the results were the same. The essence of life slipped through his fingers, impossible to pinpoint exactly. The Crucible worked through that “exactly”. Without it, it didn’t spit out anything.

Gorren swirled into another chamber. This one was pretty simple. A large glyph covered the floor, while a series of cabinets leaned against the walls.

Gorren marched to one, slammed it open and started to rustle inside.

“To hell with it.” He mumbled angrily. “If one door close, i will make another one.”

To be precise, he would burst open another one.

Gorren threw the pouches he had taken on the floor and opened one. The glyph’s charged paint roiled and twitched as he poured the contents in various sections between the lines, like a trapped beast struggling against its bonds. Gorren repeated the operation until all the pouches were empty, then sat at the center of the glyph.

He closed his eyes, focusing. The glyph appeared before him like a galaxy of brilliant lines and ribbons, with the mixes of powders he had poured over it like shining moons. Beyond it, space itself was visible as sheets of silvered glass, rippling with rainbows of colors.

No matter the plane, the lessons remained the same: if you couldn’t get something to come to you, you could go to it, pummel it to death and snatch it for yourself.

Gorren had already observed how the dimensional barriers were very easy to pierce from the Astral Plane, incredibly easier than what it was from the Material Plane. With that knowledge in hand, he had prepared a drastic plan: pierce a hole into the veils between dimensions, send a projection of himself back into the Material Plane, gather what he needed and return.

Was it dangerous? It was. His projection would be physical and able to interact with its surroundings, but it would be only a tiny portion of himself, with a tiny portion of his power. If the projection died, his mind would be scarred for life. In the best case, madness, in the worst, death. Also, he would be leaving both his compound and his body unprotected, since that kind of long-range manipulation was possible only in that ritual room.

But you know what? Fuck it. He had come too far to be stopped now.

He heard stone grind and stop. Gorren grimly acknowledged the arrival of his golems. They would protect his body while his mind was elsewhere.

Without giving time to his own doubts to take root, he focused on the mental image of the glyph. It lacked the eldritch splendor of its predecessor, but it didn’t matter. The veil between the planes was as thin as paper from that side. It would be enough to pierce it.

Gorren repeated the procedure that had brought him there. A hole between dimensions yawned open before him. He didn’t reach in it with his soul this time, but only with his mind. He willed it to form into a string that jumped into the portal, like a rope thrown into a well.

Soon, he lost contact with his body. The sensation of freedom that hit him was exhilarating, but he kept himself from hesitating. He kept going through the portal, his mind’s string extending more and more.

Eventually, he touched a barrier. It was the last, he knew, the last obstacle between him and the Material Plane. For the slightest moment, he hesitated. The sensation would be his heart beating faster if he could still feel it. He wasn’t sure of how much time had passed. Had the Material Plane changed?

It will still be my home?

He repelled those thoughts. His home was dead, dead and burned to the ground. Whatever he found on the other side, it would be only the homeland of his enemies. Nothing more, nothing less.

As always, he moved before his doubts could reassert themselves. With a mental grunt, he pushed. The barrier resisted for a moment, then gave in with a sound of tortured glass. Light flooded him.

Something hard slammed against him, like he had run face-first into a wall. He felt something constrict him, but it lasted just for a moment, then he was free.

And in a different place.

Blinking, still half-blinded, he slowly took in his surroundings. He was in a barn, he realized with surprise. Bundles of hay covered every surface, leaving the wooden walls barely visible. On the back, he could see a large door, barred with a large beam.

From outside, he could hear birds chirping and, after a moment of attention, the voices of people.

His heart soared, a weight that he didn’t even realize to carry dropping off it. Then he remembered why and where he was, and he forced himself back to business.

He glanced at himself and grimaced. Of course, he still had that goblin body. He could technically transmute himself, the Crux-coating had remained with his old body, but very ironically he would need that stupid form for what he had in mind. And speaking of which…

He focused, expanding his consciousness. There were humans, very close by; a large family, judging by the numbers. Farmers, probably. Wonderful, just what he needed, some pitchfork-wielding maniacs that would impale him on sight. He had tried to appear in a deserted place as close as possible to his objective, but dimensional jumps were like trying to catch an apple with an arrow while shooting from the top of a mountain. A certain degree of imprecision couldn’t be avoided.

Wisps of flames licked his curled fingers. Bah! If they tried to stop him, he would give them the lesson of their lives! Even if he had to spare his power. He had very few of it…

Ack, enough! Alright, he would skulk like a rat! Again! Ack!

Mumbling against peasants and their parent’s proclivities toward animals, Gorren started to inspect the place. He ignored the door. He needed just a look, and a moment of humiliation, to judge that the beam would be too heavy for him to lift. Instead, he searched between the bales, mumbling curses when one proved particularly stubborn to move. Eventually, he found what he hoped for. There was a hole at the base of the wall, probably made by rats.

He tested its borders and thanked farmers‘ inability to build. The wood was rotten and weak from the rising damp. He grabbed hold of the edge of the hole and, planting his feet, started to pull. It resisted for a moment, then gave way with a sharp crack.

Gorren stiffened, heart beating faster as he listened for possible newcomers. Nothing. Still, he couldn’t relax. There was a stretched hole where his usual awareness of magic laid. Without it, he didn’t feel complete, or secure.

He resumed his work, pulling, breaking and even gnawing at the wood when those stupid little arms of his couldn’t make the job. He was stubborn, yes. Very very stubborn. And he was going to break out of there even if he had to gnaw a tunnel into the ground.

Eventually, he enlarged the hole enough to be able to slip out.

Cautiously poking out his head, he looked outside. The back of the barn looked upon an unkempt back garden, weeds growing in patches. Beyond, he saw a fence, and after that a field of wheat, the golden ears swaying gently into the breeze. The field ended into an open space dotted with tree stumps and after that the shadows of the forest beckoned, promising safety.

Gorren nodded. He just had to reach the trees and then he would be safe. Farmers didn’t chase things they weren’t sure about in the forest. Too dangerous.

He threw a look behind his shoulder. The point where he had arrived appeared to his second sight as a ripple into space. It was there he would have to return to get back to his compound. There was no way around. He didn’t have enough power to open another portal. Bah! He would think about it when it was time.

Watching left and right to make sure that nobody was in sight, he stepped out of the hole and into the open space. He supposed that there were other buildings close to that barn, but he wasn’t stopping to look around.

He was just about to start into a run when a little form appeared from behind the corner.

Gorren froze half-step. He watched the big, fat hen. The big, fat hen watched him.

Then there was chaos.

The hen exploded into a frenzy of clucking and beating wings. Gorren didn’t even have the time to finish screaming “what the hell?!?” that the feathered monster was upon him, peaking and scratching like it was possessed.

Gorren screamed, trying to cover his head. Flames licked his hand, but he caught himself. He wasn’t going to waste precious Mana for a stupid bird!

The hen seemed to have taken the offense at heart because she kept going at him with everything she had, ignoring his frantic attempts to push her away.

Someone shouted something, followed by some more alarmed voices.

Fuck! So much for sneaking out undetected!

Gorren smacked the hen from the air, sending her to tumble away with an outraged squawk. He turned and ran away, jumping straight into the field.

He ignored the wheat smacking and grazing at his skin. He just put down his head and ran, putting everything he had in those stupid legs of his.

He stopped only when he was well under the trees and couldn’t see the farm nor hear the shouts anymore.

“I hate… animals!” He panted, hands on his knees. What the hell was with that stupid chicken? Did he had roasted some of her ancestors? God! He hated animals so much!

While trying to catch his breath, he left his perceptions to expand until they brushed the reason why he had chosen that zone to appear into. At least he had been running in the right direction.

He threw a look around, taking his surroundings.

The wood was pleasant, with plenty of shade and little undergrowth to hinder one’s steps. The trees were gnarled and ancient-looking, with moss hanging from twisted branches. The soil was soft but dry, just littered there and then with fallen leaves.

Gorren peered through the ceiling of leaves above him. The sun peering through the branches was pleasant and warm, it was mid-summer, he reckoned. It would have been easy to just lay there for a moment, enjoy the soft breeze and the warmth. After all, how much time had passed since he had enjoyed a moment of peace?

But the turbulence in his chest wouldn’t let him rest. He couldn’t, even if he tried. Those were the fetters of hatred and anger and regret. They wouldn’t let him rest, wouldn’t let him go.

He hissed and straightened up. Well, so be it. He would accept that burden. Bitter anger was to be his food? He would scarf it down until whoever was that passed it to him ran out.

He wasn’t Gorren An-Tudok for nothing, after all.

Something hit him over the back of the head. He twirled around, just in time to see a squirrel chitter at him before disappearing in the canopy above.

“Hey! What was that fo…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence that another nut hit him square in the jaw.

And another. And another. And another.

Soon, he was under a true bombardment of walnuts, small branches and whatever else there was up there that could be thrown. He saw chittering squirrels, a bunch, an army of them, alongside the small, luminous figures of sprites.

Gorren tried to protect himself, but he might as well be trying to repel a tsunami.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He screeched, turning and running away for the second time of that day. What the hell? Was that some kind of rural conspiracy? He knew that the farmers were good for nothing, but that was too much!

The bombardment didn’t let up, his aggressors chasing him from branch to branch while even more seemed to gather.

Bewildered, Gorren had only one thing to say, nay, to screech.

“I hate animals! I hate the forest! Leave me aloneeeee!”

Krik watched the stick fall into the river with a little splash. He kinda expected something to happen, but the stick just flowed away with the current, long thread trailing behind it.

Balancing with one foot over the tree trunk, the goblin watched the fishing pole disappear around the river bend.

“That good?” Trich, his comrade, asked, sticking a finger in her nose.

Krik shrugged. He liked Trich, but the female had this bad habit of following him around everywhere. She said she did it to “make sure he didn’t get into trouble”, but he wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to mean. Trouble was fun, right?

“Dunno.” He said when the female gave him a pointed look. Sheesh, what was he, one of those big heads that knew everything?

“You lose fishing thing.” Trich said. “Boss Gorblum be mad.” She crossed her arms and smirked to emphasize the inevitability of her judgment.

Krik bristled. Boss Gorblum angry meant someone was getting pummeled. That was fun to watch, but not if he was the one getting the pummeling!

“You here too!” He garbled, pointing a finger against her. “You lose fishing thing too! Boss be mad at you too!”

Trich’s smirk melted into a scowl. “Me not lose. You lose. You throw in river, stupidhead!”

“Because you no tell how work!” Krik retorted. Maybe it was the sun over his large head, or maybe it was the burst of importance from standing higher, but he wasn’t going to back down this time. “Boss Gorblum say: yus go river and git summfink!” He tried to make his biggest voice while imitating the Boss’ ponderous walk. Gorblum was Big Goblin. Better respect him always. “He tell you how fishing thing work. You no tell me. Your fault!” He completed the argument with a large smirk. “And me no stupid-head. You stupid-head!” He added, and crossed his arms. He felt really intelligent after that.

Trich watched him like one of the bugs she kept in her jar, the ones she liked to skewer and burn over the fires.

For a moment Krik thought that maybe he had gone a bit overboard. Had he broken her?

To his surprise, instead of jumping him, Trich started laughing. “Kekeke! That Boss Gorblum alright!” She said, and then started to tramp back and forth, imitating his self-important gait. “Lookit me! Me Boss Gorblum! Me big and strong! But me cannot take pig! Humans beat me over head! Ugh ugh ugh!”

Ok, that was funny alright. Krik started laughing, forgetting the argument. He jumped down the log, joining her in making the funniest imitations of their big boss.

When they got tired, fishing pole all but forgotten, Trich proposed to try and catch a rabbit to cut a bit. Krik liked the idea. Cutting things was fun! And the furry ones made the funniest squealy noises when you cut them! But he had an even better idea.

“Down at the human house.” He said excitedly. “Little human comes take berries. I see!”

Trich’s expression changed from interest to wicked. They both giggled, punching and pushing each other out of sheer excitement. Cutting furry things was fun, but cutting pinkskins was the funniest thing of all.

“Where we hide?”

“Behind bushes! We wait for little human. And when she get close.”

“Zac!” Trich exploded into tittering laughter, quickly followed by her comrade. “I know good hole. We bring little human there. None find!”

Krik grinned from ear to ear, already savoring the experience. It was the most perfect plan!

They were just about to move when a sound froze them in their tracks. They whirled around, seeing that another goblin had jumped over the trunk.

… or wasn’t a goblin?

This one was gray instead of green, his head was smaller than theirs and he had ears like the humans instead of the bat-like ones they had. A white fur covered his chin and cheeks. Still, what filled the two goblins with dread were the eyes. Black and gold, aflame with an angry light that seemed to make them burn.

The newcomer looked well-worn, scratches and sores covering him from head to toes. But if anything, those seemed only to have made him angrier, judging from how he hissed and panted.

Surprise gave way to alarm. The two goblins tried to jump to their feet, run away and reach for their daggers all at the same time. They managed only to get tangled into each other, trip and fall back down into a screeching tangle of limbs.

“Silence.” That single word cut through the air like a whiplash, making them freeze.

The gray goblin was upon them, holding a staff that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. They both looked with horror at the small flame hovering over the top of the staff, in that moment pointed straight at their faces.

“I will go straight to the point, morons.” They looked upon at the stranger, trying their best not to flinch too much when those angry eyes bore down on them. “Bring me to the dump you call home. I have some work for you.”