[WP] I'm feeling a bit morbid today. Paint me a world where death is regarded as trivial as buying a gallon of milk.

...

Long ago when Ska had been born, life had been harsh. Weak and new to the world, there was never enough food, never enough warmth. It seemed as though scarcity was prevalent in all aspects of life. Be it females, weapons, or treasures, there was never enough. As Ska grew, his mind grappled and struggled to find a reason for these lackings.

Then Ska came upon an epiphany, and killed the Chief. Suddenly life was different.

Ska killed the Chief, so Ska became the Chief. Ska stopped lacking all at once: Those were the rules, for that was the way life worked.

Food came simply, weapons came in the same manner, and most of the females within the tribe suddenly liked Ska because those were the rules. That was how life worked for a Goblin.

Since he had taken control of the tribe Ska had many children, for the females of the tribe liked Ska, and the ones that didn't learned to like Ska. They bore him many children, the likes of which worked for Ska and Ska alone. If Ska was hungry, they brought him food. If Ska was bored, they brought him pleasure. If Ska was angry, they fought and died against one another for his amusement, or did the same beneath Ska's own fists and sword.

Still, the Tribe grew because Ska was strong.

The strong bred alike, and the weak faded. For all those beneath him that died, dozens more survived and obeyed. It was not long until the forest seemed hardly large enough. The seasons were kind and the food was plentiful, the tribes numbers prospered beneath his watch; all that could stop them were the dangers of nature and predator.

Ska feared neither.

When the wolves threatened them, Ska rallied those lessers and took his sword to plunge it through the canines' hides. One by one, over and over and over, until the females make him a necklace of their fangs.

When a large wandering Goblin came and tried to take control of his position- challenging him to a duel, Ska cut his throat, drank his blood and roasted his flesh. He took his foe's skull and crushed it beneath his teeth.

When a group of spawn rose up and tried to leave the tribe- Ska hunted them down and did the same once more. When the bear struck their camp, it was his blade that stabbed through its eye, and his teeth that sank into its marrow.

When winter struck, the burrows were founded beneath the roots of the forest's largest trees, and skins were hung upon the walls. The lives they had taken became the very insulation for them to continue.

For Chief Ska, life was simple. Kill or be killed: The strongest ruled, and that was his claim. Nothing could challenge him within the forest, but the more their numbers grew, the more he wondered what lay beyond. Past the fields, past the rounded hills, there was another tribe- different in many ways from what he now controlled. The humans often haunted his thoughts.

Ska remembered what true strength was. Each and everyday his sword alone was enough of a reminder. No Goblin could forge a weapon like this: It had belonged to the previous Chief, but before that it had belonged to a human. A soldier that had died in the fighting of Ska's ancestors. Humans were known by many, and feared by some- for they were said to possess strange powers. Strength beyond that of wolves or bears, skill beyond that of any wandering Goblin warrior.

Humans... The thought of that species troubled him.

Ska's mother had been a human. A woman stolen from a raid, used by the previous chief however he had seen fit. The repercussions of that raid had left the tribe in shreds before Ska's birth, but weapons and women had come from it- however few had survived the passage of time. Ska still remembered the power of those metal covered monstrosities when they came crashing down upon the tribe: Beings full heads taller than the largest of their number, warriors with power to smash aside the wooden shields and clubs like toys- cleaving apart resistance with giant blades of steel and thick armor of painted symbols. Compared to those weapons and figures, Ska and his human sword might well have been a small boy and a dagger.

But years had passed, the winters had come and gone, and Ska was strong. He dreamed of greatness.

To become faster, quicker, more ruthless and brutal. He surpassed his own limits, time and time again; slain the wolves, the wanderers, even the bear. Alone he was powerful, but with his tribe beyhind him- he might be more than just that. The dream formed to thoughts, coalescing into grander plans of palpable form. Weeks of scouting in the late hours of night, months of preparations- of spears and clubs and stone axes to be harvested until it was time for the true test of power.

At long last, it was time to seek out the humans. Unlike his predecessor, Ska planned ahead of his instincts and desires. He would not lose himself to foolishness, for he was the strongest- in combat none could hope to rival him. The humans would outnumber his tribe, but it seemed that few were warriors. Their weapons were farming tools and bows, their experience was greatly lacking. They did not have the strength to kill wolves or bears by hand, and by that right- they did not deserve the wealth they flaunted: So he would take it. Only the most powerful deserved such things.

Only Ska deserved such things.

"RAAAAAAAAAAH!" A heavy arm of muscle and scars lifted to the air as the rest of the tribe rallied behind him on the forest's edge. Ahead of them was a single human settlement, and then the human village itself would fall beneath their rage. The women would bring in a new generation of strength to their numbers, and the rest would fill their bellies. He would rule them all.

Ska roared as loud as he could, and began the charge- ready to meet true strength at last, and bask in the sweet rewards of victory.

Then his head exploded in a sudden shower of gore, bone, and brain.

...

The metal piece had once belonged to the earth of a different sort, years and years ago. Back in that time it was nothing more than earth at all, pulled it was pulled from the ground- impure and unworkable.

Time passed, and the essence of the metal piece were moved and changed. Through careful processes, laid out and planned by meticulous details upon paper, then prototype, and finally perfectly pressed and machined pieces- this impure form found itself refined. Bit by bit, it came together, and finally took shape.

The metal piece was born again, no longer simple earth- but something greater.

More portions of earth refined were added, pressed by cold efficient hands that lacked even the faintest resemblance to life, before being filled with dry sands of black, and closed with a final capping piece. From there it was place upon a tray, sealed in the ground puree of paper and paint, and left to wait.

But the metal was simply that: Plain and refined- but undoubtedly inanimate. There was no knowledge, no mind, no soul. The metal did not know of its purpose and as such, it did not question.

In time the paper and pain found itself removed, the cold touch of air reached its surface, and the warmth of living skin plucked it from its resting place upon the tray.

Soon it found itself enclosed in a new resting place, sitting atop its brethren in kind until it was guided forward by a thick metal piece of a different nature.

A pin threw forward, a strike was guided and smashed, and the metal erupted from within, pressure slamming it home and forward down the long spiral threaded tube of perfect tolerance and size.

In open air, the remainder of the once, crafted, whole and perfected metal piece, soared through the sky with breath-taking speed, before crashing into flesh. Through skin, blood, bone, brain, bone, blood, and then skin once more- it settled deep into the soil of a different earth, and knew true peace again at last.

...

...

I pulled the bolt back, hiss of air escaping my lungs before plunging it forward again, metal piece flinging free to my right as another cartridge replace its spent kin. In the distance, the largest of the Goblins had fallen but the rest hadn't slowed in the slightest- charging across the field towards me with weapons raised.

Without a single doubt, I knew this was going to be a long night- but I had the answer to my question:

.308 beats Goblin.