And things changed.

They always did, though rarely in his favour.

It had happened during…whatever the time of day that was before now was, time being somewhat of a mystery within the earthen labyrinth of the Burrows.

The tribe of creatures that had set-up their camp not too far from where had been impaled had, without warning, done what he had feared the most. They had attacked.

Just not him.

Instead, they had set themselves upon their own people.

Their tribe had been visibly separated into three groups. The middle group comprised of non-fighters, the civilians, with the other two groups in front and back to protect them. Or so he had assumed.

The group that had marched ahead of the tribe had mercilessly slaughtered all but a few of the group who travelled in the rear.

Armed as the rear group was, he had originally thought that they were the rear guard of the tribe, protecting the non-combatants from the denizens of the underground, but the way he had seen them treated since they had arrived had made him reassess that initial evaluation, thinking instead that they were some type of slave cast or indentured servant.

Or was that the same thing?

Either way, after the initial hesitation of the kobold like creatures upon their discovery of the many mutant corpses strewn about the cavern that they were in, something which he had hoped would have scared them off, the presence of the blackish ooze that was once his tar-type shadow stuff, then still dissolving, it's decay slowed by the light of the natural flames born by the tribe's people, should have, at the very least, had the tribe keeping its distance, the rear group was then tasked with harvesting the bodies for everything of worth, while the front to middle groups took rest. A few members of the middle group stepped in after everything was said and done, taking the various parts of the beasts to some isolated spot to begin working on them, the cooks and craftsmen of the tribe, presumably, but other than that, the other two groups made no move to help the third after what had appeared to be an exhausting trek.

Appeared, because his lack of familiarity with the alien, but native, species made reading their body language quite difficult. The members of the third group were clearly worn down, their scales dull and grimy, their movements slow and slipshod, but their poor appearance may have very well been due to them being of the servant class on not having access to the cosmetics and hygiene rituals, if any, of the first group who, even if they were a foreign culture, were clearly the upper class of the tribe, there clumsy movements possibly the result of them more than just looking like reptiles, but actually being cold-blooded and suffering more from the effect of the cavern's chilling atmosphere than he was.

Not that he was going to hold it against them for having social classes, if that had, indeed, been the case, mind you, no society would ever develop if its people were not always striving for more.

But how ever their social structure worked, whatever justification that would allow the upper-class to indulge in wholesale slaughter of the lower while the middle just stood by and watched was completely beyond his ability to comprehend.

Again, it had been in the middle of whatever time of day it was…night for convenience sake. He had not seen it himself, him having been in a half lucid, half-delirious state from not being able to sleep for a long while, being impaled upon a number of sharp, stone points somewhat hampering his ability to get a good night’s rest and all that. He had previously been keeping himself going with a few one-use restore-fatigue rewards from his [SACRIFICE] ability, but he had used the last of them more or less two 'nights' before and had since then just been trying to do the best he could.

It was not so bad if he kept still, not that he could really move in his state, but then would come the inevitable micro movement and stone would inflame nerve and…you can guess the rest. Making it worse was the proximity of the tribe, forcing him to refrain from casting his ever-dwindling supply of minor heal rewards for fear of being detected.

He had, of course, asked Her majesty to stand guard, as much as a shadow snake could stand that is; not that she needed to be told, her mental attributes still more than a match for him despite her grievous injury, and it was she who had filled him in.

After some of the harvested meat had been cooked, the resulting stew handed out and eaten, the tribe had settled in for the night, a few standing watch while the majority slumbered.

A few hours later, the rear and middle groups were fully immersed in R.E.M. sleep, if their species could experience such a thing, something that Goodie dearly wished that he could experience, even for just a moment, right now, the front group rose from their much higher-quality bedding, and with extreme care and silence, had gathered together. Such was their skill that even Her Majesty had not noticed them until mere moments before their attack, something that had him sweating bullets as he and Her Majesty were supposed to be the stealth and assassination specialist, if the ‘not kobolds’, who had been deemed by many generations of people who had come before him as only a minor threat to low levelled adventurers, could slip past her ability to detect things, then she and he were, well…neither of them were going to be getting a peaceful night’s rest even if…when he got himself of these fucking stone spikes.

The members of the first group quickly dispersed into the dark to take-up key positions around the slumbering third, some positions he himself had marked previously for Her Majesty to attack from should they have become aware of his presence.

After some unknown signal or condition had triggered, they set upon the third group who, no pun intended, were sleeping like the dead after having been worn down by their day’s work.

It was a slaughter, pure and simple.

Not wholesale slaughter, mind you, even though they had been sleeping at the time, the members of the third group were eventually awoken from the scream of a dying comrade, and their rise and response had been quick and brutal despite their disadvantages, at one point in the following conflict, after they had gathered together into a strong defensive circle, with fighters on the outside and magic users protected within, fortunes even looked as if they may have been turning against their would-be murderers, the number of front group attackers falling to their efforts quickly exceeding the third group’s losses, only to fail and eventually fall as one of their own, or at least one who had stood amongst them, had attacked them from within. A rather fat and, in his opinion, old-looking female whom Her Majesty had seen working with the people of the third group. In particular, she had seen that one specifically interacting with the few who would, temporarily, survive the third group’s slaughter.

He did not know if it had been mere chance or if they had been spared on purpose, set aside to be made examples of, but that was clearly their ultimate fate as they were unceremoniously dragged into the centre of a circle made up of the surviving warriors of the first group, with the now awake and terrified second group looking on from behind the wall of muscle that had been formed, before they were made to kneel before the leader…chieftain. Chieftess? It looked like a female, but…whatever, not important, right now.

Gods, he was tired.

Who or whatever it was, the backstabber stood beside it as passed judgement on what may have been the leaders of the third group.

Goodie took a moment to breathe. To calm himself as he assessed the situation.

Betrayal and murder.

Probably had something to do with politics.

He did not understand why, but the whole affair had affected him to an unreasonable degree, far more than it should have considering he was a complete stranger to these people. Realising that this other species, that these ‘Not Kobolds’, were acting just like humans depressed him so. Humanity had of course done far worse to far more, but only because they had more time, greater numbers, and far better toys to do it with, but given the same opportunities, he was sure that the creatures were, in every way, humanity's equal. And that was what truly got to him, learning that humanity, in all its shittiness, was no exception in its behaviour, but in actual fact, was just the average, just…

It just…smothered some unknown light within him, some spark of something that…was it hope? …or…something?

Whatever.

He sighed, the effort causing the wound from the spike poking through his shoulder to flare up again, forcing him to wince from the brief but familiar pain. Fucking stone. He would get rid of it all of one day, replace it with rubber or something like that. What it should have been in the first place.

Fucking geology.

That too, probably had something to do with politics.

Fucking politics.

Whatever.

It should have been a good thing, the murder and betrayal, not the fucking stones, the event taking the tribes attention away from the area where he currently resided.

Fucking stone.

But the whole affair had presented him with not only a choice that he had really, really wanted to avoid making, but also a reward strong enough to entice him to ‘sell-out’ in said decision making. A reward that was especially effective given his current circumstances.

To be or not to be…an arsehole. That was the question.

Really finding no appeal in being one, Goodie had been desperately trying to avoid going colonial on the natives, human or otherwise, and their lands. Even though he was far from being woke, not giving a crap about the whole left/right tribal thing on account of them having never giving a crap about him, and, historically speaking, being Irish and all would have put them on the receiving end of said colonialism, which, for some reason, did not count because of his skin colour, a childhood full of socially-aware mass-media had instilled him with a, for some reason never strong enough, sense of white-guilt. A guilt which always had him feeling, well…guilty, despite never actually having done anything…ever.

Good or bad.

Nothing.

In his brief sixteen years, he had done nothing.

He had wasted his life.

An endless second passed as Goodie contemplated that thought.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he whispered through clenched teeth. The last thing he needed right now is a pity party.

Things had changed, these fuckers were arseholes, proving the fact with their purge of their own people while they were asleep and could not fight back, fully aware that he was being a hypocrite in his scorn considering that he was now contemplating purging them, preferably when they were asleep and could not fight back, and they had shown that they were more than willing to kill their own kind, so not killing a foreigner like him probably was not even an option.

But more important than his safety, more important than anything else that should have had his attention at that moment, was that leader of theirs. That beautiful, perfect leader.

Her Majesty had seen her…him…it use magic to heal someone.

It had been a small wound, but deep enough that it would have proven fatal if not attended to. And the leader had healed it by breathing upon the nasty gash. Her Majesty had watched as the wound closed within moments.

Their leader had the ability to heal, with a power greater effect than his one-use minor heal abilities that he had been relying on for so long, and was rapidly running out of.

It could heal…

And it was clearly an arsehole…

And he had an extra summoning slot…

There were other magic users among the tribe, few now, considering that the majority of them seemed to have belonged to the third group, and they may have also had the ability to heal.

But he knew that that one ‘could’ heal.

By his standards, the only standards that really counted, their leader was evil. Justification enough for him to kill. And that was the first step into arsehole territory.

Killing someone because they had something you wanted or because it was convenient for you was not right. Or at least it should not be. But he was hurt…badly, and their leader could heal him, and their leader was evil, and it was just…so…easy. In theory…

Obviously, the small army surrounding that wonderful, amazing leader would have something to say about any attempt of his to fill that second summoning slot, but everyone slept.

Even him.

Except for now.

Fucking. Pointlessly. Pointy. Rocks.

He sniffed.

A seemingly simple choice, but he did not know the situation, he had no clue what the hell was going on over there and their leader may have very well been a good person stuck in a tough situation, being forced to make a tough decision to keep its loved ones alive. It was still more likely to be politics, but still, he did not know.

But he was in pain…and it hurt so much. And he was so tired…and not just from lack of sleep.

But then there was also a problem other than just his desire to not become an arsehole, he had never actively ‘chosen’ to kill someone. Not someone who had not already been aiming to hurt him already.

Sure, he had lead that gang of pricks back in the sewers to their death, lead them to a zombie and had Her Majesty bite each of them before he and she both chose the better part of valour and buggered off, but they chose to chase him, they had confronted him with the intent to harm, the goal being to take what they could from him.

And back in the ‘Village on the top of the hill’…that produced corn, he and Her Majesty had to deal with a corrupt mayor and his lackeys. More specifically, he had ‘HER’ deal with the testosterone-fuelled goon that had been gearing up to come after him for making the moron look like himself.

With Her Majesty’s help, he had set off events that probably would have resulted in dozens of human lives being taken as whatever criminal organisation that the goon had led had been forced to restructure itself, though the dust storm that had followed soon after had surely seen a premature end to that. As well as the end of the entire village, and everything else that could not make it out of the area in time.

But here and now, he was actually considering doing something because of reasons that completely ‘justified’ his decision to do so, just like every other arsehole in existence did.

Why does he have to be just another bad guy?

That’s the way the world just is…

Worlds…

That’s how the game is played…

Stand up for yourself…

Don’t be a wuss…

Don’t whine…

All utter bullshit, complete and utter bullshit.

…

…

…

“Fuckit,” he said to no one…or everyone…everywhere, the small sentence sounding like thunder within the overbearing stillness of the cavern.

Army may have been a bit of an exaggeration for the small number of 'Not Kobolds' remaining within the cavern, but he would still have to deal with them and they may as well been an army with how mismatched they were against him…or was he against them…yes he was, it was getting harder and harder to think through the haze of fatigue clouding his mind.

Should he wait for them to go to sleep? What if, after the little trial or whatever it was that they were doing in that circle jerk of theirs was over, they moved on? He could not afford to let this opportunity slip them by…or could he? He still had some minor healing abilities left, and attracting their attention may just result in his untimely demise?

…

Their scales also still had him concerned, if Her Majesty's bites could not make it through them, all he would be doing was alerting them to his presence, or a presence, at least.

…

Rabbits. He could bring in some rabbits to distract and slow them like he had done the morons, but a small twinge from Her Majesty reminded him of how that plan had ended.

Fuck! Even when he decided to be decisive, tried to take control of his life, he still ended up just waiting for things to change, waiting for things to happen to him. Like he always did. Fuck!

A small spark of anger grew within him as the frustration of indecision and pain of ruined flesh had help resurface certain memories within him, memories that lead to memories that led to more memories, that stoked that spark into an unreasonable flame.

This always happens! Why make any choice, when, no matter what you do, everything still ends up with him waiting for others to do things. Waiting for things to change. Fuck!

He was not a nihilist, life did matter, people did matter, things mattered.

Just. Not. Him.

People always shat on him for not doing anything, for not taking the initiative, but why do anything when nothing you do matters? And that was not hyperbole, whenever he had ever had to make a decision, been forced or encouraged to make a choice or action, life and people had, time and time again, shown that whatever choices he made, it would be altered, changed, or outright ignored to suit their narrative. To suit whatever fantasy that they were living in.

All his life people bitched at him for not valuing his life, yet it was also always those very same people that went out of their way, sometimes to extreme lengths to teach him that his life had no value. That he had no power, no influence, nothing of worth, and that any attempt to change that always resulted in a new lesson in humility…or humiliation, whatever the difference between them was!

Well, fuck it! Fuck it all.

Here he was, valuing his life.

Goodie ‘commanded’ Her Majesty to go find a pack of freaky rabbits to lure back here. He would feel shit if anything happened to those kids within the tribe, but right now he was accelerating from ‘fuckit’ to ‘fuck everything’ and was too pissed off to care.

He looked over to see if anything had changed in the crowd, fearing that, knowing his luck, they would all now be staring at him, fully aware of his presence.

An action he regretted. They were not looking at him as he had feared, but the trial had ended at some point and they were now in the midst of dolling out the executions. Some fat fuck had just begun slamming his…was that an axe…no…some nasty-looking weapon into one of the stockier captives. The stick of dull-edged tetanus within the executioner’s hands needing to be swung again and again to break through the thick captive’s neck. Blood and scales and gore, everywhere.

When the butcher had finally finished after what had felt like forever, a loud roar of cheer rang out from the watching crowd.

Fucking savages.

That display of joy was a stark contrast to the sudden and intense terror that blasted through his mind, the influx of information coursing through his link to Her Majesty too much for him to make sense of it beyond the base emotion.

She had barely left the cavern, when something had terrified Her Majesty to the core, what, he did not know, but she was coming back to him as fast as she could. He wanted to know what was going on, but she was too freaked out to express anything clearly to him.

But she no longer needed to, as Goodie felt his nerves begin to once again become inflamed as the stone spikes holding him aloft began to vibrate with energy that had no doubt transferred from the ground that they were connected to, a low but rapid thrum that was steadily increasing in intensity with each passing moment.

Something was coming.

A lot of somethings.

…

He did not panic…

…

He did not fear…

…

He had decided to be decisive…

…

...And life had once again taught him his place

…

And all was right with the world…

Worlds…

…

Fuckit…

…

And the rocks too…