The cargo bay doors of the Space Launch swish open before my eyes. The interior lighting spills out pushing back the dark of a cold dead night until the surrounding thick undergrowth and tall trees become shadow-like extremes. The wonder of an anti-gravity engine enables the launch to hover a convenient knee height above damp leaves and composting vegetation decorating a carpet of lush wild green grass. We have landed in a small clearing within a larger forest as she proposed.

Bending my knees, I scoop the hobgoblin body into a princess carry causing the launch to bounce beneath my feet until once again regaining a neutral inert position. The dark green grass, damp with dew awaits, only a shallow step off the launch cargo bay doorway away. I resist the temptation to throw him, he is an Agent after all.

“Throw him,” she hisses. I raise an eyebrow, her voice isn’t via the intercom from the Launch’s cockpit, she stands nearby in the Cargo Bay.

I glance behind me to observe her nodding head and the very unnecessary swinging of her arms to demonstrate.

“Why?”

“You cannot set foot upon this planet in the human body you occupy,” she says with a humph. “Explanation enough?”

What’s with the attitude? My setting a foot upon the planet didn’t seem to be an issue, pre-flight. I feel my brow furrow and her face steels with determination. Whatever! Bunching my muscles I hurl the sedated hobgoblin body through the cargo bay doors, my eyes following to judge my effort and confirm success. About to turn I feel cold steel slice through the middle of my back, strength leaves my legs dropping me to my knees. My eyes go wide I am certain yet that is secondary to trying to work my mouth. My last thought, this wasn’t the plan … then darkness.

This blackness is known to me. Time is of course, impossible to measure where I am. I am back in black; this planet doesn’t want to release me …

After much internal debate, I decide she didn’t betray. I knew as well as she that I needed to die, again, so my spirit would be released. By throwing his body from the cargo bay, my body, soon to be corpse, would remain in the launch avoiding the requirement for her to exit the launch and lift my dead weight back into the cargo bay. This way my body simply falls, she closes the cargo boy door and then pilots the launch back into space. For extra credit, she could perhaps jettison my temporary body into the planet’s atmosphere to burn up the evidence. While difficult, I decide begrudgingly to give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since her plan worked flawlessly and there is nothing in the universe, I can do about changing the outcome.

Time is impossible to measure where I am. Yet the subtle lights below draw me to them as if offering peace and relief from this floating mental torment …

I will myself downwards. These aren’t the guiding light, the official one or the fake one, these are different, they are from the planet, of the planet. Natives. I target the biggest and the brightest …

My will smashes against an irresistible wall of life in celebration. The light within pulsating with vigour, the spirit occupying the vessel of flesh strong, far from body separation and hence death. Such an assault can’t have gone unnoticed and as I retreat or possibly flee, I feel their will upon me.

“Hail, Lord Klug.”

High above once again, I scan down trying to pinpoint the same light … how did that one discern my name from our brief collision? Would all those with bright lights be able to? What if they can, what can they do?

I don’t understand. I am drawn to bright guiding lights all my career and now, upon the planet, my target repels me. Perhaps this planet is the reverse? I can’t target any dull grey or black; the darkness around me blots them out. Instead, I reject many lifetimes of training and practice, I focus upon a light and wait until the light fades …

There are many which are concerning – I select one. Descending I make contact …

---

Pain. Every nerve of this body screams in agony, my nostrils smell burning flesh, this body is on fire.

“Holy Lord Klug you bless me upon my death, the High Priestess sensed your return …”

Feelings of vindication overwhelm me, and she communicates no more. Her body dies, yet my spirit allows an unexpected lingering … I open my eyes … her eyes. I need a reward for enduring this pain, a glimpse of those who would burn another while alive.

A collective woah issues from the crowd of goblins and hobgoblins taking an interest in my host’s burning.

“Burn Klugite Witch … you will preach your false lies no more!” The voice screams to be heard. Wood about my bare feet crackles and snaps feeding the flames which continue to burn the flesh of this body. My spirit hovers, the death of the flesh, the pain of remaining enough to trigger another departure into the black, yet with a strength of will I cling on for a moment longer … just in case.

There! Yes, beside the corner of a log building, a spy. A female goblin, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“She is dead! The Witch is dead! Seek her followers! They must die also!”

The audience scatters upon hearing the Hobs’ order. Departing I glimpse three Hobs joining another, who I suspect is the Chief or Head Hob, nodding and backslapping him. His body rigid like a post, a proud smile celebrating a job done well.

---

I am in the black, yet immediately I scan below, and I know exactly where to look. Each moment here means time immeasurable passes there … I target a fading light turning dull.

---

Opening my mouth to breathe, I swallow water and snap my jaw shut in response. Pain erupts from my chest, while my body bobs about in churning chill water. With effort I twist my body to face a skyful of afternoon sun, head back, legs slightly bent at the knees until I discover this body’s floating balance point. My hand creeps towards my chest and knocks on an impaling arrow shaft. A lance of pain stabs at my heart.

Both hands grip the shaft and with a snap of effort withdraw the arrow, I stop when I sense the arrowhead is no longer in this body’s heart yet can otherwise prevent external bleeding. Internal bleeding and heart repair I trust to a certain level of faith. That and I have already sensed the awakening of nanorobots within my bloodstream, they have been circulating my blood, inflating my lungs, and repairing body damage where they can. The presence of nanorobots can mean only one thing. This new body is of my lineage, which the light in the darkness only hints at, a distant relative of Lord farmer Hob, like the Witch I suspect and not simply a worshipper. She was a Klugite, born from me, and venerating me. From the black, I can identify my progeny on their life journey from birth to high aspiration and then death, worshipper or not. Each light burning bright I suspect depending upon the accomplishments of their body and spirit. I glean this certainty from the knowledge lingering in my present host. This isn’t a racial memory, I am certain as my life depends upon it, this is an ancestral memory.

I begin swimming backstroke, sucking fresh air into my lungs while the pain in my heart eases with each gentle stroke. General chest pain reminds me of my wound, still weeping blood. My heart begins thumping in my chest, no longer the limping organ struggling to support my survival. I tread water and remove the arrow. Blood coughs from the almost perfect round hole, the arrowhead is a well-crafted steel bodkin. I motion to release the arrow to the river, pausing instead. I decide to throw the arrow to shore instead. Eying where it lands I freestyle swim towards the mark to thwart the river current trying to carry me further downstream and towards the unknown. The river meanwhile does me a small service, washing away an ever-diminishing stream of blood leaking from my closing chest wound. Water is energy to the nanorobots, my lungs full of river water for example a ready source once they awoke due to my spirit presence.

My boot shifts under a smooth river rock, one of many as I make my way to shore. I rest upon my knees while my eyes search for danger. Those who left this body to die would not have disappeared. My strength wains as my nanorobots work, yet I crawl into nearby cover, a tangle of riverside brush leaving a trail of damp rocks in my wake. My hand finds a knife still sheathed. I examine my clothing, soft leather armour or perhaps leather pants, supple, water-resistant, the crafting superb, fine stitching with decorative etching. My eyes blurring, I still note a layer of thick leather, no, moulded boiled leather, over the chest and back, not obvious though due to the skill of the leatherworker. My fogging mind manages to conclude this wealth must also hint at his possible importance. His, wait, I pat down my chest, yes, flat … his death probably significant. In this moment of clarity, confirmation I am male. Next, I grab and fight to remove my wet logged boots; remove first one and then the other leather knee-high boot. I tip the water from each in turn and hang them upside down within the branches beside me to dry out further. There are clothes of linen underneath the leather, which I chose to leave as is because my arms after that last effort go to jelly and my legs flop out in sympathy. The bush branches behind me snap as my body slumps backwards and shortly after I lose consciousness.

---

“Did you retrieve his corpse?” The undertone of threat and consequence is clear in the masculine growl.

Through the tangle of undergrowth my eyes open upon a scene of master and servants. Under the fading light of day, a hobgoblin addresses at least three, possibly more goblins. The dark green skin of the hobgoblin contrasts against the lighter bright green complexion of the goblins. The sword of the hobgoblin out and hovering about the neck of a kneeling goblin. I blink to clear my eyes, while I test the strength of my limbs by flexing their muscles.

Eyes down, the slow shake of the head from the penitent goblin admitting something he didn’t wish to acknowledge, yet undeniable given my current state, being alive. Slick. A goblin head rolls towards my hiding spot, yet thankfully none of his companions move to retrieve the still grimacing trophy.

“Dokod, you now lead this rabble, don’t disappoint. Search further downstream.” I notice his dismissive wave. With silent sighs of relief, the goblins scramble away with their heads.

The noise of their boots upon the river rock subsides as a purring feminine voice calls to the hobgoblin, who, teeth and tusks gleaming welcomes the approach of another.

“You teach great lessons mighty one …”

A dark green hand slithering over his shoulder is all I can discern. It is enough. A female hobgoblin … how?

“He is the last in this valley, a neat finish and a substantial reward eludes me because some snivelling goblins can’t find a corpse floating down a river.”

Her arm extends and wraps around his neck, while her lips plant a kiss on his cheek, revealing to me half of her delicate face. Her mouth tusks slimmer, face narrower with a high forehead and jet-black hair severely pulled back.

“The body simply skipped through the narrows, they will return with your prize, I am certain. In the meanwhile, I wonder how we can fill in the time …”

---

By the river’s edge, their sexual play with grunting keeps me company and while I contemplate escaping, I can only do so by backtracking out of the brush directly towards them. I did, given the passing of time, manage to put my boots back on. The grip of the dagger in my hand provides meagre reassurance … my inner Hob is restless urging action while I wait to recover further, to gather as much strength as I can before I am forced to act.

The sun sinks towards the West as they continue to make their music. The goblins must be searching far and wide or decide not to return.

Under shade cast by the sinking sun and with both now resting side by side in a post rutting recovery I burst from the brush. Their two faces snap around, hers needing to peer over his body, both with blank stares their minds trying to comprehend their predicament I imagine. One stride, a second and on to my third and the male hobgoblin is climbing to his feet, sword in hand being dragged upwards into a guard position to protect his naked body. I step right to ensure he must either turn his body or continue to bring his weapon across in his defence. In this narrow window of opportunity, I lunge at my muscular opponent. The hobgoblin isn’t slow, the rapid positioning of his steel blade to parry evidence enough, yet after my rest, I am faster. I sense within me the urgency of the nanorobots and the results of them going to work on my unconscious body, the most startling evidence being the complete drying out of my clothes and to a large extent my leather armour. They crave water and will use what they find where they find it.

His mouth opens to reveal sharp-tipped teeth, his eyes flash wide shortly after as the tip of my dagger thrusts towards his face. He begins to crouch, avoidance instead of parrying and I adjust my thrust.

Stab and withdraw. A wet sheen of black hobgoblin blood coats the steel blade of my dagger. The hobgoblin continues his crouching as a lifeless fall. The female is away from their nest. I glance towards the river, she is reaching for a bow, yet not on her feet. She must have rolled or crawled away.

I charge intending to body bash her down. I need a prisoner, one who could have had the confidence of the male hobgoblin as I need to know the present and recent history of him as well as the world.

Crashing into her, the onslaught I counted on doesn’t happen, there is more resistance than I expect, resulting in a contest. I am not big, speed is mine, not body weight. The adult female is a match for my charging mass. Rolling across the river rocks, I manage to settle upon her waist, this single advantage I fight to maintain refusing to surrender.

With my hands trapping her wrists and my body straddling hers I take a deep breath. I shift my body until I am astride her lungs. The bucking of her lower torso trying to launch me off her weakens with each shallow breath she takes.

“Stop. I only wish to talk,” I growl while looking into her eyes.

With a sigh, her resistance fades and her head nods in agreement. For the first time, I notice her full round breasts, more than a handful, smooth dark green skin, darker areolas, and nipples standing proud.

“Like what you see runt?” An undertone of amusement laces her words.

My eyes leave her body and begin to examine mine. I am not a goblin. I am a hobgoblin. The dark green complexion, yet slimmer. My inner Hob wines at the loss of bulk, which explains the difficulty of my charge subduing her. I estimate our body weight being similar, favouring me by the slimmest of margins. An adolescent hobgoblin, how could a teenager be important? Where would his wealth or at the very least his expensive armour come from?

“Why am I a runt, considering I am on top?” I ask the question out of confusion; this body is young yet hobgoblin. All the same, I run my tongue over each of my teeth. Sharp, pointed, with the bottom jaw housing two far apart teeth extending into short tusklike protrusions.

“You are an impurity bred from the loins of Klugite bitch fanatics, a worshipper of a false God who needs to be cut from the hobgoblin family tree …” There is no amusement in her voice, steady, calm yet her eyes blaze with conviction.

From Zana and Gato, hobgoblin children. From Rexa a conviction she would also bare a hobgoblin child, her craving for my … um affection strong before my end. Her assessment of my other wives was absolute, they would birth goblins. Only she would be blessed. In two hundred years or possibly more, if Rexa’s child did survive and was female she would begin a line of natural-born hobgoblins upon this planet. Unless there was another source of female hobgoblins the female beneath me is some long distant non-worshipping relative … one branch hunting the other?

As an Agent, former Agent? The situation of progeny totally new and as a smile draws across my lips, in a word, amazing. How many now exist who draw their origins from me? Does this urge, sense of ancestorial immortality form part of the lure of “going native”? How would you know before you know? Wait! The lights in the darkness drawing me towards them … this utterly confirms they are from me, of me … at least two hundred years of birth and death carrying my genes forward. Also, one more legacy equally important, nanorobots. Which begs the question, why didn’t they assist and ensure the recovery of the body I now occupy. An awakening, I felt an activation of them when my spirit claimed my ancestor’s body … is that the key. Dormant, or near dormant until then … She did say my line were long-lived, perhaps near dormant then is more accurate, although longer life would be a glorious benefit or possibly curse, especially in a self-declared infallible leader.

“You smile now, but there are many who hunt your kind. Your death is a matter of when not if.”

Her mouth forms to spit. Yet I am slow to react, and she succeeds in spraying my face before my hand can grab at her jaw. A distraction. With one hand free she strikes the side of my head, the knuckles of her fist effective as I need to shake off the blow while grabbing for her wrist again.

“That wasn’t nice,” I say while shuffling my bottom down her body until I can wipe my face upon her chest.

“Do you intend to rape me now, runt?”

Her words draw my attention to our current positioning, her lower hair, black and dark peeking out from beneath my hips. Without further encouragement, my pecker reacts supporting her accusation.

Two arrows swish by, while a third strikes my shoulder forcing my body backwards. My grip upon her wrists is absolute and with momentum, her torso rises as mine leans away. I then roll away towards the river, her on top, her face scrunching while releasing a short breath and then I am back on top before she can claim the position.

An arrowhead protrudes from her chest. Her eyes squeeze close as her teeth grind against the pain. I release her limp arms to drag the arrow through. She swear-screams. I reach for her bow. There isn’t another volley of goblin arrows, perhaps they are considering their fate given her howl. I release my single arrow and hope my aim is true as I scramble over her corpse to reach for a full quiver of arrows, which we must have rolled over in our tussle.

Looking up from my prone position, bow in one hand, arrow in the other five or more goblins flee downstream without looking back. Sighing and rolling over I release bow and arrow and grasp the arrow shaft protruding from my shoulder. A sharp tug and grunt to bear the pain frees the arrow from my flesh. A bigger frustration weighs me down, I still know nothing about the current way of things, except that my current hobgoblin body is being hunted.

Her whimpers from labouring to draw breath draw me back to her. While my reefing the arrow out didn’t help, her moments alive were numbered, a punctured lung, maybe two as the arrow entered at an angle. I imagine her lung or lungs filling with blood despite the efforts of her hands to cover the outside of the wound. The pain must be excruciating as the pleading in her tearing eyes call to me, each painful breath shallower than the previous one. I draw my dagger and plunge the steel blade into her heart. The efforts to breathe swiftly subside and the agony leaves her eyes.

A female hobgoblin, a treasure for many reasons, is dead. I curl up into a ball and curse. My inner Hob growls at me, the brick to the face messaging simple as is his way, kill or be killed. After significant soul searching, I decide laying upon my back beside a river is no way forward. I ransack the male hobgoblin’s body claiming coin pouch, sword, and scabbard. His chainmail armour looks inviting except the fit would be make do at best and a hindrance at worst. Silently I leave the excellent piece of armour with his corpse and accept this tells me steel smithing is alive and well, the superb armour and weapons an obvious proof.

I leave her weapons and armour where they lay. Shake my head and continue as an investigator would, detaching myself from the loss and searching for conclusions based upon facts gleaned.

Looking down upon her naked body I can’t help but wonder. A female hobgoblin. Pair her with the male, whom none greeted with the usual salutations such a Head Hob, Chief Hob or Ranger Hob to name a few, which could mean he is naturally born like her and if so, possibly a relative of mine fighting against Klugites. Without much evidence except what is at my feet, I still conclude there are now two native races upon this world and I am most likely the catalyst. A shiver runs up my spine, direct unsanctioned interference by an Agent. In times past as big a taboo as can be imagined, let alone actioned. A transgression, if proven, and how could it not be as I eye two dead examples at my feet, would result in the obliteration of an Agent’s spirit.

In a macabre manner her hand waves goodbye to me, the wash of the river water pushing and pulling to complete the illusion. I cast her naked corpse a sad smile and with stones underfoot, stride along the river until I believe I am at the shoreline position the goblins held when they attacked. Shortly after I find what I am seeking, blood droplets upon the rocks. A wounding instead of a complete miss, more than I expected from my hasty release. The threat of death was a probable reason why they left, although not as strong as their callous employer dying and their source of payment drying up. Why die for no reward is their thinking, I am sure?

---

Tracking needs to wait for the morning as I utilise the last of the day’s light to settle into another bush to hide under. A wind blows down the river finding flesh to chill, and I wrap my arms about my drawn-up knees to hold on to my body heat. While many years have passed by on the planet’s surface, in the void, the black, a mere twinkle, I hope. Closing my eyes, I absently call to my wives – their seductive body warmth a welcome illusion I draw into the present. The memory of my wives is strong within me, their faces, their bodies, and their personalities. One of the three measures is no more or less important than the other, the three making them whole, unique and mine. Once mine, always mine and as a weary sleep grips me I dream of them, each in turn and imagine they are with me once again as my now empty heart yearns for their companionship.

I wake to the sun rising from across the river blinding me. My eyes look down, a wet icky layer of black ooze paints my flesh, the clothes under my armour slide about as I re-position from laying down to sitting to inspect my current state. I remember this, the amount this time light, overnight none of the black ooze has pooled around me. Swearing I undress and wash my naked body, clothes, and armour in the river while on the lookout for others. Once done with laundry, time to track.

At dusk, I reach my, until then unknown destination. The blood trail dried up by mid-morning as the wound, probably bound in a bandage congealed over time and I resorted to tracking them using boot prints, broken vegetation, and finally a convenient well-worn track. Concealing myself in light forest cover well off to one side I gaze at a log wall with a gate roughly in the centre. Is this an important village or possibly town? Across the clearing I observe an occasional goblin lookout walking the ramparts. Goblins for hire, possibly, somewhat like the goblin tribes one valley over from the original valley, although the beheading of the leader adds an unknown wrinkle. Are they bound in service in some way? Otherwise, why didn’t they quit upon his death?

Walking up to the gate and asking to talk would probably get their attention and my death. Whoever I am now, certain hobgoblins and goblins object to my existence and actively hunt me for reward. Will all the villages be the same? I chew down hard on some stolen dried meat while contemplating my next move. I curse long and loud as the once dead, but now definitely alive female hobgoblin casually approaches the goblin village front gate. This has goblins running along the ramparts in a frenzy. Like me, they are in a state of shock, the certain dead are now walking about.

There is a dragging noise as the gates open, wide enough to permit the female hobgoblin to enter and no more, grinding close behind her once through.

Evening falls and inside the village, happy yelping, and the tantalising aroma of roasting meat over an open fire reaches my nostrils. My mouth waters as I chew off another portion of dried meat at a loss what to do next. I have returned to the planet in the body of a hunted teenage hobgoblin, an ancestor, and I can’t even draw his purpose from his memory to make sense of the chaos I find myself in.

---

I startle awake, shafts of morning sunlight penetrate the light forest canopy to strike me in the face. My sleep overnight is deep and unexpected. A quick check to confirm I am alive and still hidden reassures me. How did I fall asleep without knowing … Was I really that tired? Or exhausted?

“About time you woke Lord Hob, perhaps your youthful body to blame.”

I recognise the voice and turn towards the source, dagger quick to hand. A wide serious smile adorns her face, the face of the female hobgoblin recently slain by a goblin arrow to the chest yet sashaying towards me while talking.

“You should be dead,” I utter, my words frail, disbelieving. I remember seeing a female hobgoblin stroll into the goblin village yesterday, facial features indistinguishable and blamed dusk, a trick of the light, how could this be? Yet before me, low on her haunches crouches the truth, smug and content, gnawing at an animal’s leg bone, boar perhaps and without a doubt, recently roasted.

“You should be more careful … husband.”

My eyes twitch and I struggle for breath.

“You did call to me, did you not?” she explains further.

I shake my head from side to side, slowly … Wait there is another mystery!

“Who is this Lord Hob you speak of?” I ask.

She lowers the bone revealing several teeth in a serious laugh. Standing to her full height, her head leans to one side and then she throws the bone at me.

“Lord Hob I am cut to the very bone you don’t recognise me!” She points to her chest and then stabs her finger several times while grinding out words I never thought I would receive again.

“I have returned to your side, Lord Hob. You named me Relentless, and I am here to serve you once again.”

I feel my jaw close and open several times, my breathing is shallow and for several moments I think I forget to breathe as my mind tries to reconcile the many impossible facts descending upon me. Her lips are then upon mine, the sensual movement of her now larger body is upon me … her moves … familiar. I throw her over, landing on top continuing our passionate reunion and remembering my subdued desire to feel the breasts of this female Hob. A wish now firmly within reach.