Runt wasn’t the type of individual to shy away from direct conflict. He avoided unneeded conflict yes, but when presented with a fight he rarely backed down until he was forced to. To him it was a matter of pride, not just survival. His own self confidence refusing to cower before a challenge, forcing him to fight even when odds were stacked against him. Runt was not a coward, despite the reputation his people often fostered. Goblins were often seen as cravens and in many ways this was true, but not because they were afraid of the larger races. Jealous, envious of course, but not scared. They picked their battles and quickly identified losing ones, cutting their losses way before many of the other societies would have done so. Bravery was not discouraged in the way that honour was in goblin society, but being clever reigned above all else. They listened to their fear in a way that blind and stupid bravery would have prevented them from doing so. They understood fear for what it was. A warning sign. A red flag waving wildly to call a pause to any thought out actions. Something to inspire a second thought, a worry or a consideration that had not been addressed. Fear was not all they listened to. It was a tool, something that should be used when appropriate.

The situation Runt found himself in called to that fearful part of his heart within him. The pessimistic worry that often drove him to paranoia, but now worked to force him into fleeing. The horror that seared his soul in that moment drove a cold spike directly into his psyche. Some racial fear that reared its head in a way Runt had yet to experience until that moment. Runt was not a coward, but something about the beast he now faced made him want to become one.

He had only caught glimpses of it before he turned to run. Black claws tinged with a red hue that slid through wood as though it was the soft mud of Runt’s swampy home. Long and pale white arms that seemed to bend in ways that defied how joints were supposed to work. Elastic past the point of breaking in any mortal race. Runt almost felt a sympathetic pain in his own elbows as the creature hauled itself upwards using a muscular strength that would have torn his own limbs from Runt’s body if he had attempted the same manoeuvre. What crawled from beneath the city was a beast from nightmares Runt was not even aware he’d had. Impossibly thin, starved in a way that even disturbed the always hungry greenskin. Ribs piercing through paper thin skin, the faint outlines of organs pulled taught against skin that barely seemed to keep them contained. Limbs that seemed to stretch too far for the torso they found themselves attached to. Hands that seemed poised to flense the very skin from Runt’s body with claws that still dripped red gore from a recent victim.

The face that peered over the shattered hole it had created disturbed Runt even before it had turned its hungry gaze his way. Like everything about the creature it was wrong on a level that he struggled to place. Unlike humans, who he considered ugly, or his own kind the face of the beast seemed to only barely meet the criteria to be considered as such. Monstrous black pools that seemed to both simultaneously bulge and sink within their skull like eye sockets. A nose that was simply two jagged holes, frilled with flaps of skin that seemed to shiver as the creature greedily drank the scent of the night air into its lungs. Hairless, with only the odd sagging bit of skin modifying its roughly humanoid outline. Runt screamed shrilly, his voice piercing the night sky only to find itself drowned out by the mirthless laugh of the creature.

His scream was not unfounded. The grin that crossed the creatures face at the noise spoke of a ceaseless hunger. A never ending hole that begged to be satiated. A hungry maw that even now tittered with laughter as it exposed its jagged overly sharp teeth. Filed to near needle points the slobber slathered ivory seemed to shimmer in the flickering lantern light surrounding them.

Runt didn’t wait to see what the creature would do when it fully pulled itself from the void beneath the city instead he turned to run. Thin legs barely took him a dozen steps before he heard the two reverberating stomps that signalled the creatures approach. One gigantic hand closed itself around his waist, yanking him back sharply as the fingers wound themselves around his body. Driven by pure instinct Runt howled. Like a rat trapped in fisherman's net he struggled wildly. Panic written into every frantic move as he fought for every inch the creatures fingers could give. He managed to free one arm from the creatures grasp for a moment, but even that sapped the strength from his tired body. With a screamed he forced his fingers into a harsh point before jabbing his digits sharply downwards into the creatures wrist. To his horror he found that his own sharpened claws seemed to find no purchase. Thin skin seemed to part easily enough, but the thick coagulated blood that flowed forth a moment later only seemed to bog his slashing claws down. The creatures grip only tightened, a yowl of pain erupting from Runt as he felt the beasts claws squeeze the very life from his guts. Enormous strength seemed to reside with even the fingers that gripped him, threatening to squish him with even the lightest of movements.

Like a child sick with curiosity the creature that held him seemed to study the facial expressions that Runt made, sadistic glee crossing it’s dark gaze with every scream Runt was forced to utter. It hoisted him easily into the air, lifting one overly thin leg to finally drag the rest of its bulk from the hole it had created. Standing almost to the height of the hovels that surrounded them it towered above any human Runt had ever encountered, which meant it completely dwarfed him. Despite the pain that threatened to rob him of his senses at any moment Runt continued to struggle. Stabbing his desperate fingers into the creatures arm over and over again. He could feel the damage he was doing, his claws slamming against bone, but the creature didn’t seem to even consider relenting. With every slash of Runt’s claws the beast just increased the strength of its grip, increasing the pressure with every passing second.

Barghest chose to strike just as the creature seemed to tire of the torturous game it was playing with Runt. Runt had bought the shaggy mutt time to position itself, what seemed like an eternity of pain occurring just to give the hound time to clamber on top on of the closest hovels. With a howl of pure rage the dog launched itself forwards. Hitting the ghoul with more weight than the hounds body seemed to hint at the trio slammed into the wooded street with a bang that cracked the boards below them. Paws scrambled to keep themselves steady as the monster lurched and swatted at Barghest. Filled with a sudden burst of raw energy Runt seized the moment Barghest had bought him, fury erupting in a ragged scream as he clawed his way free. Using anything within his grasp Runt used every ounce of strength in his arms to clamber from the creatures grasp. Claws dug into wood, flesh and skin as Runt climbed along the ground, desperate to buy himself freedom. His feet soon aided in his purpose. Kicking and contorting themselves for the smallest hint of leverage. With a snarl the goblin freed himself. His momentum carrying him a few metres down the alley and giving him a few precious moments to slink into an awaiting shadow.

Even before he attempted to hide he knew it would it would be useless. He had seen the shimmer in the beasts eyes, the way it’s nostrils had flared as it had approached him. It had his scent now. Even if he ran, if the bond on his hand would allow an action like that, it would be able to follow him. Whether or not it would was a question he wasn’t willing to ask. He had seen the look in the creatures eyes as it had squeezed him. It had been enjoying that. The pain and horror on his face had delighted it. He had seen that look on the worst members of his kind. The few that even the immoral nature of the goblins bucked against. Those who caused and revelled in pain for the very sensation, not for any cause. The creature could have killed him when it had first grabbed him but it hadn’t. It had wanted him to hurt before it snuffed out his life. Runt, who had never harmed it before that moment. Who had no ill will towards it, nor did it have any reason to enact a revenge against him. Runt knew that look would have been used against any entity within its grasp. Dog. Man. Goblin. That look didn’t discriminate. For the first time since making the deal with Barghest Runt finally understood why the hound would endanger himself. Why the hound hated the ghoul more than he hated the greenskins that nipped at his heels. This beast was a danger, goblins were an annoyance.

Before Runt even knew what he was doing his body sprung into action. The ghoul and hound continued to struggle in the alley before him. The hound kept the beast sprawled on its back, weighing it down and yanking harshly whenever it seemed to get its footing. Barghest had his jaws clamped around the beasts neck, canines digging deep into its collar bone. Teeth piercing thin skin and grinding against the bone hidden underneath. His grip seemed to be iron, unbreakable no matter how the pale creature shook and struggled. For now the duo was in a stalemate, giving Runt time to act as he scrambled to find himself a weapon. Anything would do. He had quickly enough discovered that his claws could do nothing more than pierce the beats hide. He could slash, pummel and kick the creature all he wanted but it would be for nothing. He could leave no lasting damage that way. Instead he scrambled to find a discarded shard from the eruption that had torn up the street before him. Jagged and splintered he could feel the sharp edges of the wood digging into his hand even as he gripped it.

With a courage he didn’t know he had a wild battle cry erupted from his throat. Warbling into the night air the noise carried and echoed along with the legs that suddenly charged the small goblin forwards. If he couldn’t run from this creature, if he couldn’t hide, like a wild animal in trapped within a corner he would fight it. He sprinted the short distance he needed to towards the pair, ducking one thrashing leg as he screamed his challenge. With a swing full of all the energy he could muster he stumbled towards the stomach of the beast. Teeth clenched together with the effort required as he pushed his muscles to their breaking point, jabbing the jagged wood home within the creatures pale skin. For a moment victory clouded his senses as he saw the wood sink home, splintered and further breaking as it pierced the creatures exposed belly, sinking deep within the guts it housed. That victory was short lived as the beast howled, swinging a whip like arm a moment later, the back of its hand slapping against the squat figure between its legs.

Runt had never felt a blow like this. A blow that hit every part of his body at once. A blow that slammed into him with enough force to lift his very feet from the ground beneath him. His limp body following the hands movement as it sailed through the air, his weight resting against it until it jerked to a halt. When the hand stopped suddenly Runt kept moving along the arc it had positioned him upon. Coughing up a horrid mixture of phlegm and blood as his body sailed through the night air. His flight was short lived as his body collided with the interlocked wood of a nearby hovel, the rotten wood parting as the force of the blow careened the goblin through the wall that should have rightly stopped him. He could feel pieces of jagged wood breaking inside between his skin as he slammed into the floor below him a moment later. Rotten and frayed fabrics tangled around the spinning goblin as he skidded across the floor his body collapsed against. Eventually Runt slid against the far wall of the hovel and stopped, a held breath exhaled in a stuttering laugh that hurt to let out.

He couldn’t move, his body refusing to obey his commands, his ragged breaths the only function that he still retained control over. His body gasped rapidly, adrenaline and pain kicking his body into high gear even as he sat cradled by the fabric that now surrounded him. Bleary red eyes scanned his surroundings, the sounds of the still ongoing battle slowly reaching his sensitive ears. He tried to take stock of his injuries, his rattled mind slowly settling as he pulled himself into a seated position. He was lucky the blow had been meant to knock him away, and not to end the fight then and there. As it was he knew one arm to be broken, shattered where his wrist and forearm had suffered the main onslaught of the blow that had hit him. The way his chest shuddered as he breathed hinted at further damage there as well. That singular, half distracted blow had already knocked him from this fight. As he struggled to breath he knew the damage was too extensive, too damning, to do anything but run now. Barghest would have to be satisfied with the meagre help runt had been able to provide. Anything else would be suicide.

With a groan he pulled a lungful of air, only to pause. Shifting movements in the room he now inhabited caught his attention. His ears flicked to orient themselves, his neck lazily turning to address the shape shuffling in one corner of his bleary vision. That shape became two, then three, as the figures slowly came into focus. With a snarl in his throat he recognized the human children for what they were. Squealing, greedy, and dirt stained cowards. Peering at him with fear in their eyes as though he was the monster. As though the goblin that had been sent careening into their lives had done so on purpose, just to disturb their sleep and give them nightmares. A small half starved dog limped to attention, hackles raised as it growled at Runt. An intruder. An enemy.

Only for a strangled howl that echoed from the cavernous hole that Runt’s body created. The guardian stopped, its ears twitching as Barghest yelped, a brief flicker of movement as the ghoul finally shook him free. Evidently it had finally gotten a grip on the hound, the limp body that slid by the hole a moment later leaving a trail of crimson as it skidded by. All fell silent a moment later. Four beings in the same situation, all holding their breaths. Two children huddled behind their dog, struggling to muffle their own tears. One loyal companion. Too old, too world weary to go through this. Kept alive through her worry for the young masters of her household, staggering to turn herself to address the new threat.

And Runt. Struggling to breathe. Swaddled in damp, rotten and holed blankets. Incoherent whispers, rising into a crescendo as a face angled itself into his view. Descending from above, at an angle only made possible by an impossibly flexible neck, black empty eyes peering into the gloom. The smile that followed drawing screams from the assembled group, a chunk of dog flesh in its mouth staining the teeth red.

The words Runt had been struggling to form, pale lips barely able to form the shapes required rang out into that silent room a moment later. His harsh voice lighting up the gloom, addressing the huddled bundle in the room, the duo of human whelps. Small compared to the beast that bent its way into their abode. Cowering. Fearful. Panicked in a way he could recognize. The small of the world shying away from the big. In that moment he saw a reflection of himself. A mirror as to what his life had been up until that very moment. Small. Insignificant. Runts.

A single syllable rang out calling the ghoul's attention to him in a way he hoped the whelps would be smart enough to take advantage of, “Run.”