God Agent: All Hail The Great Kobold

Deep within the living quarters of the colony sanctuary, scores of kobolds had gathered before the enormous wyvern skull that had watched over their people for generations.

Elderly kobolds sat near the front with their heads bowed while mothers held frightened children close to their bodies. Some of the younger children were too small to understand what was happening, but even they could sense the fear in the adults around them and remained unusually quiet.

The men who were still capable of fighting had either been sent toward the front or were currently working on the escape route, leaving behind mostly the elderly, children and women to pray for the warriors protecting them.

Ru’k, Kurg and Za’r stood behind the gathered crowd alongside Tong’a, Lady Zira and O’nil. None of them spoke for a while.

The distant sounds of battle continued to travel through the tunnels, sometimes becoming nothing more than muffled impacts before suddenly growing loud enough to make the children flinch. Because the tunnels carried sound so efficiently, everyone inside the sanctuary could hear much of what was happening at the front.

Every scream, roar and collision reminded them that the warriors standing between them and death were still fighting.

Kurg suddenly clenched his fists and kicked the stone wall beside him.

"God, I hate myself." His voice came out strained, and he immediately lowered his head as frustration overwhelmed him.

It was the same feeling that had haunted him since the night of the failed raid that had cost nine kobolds their lives. It had returned again during the battle against Grash two days ago when Tud’or had died.

Once again, Kurg had been forced to remain behind while others fought to protect him and everyone else in the colony. He had watched from safety while stronger warriors risked their lives, and the knowledge was becoming unbearable. He pressed the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes tightly, trying to hide the tears gathering around them, but the effort was pointless.

Tears soon slipped down his cheeks.

Ru’k noticed immediately. He didn’t say anything at first. He simply stepped closer and placed a hand on Kurg’s shoulder, his own expression clouded with frustration.

He understood the feeling better than most. He also hated remaining behind while others fought. He wanted to be out there with Ka’z, Drak and the others. He wanted to contribute something meaningful instead of waiting helplessly for news of whether the people he cared about were still alive. But after seeing Grash fight, Ru’k had finally understood why Kong’gong and Lan’ka had been so selective about who was allowed to participate in the battle.

Strength alone was not enough, but weakness in a battlefield like this could become a liability for everyone around you. A warrior who could not survive even a few exchanges with the enemy would not be helping anyone. They would simply create another person that someone else had to protect.

"Hold it in, buddy," Ru’k whispered, giving Kurg’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I can assure you, our time will come soon."

He said it with confidence, but there was a small part of him that needed to believe those words himself.

"Not everyone is born to be a warrior." O’nil’s voice suddenly entered the conversation.

Ru’k, Kurg and Za’r turned toward the old chieftain. O’nil stood with both hands resting on his staff, his aging body leaning slightly against it as he looked at the three young kobolds. His expression was gentle, but there was a depth in his eyes that came from decades of watching generations of kobolds grow, struggle and eventually find their place within the colony.

"Some of us are born to heal the sick. Another is born to hear the voice of the gods. Another is born with the gift to unite people with something as simple as a speech." O’nil paused as his eyes moved between them. "And another may be born with strength that takes years to awaken. There is no single path that makes a kobold valuable."

The old chieftain slowly turned toward the three of them, and a small smile appeared on his wrinkled face. For a moment, the weight of his age seemed to disappear and he almost looked like the younger kobold he must have once been.

"You three are barely three years old. You have a long time to find your way. Just because others found theirs before you doesn’t make you any less special. There is no need to rush."

The words settled over the three young kobolds more effectively than any command could have. Kurg’s clenched fists slowly loosened, and he wiped his face with the back of his hand, embarrassed by the tears that had escaped him. Ru’k lowered his gaze as he absorbed the words, while Za’r quietly stared at O’nil with a thoughtful expression. None of them suddenly felt better about being unable to fight, but the painful belief that they were useless began to fade.

Tong’a watched from a short distance away with a faint smile. He had heard O’nil give speeches like this countless times over the decades, yet the old chieftain still possessed the ability to make people feel as though they belonged to something greater than themselves.

Forty years ago, after the great tragedy that had nearly brought Vaal’kor to extinction and cost Kong’gong his eyes, the survivors had unanimously chosen O’nil as their chieftain. He had not been the strongest warrior, the greatest mage or the most talented hunter. He had been chosen because he understood the people. He knew how to keep them together when everything around them was falling apart.

Four decades later, O’nil was still the soul of Vaal’kor.

Meanwhile, far beyond the sanctuary, the battle between Kong’gong and Grash continued through the twisting tunnels beneath the colony.

Thud!

Kong’gong shifted his body to the side with astonishing precision as Grash’s lightning coated battle axe tore through the space where his head had been a moment earlier.

The blade struck the stone wall and sent sparks scattering across the tunnel, but Grash immediately recovered and swung again without giving his opponent an opportunity to breathe. Kong’gong continued retreating, his staff moving almost lazily as small eruptions of earth repeatedly appeared beneath Grash’s feet in an attempt to disrupt his movement.

Grash shattered every obstacle, and continued forward.

The goblin chieftain was relentless. He understood that Kong’gong’s greatest advantage was the environment itself, so he refused to allow the old kobold enough distance to manipulate the battlefield comfortably. Every step he took was calculated to force Kong’gong backward, and every swing of his axe carried enough power to turn the stone walls into rubble.

Kong’gong gradually retreated away from Lan’ka and Tu’ka, who were fighting Rudor and several of the goblin shamans farther down the tunnel. He could hear the battle behind him, but he never turned his head to check on them. His eyes remained closed as he moved, relying entirely on the earth beneath his feet and the vibrations traveling through the walls.

Grash suddenly accelerated.

"You won’t escape!" he declared.

Kong’gong’s back reached the wall and Grash saw the opening immediately.

The goblin launched himself forward and raised his lightning covered axe above his head before bringing it down with enough force to split a magic beast in two.

But the old kobold disappeared.

Grash’s eyes widened as the earth beneath Kong’gong shifted backward. The wall itself opened like a doorway, swallowing the old kobold’s body before a thick slab of earth rolled into place behind him.

BOOM!

Grash’s axe struck the walla and the stone shattered. Dust erupted across his face but he could only twist his expression into an ugly frown.

Kong’gong was gone. Only a deep gash remained where the battle axe had struck.

"Foolish goblin..." Kong’gong’s voice suddenly echoed through the tunnel.

Grash’s head snapped upward.

He looked around, searching for the source, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. The tunnel itself had become an extension of Kong’gong’s senses, allowing his voice to travel through the earth with unnerving clarity.

"Even before you were born, this colony survived a raid from humans." Kong’gong continued, his tone calm and almost conversational. "Do you truly believe your little race will be the one to succeed where humans failed?"

Grash’s eyes narrowed.

Buzz!

Several meters away, a portion of the wall slid aside and Kong’gong stepped through the opening. He emerged with his staff resting comfortably in his hand, his eyes still closed and the same dull expression remaining on his face. There wasn’t even a hint of exhaustion in his posture.

"And twenty years ago, my Ashmork Clan was nothing but a band of powerless goblins with no standing in the world." Grash’s voice hardened as he stepped away from the damaged wall. "But now we are a force capable of threatening the entire Evergreen Forest. Yesterday does not determine today."

Kong’gong’s expression remained unchanged.

"Conceited little brat." His voice carried quietly through the tunnel. "The tragedies of the past shape the minds of those who write the future. Your inability to understand that is the reason you will die here today."