Chapter 31 – The Brood

The moon was low tonight. Its dull gleam drew a shadow on the hellscape sand, revealing a gathering.

Fang blinked.

Where am I?

He replayed last night. Boney bested him in a game of stones, there was evening meal… deer, wasn’t it? And then… Sleep. He passed out in his bunk. Technically, it was a brood imp’s bunk in the latter half of the camp. But space was crammed. Master had said a new camp was coming soon, yet it was only fitting that the warriors took priority. Right?

Then he noticed the cloth in his mouth.

“Good. You awake.”

“MFH?!” he tried yelling, but all that came out was a series of grunts.

“No one can hear. We outside wall,” said a small-statured creature. It was hard to tell who in the darkness of night. He could just make out the silhouette, standing firm. At its side, two slightly larger shadows waited.

“Attitude bad,” it continued. “Not okay.”

And then it hit him. These were brood imps?!

Fang hissed, biting down hard on his cloth gag.

Shaking his head, the little red imp crossed his arms. “This problem. What we do?”

“Mffh!!”

Six pairs of scrawny arms held the irate warrior, eyes hard and jaws set. The captured wrath imp squirmed, thrashed, and shoved. But it was to no avail.

“You steal bunk. You push. You shove. You punch. You take food. You bad.” Every pronouncement was met with a drawn line in the sand. By the end, six carved gashes marred the ground.

“Why you here? Any imp know?” The leader looked at the others.

“NO.”

“FOOD?”

“We eat him!”

“Don’t like!”

“Punched me!”

“He stole bunk!”

A clawed hand was held up, halting the complaints. Taking a slow step forward, the tiny imp reached down, face hovering over the stocky soldier.

“I remove cloth. You scream, we hurt. Understand?”

An angry glare.

SNAP.

A rock came down, breaking the warrior’s nose. Warm blood splattered over its cheeks.

The rage in its eyes widened, a muted scream filled the night. If it wasn’t for the cloth, half the city would have woken.

“You understand?”

No reply other than heavy breathing through its nose. In, out. In, out.

SNAP.

This time the rock came down on a hand, fracturing bones.

SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.

The elbow, the ankle, and the stomach.

The proud, stocky warrior was reduced to a sobbing, whimpering mess. This wasn’t a battle. It was torture. A beat down.

“Mess.” Kick. “With.” Kick. “The.” Kick. “Brood.” Kick.

“This what happen. Got it?”

Nods from the others came in agreement, more than a few feet itching to join.

The warrior was at a loss. Part of his body hurt. It hurt bad. Worse than when he lost yesterday’s duel to Red. But the other part of him was in shock. These tiny brood imps, the same ones who spent all day chewing on trees and carrying stone, were giving a beat down. On him.

Apparently he was taking too long. This time, a rain of kicks, stomps, and blows came down not just from the leader, but all the little gremlins.

He tried several times to shout out, to escape, to fight. But there were just too many.

When they finally paused, chests heaving and claws raised, the warrior tasted more blood than air.

“Understand now?”

This time, he shook his head up and down. Weak, jittery motions.

Seeing his broken spirit, the small imp removed his gag. The warrior drew in several ragged breaths of fresh, beautiful air. “I… Warrior,” he rasped.

A chortle. “Weak warrior. We brood. Strong.”

There was a pause, then the largest of the brood imps spoke up. “We kill! Must!”

“Yes! Kill!” cried another.

“FOOD!”

The warrior’s eyes, already marred with sand, blood, and grime, went wide. They were going to kill him?

“No.” The little leader grunted. “We not waste. Life valuable. Worth many shiny.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The other imps didn’t seem convinced, but none challenged their de facto boss.

He waved his claws. “To the hole.”

The warrior was confused. What did that mean? Moments later, he found out. The bulky imp was shoved hard, plummeting down into a ditch. He landed with a hard thunk. Above, glowing orange pupils glared down.

A cloud in the sky moved just right, allowing the moonlight to illuminate the inside of the hole. For a moment, those eyes halted, staring at something else. The imp studied the dirt, evaluating something.

Still half in shock, the wrath soldier looked over.

What he— oh.

The orange, sandy walls he’d expected had morphed. About halfway down the crude ditch, the excavated dirt and sand became a compact, brown mix. Old root wood was compressed together with dead organic matter. And, most interestingly… the glow. There were purple, luminescent veins, flowing and diffusely spreading.

Fang’s attention whirled back to the leader.

“Good. Now sleep here. Tomorrow, you better. If bad, back to hole. Understand?”

No reply. The wrath imp was trying to process everything. The brood imps, the beat down, the weird dirt, and now those veins…