The point of light appeared so abruptly that every kobold who saw it froze in confusion. A prickle of dread told them they ought to do something—but they hesitated.
In that heartbeat, the fingertip-sized spark began gulping mana from the air.
Vmm!
Wind rolled as the air was drawn in; mana siphoned into the core like kindling crammed into a furnace. The spark brightened, brighter still. Heat climbed fast, almost unnoticed—until a few kobolds, sensing wrongness, turned to run.
Too late.
Once gorged on mana, the fireball showed its teeth. It swelled exponentially—in a blink from a few times larger to hundreds, then thousands.
BOOM!!!
A blazing miniature sun, bright enough to sear eyes blind, rose in the dark, enclosed hollow. Fire devoured everything it touched. A shockwave hammered outward, wrapped in a scalding wind.
The nearest kobolds were first. The irresistible force slammed them into the packed earth; their scales burst, exposing raw, red meat; flesh, unable to stand the kinetic blow, peeled from bone like tofu. Flames roasted meat and blood as white smoke curled up, the smell of burned protein spreading.
In the time of a single breath, bounding kobolds became rows of hard, blackened sticks.
Fire rolled on.
WHUMP!!!
It hit the heaps of fuel stacked by the forges. The tsunami of flame surged higher. The blast rattled the cavern itself.
Thunk—thunk—thunk!
High overhead, massive stalactites cracked and fell with a grinding roar. Roaring flame, brutal shock, falling stone—layered disaster turned an orderly precinct into hell in an instant.
From a god's-eye view, it was as if an invisible mallet had swept the ground clean. Kobolds powdered, those farther out were hurled into walls; stone huts and sheds tore like paper; debris caught in the shockwave became deadly shrapnel, multiplying the kill.
At least two hundred common kobolds died in the first instant. Even elite warriors couldn't bear that tier of strike—flung like rags, hearts ruptured mid-flight. Only a few above Level 3 clung to life, charred and twitching. Many were wounded or unconscious. Those unscathed by the wave went blind with panic—bolting like headless flies.
…
Deep in the nest, atop the earthen mound, the red-blooded drake cradled its new fire crystal with delight. Not a true dragon, but instinct loved shiny treasures. Beside it, the kobold shaman knelt abjectly.
The ground lurched. The blast thundered in its ears.
BOOM!!!
Peace shattered. The pile of "treasures"—trinkets and real valuables mixed—slid and clattered down the slope. The drake steadied, eyes flashing from lazy to enraged.
ROAR!!!!
Dragonfear slammed down; kobolds dropped to their knees, trembling like sieves.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Wings beat; the drake floated up. It stared toward the tumult—nothing but a sea of fire. Its golden pupils pinched to slits. Cosseted for too long in this narrow underworld, it had come to regard everything here as its own. For an enemy to ruin its property so brazenly wasn't mere harassment—it was a declaration of war.
A few wingbeats took it over the inferno. It roared again, anger almost tangible, like flame ready to spill from its throat.
Who did this?!
Its eyes raked the blast zone, hunting a hint of the foe. Find them, and it would drop and pulp them in the cruelest way.
But—no one. Only kobolds screaming.
Its mood soured. The gaze went cold. The jaw opened. Heat gathered deep. A cone of fire vomited forth. Vmmm— In a sweep of its head, the writhing kobolds below fell still and silent.
A brief vent. Calm returned. It circled, searching. It would drag the intruder into the light.
After it moved off, the shamans arrived, barking orders—scour everything. Their first duty was to find the enemy, soothe the "king's" rage.
As for the wounded—irrelevant. Even though the "dragon" had just burnt many of them, the sight of its shadow overhead traded fear for savage fervor. Worship woven into blood didn't waver. Weapons rose; squads fanned out like an angry swarm. The quiet nest became a volcano.
…
A shadow skimmed the ground and stopped hard at Alia's feet. It rose, condensing into two forms—Shadow and Gauss.
"Hah—"
Gauss let out a breath. He'd poured everything into that Fireball, and Sword Soul had laced it with extra bite. The cost had been heavy—mana and stamina both—but Shadow had been ready; the moment it flashed, she pulled him out.
Now his [Special Stomach] was feeding the second bar back into him, and he downed a prepared powder. Between them, mana would rebound fast—and the crystal powder would refill the "second bar."
He exhaled, heart steadying as energy filled. Time to check the harvest.
"Kobolds Slain ×265."
The counter kept ticking—many had only just stopped breathing. He guessed it would crest past three hundred. More than he'd hoped. In a sealed space, Fireball was obscene—not just the spell, but the chain of collapses it triggered.
"Total Monster Kills: 6,271."
He closed that window. The job had only begun.
"What now?" Alia asked. She'd heard the blast—she didn't need to see it.
"Watch and wait," Gauss said softly. Shadow needed a moment to recover; she ate the magic berries Alia had set aside. Inside, the kobolds would be at peak alert—and with the drake stirred, he wasn't eager to meet it yet.
They held in the tunnel. Before long, a small kobold patrol edged into view—heads jutting past a bend—then stepped into a trip point. A line flashed; heads hit dirt.
"Won't a missing squad tell them we're here?" Alia murmured.
"It's fine," Gauss said. "If we let them pass, they'd find the other missing sentries anyway." Better to bank the numbers—and draw them out. He wanted kobolds to come to him.
Soon another, heavier unit appeared—ironclad captain up front with two slightly curved shortswords, eyes narrowed at the scent of blood. It kicked a warrior ahead and let a shaman in back hum through a buff—ghostly power clinging to each kobold.
The point-man held a candle and blade, peering into the black. The familiar tunnel looked haunted; a cold wind licked him. He hunched, wanting to stop—until the captain's glare burned his back. Shaking, he took one step, two… dozens more. At the blood-stained patch—nothing. He relaxed. Safe?
He glanced down; in the candle's warm light, the splash of red was a stab. Not good.
He wasn't the only one to see it. Heads lifted—just in time to watch a tall shadow flow out of the dark. Reflex screamed; blades twitched up—too late. Blood-soaked soil erupted vines—Entangle snared limbs. The shadow loomed—
Sssk!
Clean, wet sounds split the air. Thought ceased.
Gauss stood, flicked blood from his hand. One elite—about CR 2. One shaman—CR 1. Six common—and tough for "trash." In a tunnel, this group would gut many low-tier teams. Here, they hadn't survived a heartbeat.
Too weak—an appetizer.
Alia and the others rifled bodies for valuables and parts. Corpses they left—their presence was no longer a secret. Gauss doubted any "brains" in the nest had expected a patrol like this to win. Cannon fodder—sent to test the route, confirm the enemy remained.
Sure enough, no more squads came down that tunnel. Without fresh intel, they wouldn't feed more meat into a grinder.
Inside the nest, robed shamans gathered around a scrying point. One tapped the floor with a staff—footprints ghosted up. Moments later, two hazy figures bloomed in the air—matched Gauss and Shadow.
"Human mage—cast Fireball."
"Then withdrew."
"They hunt our kin in the tunnels!"
Faces darkened. With the "king" above them, the tribe had swelled; new elites spawned; the mines had been cleared—enemies turned vassals or trophies; even human teams had been fooled.
Keep rolling the snowball until the king's power grew, then stride onto the surface, sweep Gold & Silver, and vanish into the wilds.
But these two—where had they come from? And dared to hunt the nest with so few?
The missing patrol soured their guts. It felt like a cold snake coiling down the tunnel to squeeze the nest tight.
"The king cannot enter the tunnels," an elder rasped. The Fireball still rang in memory—less than the king's breath, but death to common kobolds. Thankfully, the king feared no fire—reducing the threat. The trouble was size: the foe holed up in passages where the king could not follow. Throwing kobolds at them was useless.
Decision made:
"Send a few pups out other passages—see what's there."
"And wake the Red Hound."
"These foes are dangerous."
"The Red Hound? You would loose that one?"
This nest had birthed a strong anomaly—the strongest of their blood—who, in an "accident," had devoured the king's meat and survived a baptism of flame, becoming a dragonborn kobold. The king's blood had eaten its mind, leaving a creature drowning in the urge to kill. It had devoured enough of their own that the shamans had to force it into sleep.
Faces grim, they chose. The king was free; they had to prove their worth as kin—that was reason enough to wake the mad one.
They gathered an elite team, hauled a coffin from a deep cellar, and marched it toward a wider exit.
…
Gauss led the party up and out. Sunlight felt good. Echo lifted into the blue.
"They won't stop—they'll come up to find us," Gauss said. Let them. He would do as with the goblins—harry the nest, bleed it down. Other than the drake, there shouldn't be anything that threatened them… right?
"Either way—ready up."
He had no desire to fight underground—too risky. They began laying the ground.
"Caw! Caw!" Dry calls overhead.
"Outgoing—small group," Alia translated. Gauss squinted into the heat-haze as kobold shapes resolved.
"So fast?" he murmured—and frowned. What an odd pairing: kobolds carrying a coffin.
A handful of big, brawny kobolds shouldered a huge black casket. Shamans and a few casters trailed.
A ritual?
He couldn't place it—but he measured range and waited to fire when they came into reach. They stopped far short, perhaps warned by the earlier blast. The coffin went upright; the others spread out. A shaman waved its wand and chanted.
Thump—
The lid fell. Inside lay a massive kobold—nearly 2.5 meters tall—scales blood-red as if flame ran beneath, cords of muscle hugging the frame. Its head was a miniature of the drake's—fierce, brutal, beautiful—with a pair of small sharp horns.
Dragonborn?
The eyes snapped open—an eerie red gleam flashed. It didn't look at its kin; its crimson slit-pupils locked, as if magnetized, on the human radiating strong magic far off.
Across the distance, Gauss met its gaze—and felt pure annihilation.
ROAAAAR—
A bellow no kobold should make tore from its chest. It stepped from the coffin; heavy feet punched holes in the earth. A nearby kobold warrior bolted; a heartbeat later the dragonborn's clawed hand seized the kobold's head and lifted it. Crunch. Saw-toothed jaws sank into its heart. Blood painted its muzzle; its eyes stayed on Gauss—tongue flicking to lick the palate.
"Tch— Prepare for battle!" Gauss snapped, a wave of instinctive revulsion rising under that naked, hungry stare.