Kraghul stood over the broken bodies, his axe dripping with fresh goblin blood. The air echoed with the last gurgles of dying goblin, but he felt a deep satisfaction settle in his chest like a good meal after a long hunt. He had come for chaos, and the mine had delivered. Goblins lay scattered everywhere—limbs twisted, green skin torn open, eyes staring blank at the ceiling. The air stank of iron and fear, thick enough to taste.
His eyes fell on Vrognut's crumpled form. The cannibal goblin twitched once, chest rising in shallow, ragged breaths. Still alive. Barely. Kraghul threw his head back and laughed—a deep, hysterical roar that bounced off the stone walls like thunder.
"You stubborn rat," he rumbled, wiping tears from his eyes.
"I cut you open, and you still cling to life?" Kraghul was amazed by his endurance but the irony of this character shift was he shared a very similar personality to the goblin.
