The cavern was a mausoleum.
The greasy, acrid smoke of the tar-fire had begun to settle, clinging to the stone in a black, oily film. The air was a toxic soup of sulfur, ozone, and the new, horrifyingly sweet smell of cooked goblin.
Klik sat upon the slag-crater, his new, makeshift throne. He was a Lvl 15 god-king, entombed in a body of pure, unrelenting agony.
The [Fused E-Rank Armor] was a fact. It was stitched into his raw, pink, acid-peeled flesh. The debuff—[-3 STR, -3 AGI]—was a crippling blow, but it was better than the -5 he'd had. More than that, the psychologicalterror of the [E-Rank Acid-Burns] was gone. The itching had been replaced by a deep, dull, pulling, burningfury.
He could think. And his 34 Intelligence saw the ruin of his new kingdom.
His tribe—thirty-one goblins, one of whom was a puddle—had fled back into the crawlspace. They were huddled in the dark, a quivering, green, unifiedmass of terror.
His "army"...
Bruk (Lvl 5), his onlytank, his onlybrute... was a charred, smoking, whimperingwreck on the cavern floor. He was fused to his own melted shield, his 7-STR body convulsing in shock.
Grik (Lvl 4), his King's-Hand, his spearman... was paralyzed by the throne, staring at the black, gaping, silentmaw of the main tunnel where the Formians had disappeared.
Snarl (Lvl 3), his tracker... was hidingbehindGrik, her [Lesser Scent-Hunter]noseburied in her ownknees, overwhelmed by the smell of death and fire.
The food was gone. Vaporized.
The bonfire was a dying, greasy, tar-slickmess.
And the enemy... the K'lix-Thra Deep-Hive... was intelligent, expansionist, and watching.
This was not a kingdom. This was a triage-tent in a warzone.
And he was the onlydoctor.
"The man who waits for the storm to pass before he mends his roof," his 34 INT rasped, the Cameroonian proverbcold and sharp, "is a fool who will sleep in the rain."
It was raining.
He stood.
The motiontore at the stitches in his chest. His raw-pink skin splitaround the edges of the black-chitin-plate. Fresh, black-greenbloodwelled up.
He ignored it.
His 14-STR, 16-AGI crippledbodyhobbledpast Grik, past the dyingfire.
He stalked to Bruk.
The Lvl 5 goblin was dying. His breathing was a shallow, wetgurgle. The smell of burned-hide and cooked-flesh was overpowering.
Klik dumped1 Mana.
"[Appraisal (Common) Lvl 2]!"
[Name: Bruk] [Lvl: 5] [Rank: F-Rank]
[STATUS: CRITICAL!]
[Debuff: [E-Rank Burns (Severe)]!]
[Debuff: [Crippled Limb (Left Arm)] - Melted, Fused, Useless.]
[Debuff: [Shock (Severe)] - System failure imminent.]
[Debuff: [Infection (High-Risk)]!]
He was dying. Now.
And Klik hadno medicine.
His 34 INT raced, rippingthrough his memories.
Glow-Cap Shroom. Antiseptic. Where?
His old hovel. His Workshop. He'd harvestedall of them. He hadnone left.
Wait.
He [Analyzed] the [Sulfuric Slag]... the puddles of acid left by the Slug.
[Passive: [Analysis] detects [Sulfur (Common)], [Potassium-Nitrate (Trace)]...]
Sulfur. A primitive... antiseptic? Maybe?
No. It was toocaustic.
He needed the shrooms.
He spun, his fused-armorcreaking. He looked at the crawlspace-entrance, where his tribe was hiding.
He pointed at Snarl. The Lvl 3tracker.
"SNARL!"
The goblin-femaleflnched, her headsnappingup.
"TO ME!"
She crawled out, shaking, prostrating herself 20 feet away.
"CLOSER!"
She crawledcloser, whimpering, notdaring to look at his raw-pink, scab-armoredvisage.
He pointed at Bruk. "HE... DIES."
Snarl looked at the charred, smokingbrute. Her eyeswidened.
Klik leaneddown, ignoring the searingpain in his chest and back.
"YOU. HUNT."
He pointedback into the crawlspace... towards his Workshop.
"BLUE. SHROOM. SMELL..." he struggled. How to describe it? "SMELL... CLEAN. SMELL... RAIN."
Snarl's flat, broadnosewrinkled.
Her [Lesser Scent-Hunter] flared.
She smelledhim (Acid, Blood, Tar). She smelledBruk (Burned-Meat). She smelled the cavern (Ash, Sulfur).
And faintly... faintly... from the crawlspace... she smelled the lingering, faint, ozon-tang of Klik'sWorkshop.
She hadsmelled it before.
She gasped. She understood.
"FIND. BLUE-SHROOM. NOW!" Klik roared. "GO!"
He grabbed the [Chitin-Edged Bone Spear] from Grik'sparalyzedhand and threw it at her.
"TAKE! HUNT! GO!"
Snarl looked at the spear. She looked at her dyingcomrade. She looked at her terrifyingGod.
She grabbed the spear.
And fled. She doveinto the crawlspace, a green-blurdriven by pure, abjectterror and a new, terrifyingpurpose.
She was notjusthiding.
She was on a mission.
Klik turned. Triage: Step 2.
His tribe. His 29starving, useless, terrifiedcowards.
He limpedto the crawlspace.
"OUT!"
The huddledmassshrieked.
"OUT! NOW!"
He slammed his club-crutchagainst the stone. THUD!
They spilledout, fleeing his rage, tumblingover each other.
They saw the ruin. They smelled the death.
They knew the food was gone.
A newwhimperstarted. The low, miserablemoan of impending-starvation.
"An empty belly hears no gods," his 34 INT supplied.
He had to distract them.
He pointed at the ruined, smoking, tar-slickedbonfire. "CLEAN!"
He pointed at the charred-roach-husksscatteredeverywhere. "FUEL!"
He pointed at the acid-puddleshissing on the floor. "...DO NOT TOUCH!"
He pointed at Grik.
"GRIK!"
"K-KING-GOD!"
"YOU... WATCH."
Grik's 4-INT mind latchedonto the command. He puffedout his chest. He was the Overseer!
"CLEAN!" Grik screamed at the tribe, finding his newvoice. "CLEAN! FOR KLIK-GOD! OR... HE... MELTS... YOU!"
The threatworked.
The tribe, terrified of starving, but moreterrified of their God, began to work.
It was chaos. They avoided the acid. But they shuffledash. They piledcharred-husks.
It was motion. It was progress.
The kingdom was notsavingitself. But it was learning to obey.
Klik turned. Triage: Step 3.
Himself.
He was crippled. He was weak.
And the Formians were out there. Waiting.
He hobbledback to his Workshop. This was histhrone. This was hispower.
He sat in the blue-light. He looked at his hands.
His [Armor-Tinker] skill was new. His Class was Lvl 8 (0% EXP).
He needed to level it.
He needed to finish his armor.
He grabbed the second[Warped E-Rank Chitin Plate].
He grabbed his bone-needle and sinew-thread.
He bitdown on Gruk'sclub-handle.
And he began to stitch.
Stitch. Pull. Agony.
He stitched a pauldrononto his leftshoulder, over his raw, pinkskin.
Stitch. Pull. Pain.
[Improvise (Lvl 2) Check... Success!]
[Armor-Tinker (Lvl 1) Check... Success!]
[Your Class [Field Scavenger (Lvl 8)] has gained 20% EXP!]
He craftedvambraces from [Cured Leather Scraps] and [Hardened Chitin Fragments].
[You have created [Chitin-Studded Vambraces (Common)]!]
[Your Class [Field Scavenger (Lvl 8)] has gained 25% EXP!]
He worked in a fugue of pain and creation. His 34 INTblockedout the agony. It focusedonly on the craft.
His crippledbody was a problem to be solved.
His [Fused E-Rank Armor] wasn't onepiece. It was a system.
He Refined[Iron Fragments]. He tinkered with [Junk-Tinker].
He created[Crude Iron-Buckles (Common)].
He stitched them to his armor, to his newvambraces.
[Class Level 8 -> 80% EXP!]
He was buildinghimself a new bodyout of trash.
He looked at the [Volcanic Gastropod Core]. The bomb.
Difficulty 25.
He was stilltoo weak. His skills were too low.
He put it aside.
He needed... something else.
He looked at his [E-Rank Chitin-Shiv]. It was good. But it was small.
He looked at his [Nail-Studded Club]. It was [Poor]. It was junk.
His [Bludgeoning] and [Heat]vulnerability on the Slug...
He needed a newweapon.
A betterclub.
He took a [Giant Cave-Rat Bone (Junk)] (from Snarl's lasthunt).
He [Refined] it. [Hardened Bone-Handle (Common)].
He took[Iron Fragments].
He took his [Chert Rock] (his hammer).
He began to work.
[Armor-Tinker... no. Junk-Tinker... no.]
This was new.
[You are attempting to craft a [Weapon]!]
[Improvise (Lvl 2) Check (Int 34) vs. Difficulty (12)... Success!]
He hammered the [Iron Fragments]into the [Hardened Bone-Handle], not as nails, but as blades.
[You have created a [Iron-Sharded Mace (Common)]!]
[Your Class [Field Scavenger (Lvl 8)] has gained 100% proficiency!]
[CLASS LEVELED UP!]
[Class Level 8 -> Class Level 9]
[Intelligence +1, Perception +1]
[You have learned a new Class Skill!]
[Weapon-Tinker (Lesser) - Lvl 1 (Passive)]:Your [Improvise] and [Junk-Tinker] skills now apply to [Weapons]. You can now [Refine] and [Craft] [Common] and [Poor] grade weapons. 10% bonus to all [Weapon]-related crafting checks.
His statsrose.
Intelligence: 35.
Perception: 30.
He looked at his newmace. It was beautiful. It was balanced.
He looked at his [Nail-Studded Club]. Junk.
He [Refined] it.
[You have obtained [Rotten-Wood (Junk)] x 3]
[You have obtained [Rusted-Nails (Poor)] x 8]
He [Refined] the Nails.
[You have obtained [Iron Fragments (Common)] x 16!]
He smiled. More fuel.
He heard it.
His 30 Perception heard the scramble.
Snarl.
He hobbledout of his Workshop.
The cavern was... clean. (Goblin-clean. The puddles of acid were stillhissing, but the ash was piled).
The tribe was huddled, starving, watching the crawlspace.
Snarl (Lvl 4) burstout.
She was covered in blood. Nothers.
She threwsomething at his feet.
Four[Glow-Cap Shrooms (Lesser)].
And two... [Giant Cave-Rat's Corpse (Lvl 3)].
She hadn'tjustfound the medicine.
She had hunted.
She had used the spear.
[Subject [Snarl] has slain [Giant Cave-Rat (Lvl 3)] x 2!] [EXP Gained: 24 EXP!]
[EXP Threshold Reached! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!]
[Subject [Snarl] (Lvl 4) -> (Lvl 5)!]
She lookedup at him, panting, her yelloweyesshining with pride and terror.
She had succeeded.
Klik looked at his *new, Lvl 5, bleedingHunter.
He looked at the shrooms.
He looked at Bruk, who was moaning by the fire.
"Good," Klik rasped.
He grabbed the shrooms. He crushed them into a glowing-blue, antisepticpaste.
He stalked to Bruk.
"THIS. HURTS," he hissed.
He slapped the glowing-bluepasteonto Bruk's raw, blackened, meltedburns.
Bruk SCREEEEEAMED. A soundso high and so full of agony that the tribefledbackinto the crawlspace.
[Subject [Bruk] is being treated with [Mild Antiseptic]!]
[Debuff: [E-Rank Burns]... [Infection-Risk] Neutralized!]
[Debuff: [Shock (Severe)]... reduced to [Shock (Minor)]!]
Bruk convulsed, and then went limp, his agonizedmoanssubsiding to shallow, painedbreathing.
He was stable. He would live. A crippled, one-armed, -10% physicaltank... but alive. And loyal.
Klik stood. He picked up one of the [Rat-Corpses].
He limped to the bonfire (which Grik had re-lit).
He stabbed the corpse with his [E-Rank Chitin-Shiv].
He roasted it.
The smell of cooked meatfilled the cavern.
The tribecreptback out of the crawlspace.
He tore the meat from the bone.
He threw the first, largestpiece to Snarl (Lvl 5). She caught it. Ate it.
He threw the secondpiece to Grik (Lvl 4).
He shoved the thirdpieceinto the moaningmouth of Bruk (Lvl 5).
The rest... he threw to the tribe.
It was a frenzy.
They ate.
He tooknone.
He limpedback to his throne (the crater).
He sat. He clutched his new[Iron-Sharded Mace (Common)].
His tribe was fed. His lieutenants were healing and leveling.
He looked at the dark, maintunnel.
The Formians were stillout there.
Scrape... click-click...
Closer this time.
They were hungry, too.
Klik gripped his mace.
Let them come.
He was crippled. He was in pain.
But he was Lvl 9 in his Class.
He was ready to craft.
And this time, he wouldarm his entiretribe.