SEAN ROBIN HUGHES

This follows Damage Management Team Part III, Part II, Part I…

Grunk shook his head at me sternly. His face, his eyes.. all sending the direst warning that he could muster.

As if I was telepathic, I could almost hear it: Don’t you fucking do it, Tell.

He signaled (open to some interpretation mind you) that if I revealed ourselves he would personally brain me with his chisel (by holding the chisel up to his own temple). Yeah, the implication was clear enough. I wouldn’t blame him to be honest, and I would probably deserve it.

Take a deep breath and think this through Tell, I thought. I glanced down at the stones, trying to stay rational.

At best, three goblins popping out of the wall would result in our immediate deaths. There were at least three individuals that knew how to use the sharp implements of death on their persons, and they had made this far using those instruments of death, so if three goblins just materialized, one would die on a sword, one on a knife, and one on an axe. And worst case, incinerated alive until we were dead-ish.

Alright. Revealing ourselves would be a terribly bad, awful, short-sighted, idiotic thing to do. See? A good think after being threatened with involuntary lobotomy has its place! A win!

Omish sneezed.

He grabbed his honker of a nose with both hands and looked at the two of us with eyes the size of dinner plates. Grunk was furious. I probably looked relieved. I felt relieved at least.

So now, when someone died by a chisel to the skull, it was not going to be me. (Silver lining.)

The dubndub was utterly quiet. The fart of a mouse could be heard, if there had been a mouse nearby, and said mouse had been in gastrointestinal distress. Phphbt! I wanted to make the sound just for a laugh. But now was not the time.

The next sound was undeniable. The sound of a long silver blade being unsheathed from a hard scabbard. That is literally the sound of the death. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhink…

I wondered how many goblins had died after hearing a noise like that? And with a measure of grim certainty, I know it was going to be at least three more.

FUCK.

I looked hard at Grunk, mouthing the word, “Options?”

Grunk’s nearly imperceptible head shake mirrored my state of mind. We were literally in a box of stone with someone that apparently had an allergy to staying hidden. What else could we do? We were not going to tunnel our way out. Two things could happen. They would realize that they were not alone and have the very pretty goblin fire mage blow us up, or they would have the dwarf start swinging at walls and do his dwarven-destruction-of-stone thing that dwarves got hard doing, and either way, we would have to crawl out of here, fighting or dying.

We all collectively held our breath.

I ventured a peek out of the peek hole that Grunk had made for me and I came eye to eye with another Goblin eye. Her eyes were pretty too. (Get a grip, Tell.)

“Its a pack of goblins. Probably dungeon management,” Miki sighed dismissively. “You can put your sword away, Christoph. Your axe too, Fror. The worst these guys will do to us is give us bad directions.”

“Harsh.” I mumbled. Maybe she wasn’t that pretty after all.

“Keep an arrow ready just in case, Streya.” Miki added.

Well that was just plain rude. I raised my voice, “We mean you no harm.”

“Come on out, and we will determine that for ourselves.” The human Christoph said calmly. He at least sounded level-headed. “Keep your knives in their places and nothing will need to get messy.”

I heard him whisper, “That sounded tough, right?”

“Yes, you sound very tough.” Omish replied. He sounded like a freshly kicked puppy.

“Sorry,” Christoph said. “You guys have great hearing for being in a stone bench.”

“Great eyes too,” Miki said with a bit of thought carrying in her voice. She was thinking out loud, and I did not like the sound of it.

“If we come out, will we be safe?” Grunk asked.

“If you stay in there, you definitely won’t be, because that means we will have to come in after you,” the dwarf Fror growled. “I might have to hurt you on principle if you make it my problem.”

“We are coming out,” I said.

I pointed at our roof hoping that Grunk would knock out the top. Easier for us if we are all exposed at once and not crawling out of the end like idiots. I peeked out of the hole and they were all standing away from the bench, the short human-ish one called Streya had an arrow in her bow, but it was not raised. That may be a good sign.

The goblin had a her palm raised halfway, a little gout of flame spinning on her palm like a miniature tornado. That was definitely a threat. I heard a fair-barker in the back of my head, STEP RIGHT UP, STEP RIGHT UP, AND GET INCINERATED! ALMOST FREE!

Grunk ran his fingers on the side of his hammer, fingering a sigil, and the cores hummed in response. He swung once, pushing the stone upwards with the hammer just like he had when he had made the door for us into the hallway. The hammer remained where he placed it as the stone seat swung upwards. We stood up slowly with our hands above our shoulders in unison, like we had practiced beforehand.

It would have been funny if I was sure this was not how we were about to die.

“Cozy in there,” Fror harrumphed.

“It felt safe until someone sneezed,” I muttered.

“You are the leader,” Miki addressed pointedly.

“Not the old one?” Christoph made a face.

He was sooooo tall. I would have to be on stilts to just look at him straight in the nipples. The short human-ish one with the feet was only up to his waist, but she even seemed bigger than me. She probably wasn’t but every one near the hero in armor just appeared to be more imposing. Maybe it was the armor.

Or he was just a big scary dude (that was probably it.)

“The old ones are too smart.” Miki tittered. “They are old because they have learned to keep their heads down. Its the ones that are old enough to want more, but not too old to know better. That’s why the leader is this one.”

“What about the other one?” The dwarf said.

“He is a baby.” Miki smiled knowingly. “Apprentice?”

Omish nodded slowly.

“Where is your fourth?” Miki continued with a raised eyebrow.

“We don’t have one,” I said.

“We did.” Omish added quickly. “We lost him a couple rotations ago.”

Streya nodded sagely. “They are both telling the truth.”

How would she know? “How would you know? Maybe he is out getting us help? Maybe I lied?”

“Streya is from a tribe of soothsayers. She can detect falsehoods.” Miki sighed heavily. “So no one is out there getting you help. They don’t even know you are lost do they?”

I frowned. She was mean. But I could not take my eyes off of her. I felt my face flush.

“Oh, he is blushing.” Streya laughed.

Miki lowered her voice to a sultry register, “It’s not because he is embarrassed.”

My face went even more flushed. I finally lowered my eyes. I could die. Just box me up in the bench and let me rot peacefully in the dark.

“What were you doing in here?” Fror asked.

“We…” I started.

“Speak up. And know that I will have an arrow in your shoulder if you lie,” Streya threatened.

“I believe you,” I replied. “Can we lower our arms?”

“No,” Streya flatly replied.

“Its a long story,” I tried.

“That is true, but you are going to tell us the short version,” Streya said.

“We are dungeon management, Team Kelpie…”

“Cute.” Miki sighed.

With a half-hearted glare I continued, “We were deployed to room on level two to fix a collapse. We weren’t able to fix it in time, and the room fell in with our portal inside of it. We made the choice to head outwards-“

“Outwards?” Christoph the human monster asked.

“Outwards versus Inwards. Outwards is towards the surface, inwards is towards the lower levels.”

Miki made another thinking face. “Huh. Go on.”

“We were hoping that we could encounter another Dungeon Management team and use their portal to get home,” I finished. Then I glared wholeheartedly.

I left out the parts about why the Kappa room collapsed (explodey hexcore) and the ant colony (red beam of death and explodey ant heads), hoping those parts of the story were on a need to know basis. And this group of explorers definitely did not need to know.

“That is truth.” Streya acknowledged.

“Why were you in here? Hiding?” Christoph said.

“We were resting. We heard someone coming, and we are goblins,” I sneered with the obvious.

“Watch your tone.” Fror growled back. “Or your head may not be connected to your neck much longer.”

“Fror, friend, step back,” Christoph put a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “What do you mean by that? What does being a goblin have to do with anything?”

“Goblins get blasted. They get massacred. They get chopped. Diced. Sliced. Shot down. We are treated like fodder…” My voice was raising again. I wanted to punch the dwarf in the face with my gauntlet of explodey heads. “And people like you, you people, kill us without so much a second thought. That is why we hide. We don’t want to be murdered in cold blood by a party of assholes who could give two shits less how many goblins that happen to die along their way. It happens all the time! Because WE DON’T WANT TO BE MURDERED!”

It was the dwarf’s turn to lower his eyes. Even the smaller human-ish Streya looked conflicted. Miki was grinning devilishly.

“We try not to kill anything,” Christoph smiled kindly. “We only defend ourselves when we are attacked.”

I thought it sounded like he was telling the truth. That bugged me. I wasn’t sure if it was because he had that huge sword that I wanted to believe him or because the tone of his voice made me want to believe him.

Streya’s eyes were hard, her brow was furrowed, like she was evaluating something about me that I did not understand. “He hears truth.”

Well that pissed me off even more. Could I red beam them to death before I was impaled by an arrow? Probably not. Well… shit on a stick.

“We have a goblin in our party. Do you not see Miki right here? She is with us. Obviously we don’t kill goblins for sport,” Christoph waved futilely.

“And if he tried, I would just turn him into a crispy armor-enclosed human steak,” Miki grinned.

“I have never heard of a goblin mage. Never.” Grunk finally spoke up. “Arcanists, sure. But never a full blown mage.”

Miki grinned again, that devilish glint in her eye. She repeated my line back, “Its a long story.”

“We can’t let them go.” Christoph waved at us, speaking about us as if we weren’t right in front of them, awkwardly standing in a coffin of our own making (gallows humor).

“We can’t take them with us,” Fror frowned. “They will slow us down.”

“Streya, what do you think?” Christoph tilted his head.

“I think we should be careful. They are not for us, but they are not against us. And that means danger. No loyalties.”

“Hmmmmm.” Christoph stroked his smooth chin thoughtfully. “Miki?”

“I think they should come with us.”

“What?” I said and the dumb dwarf said at the exact same time.

I made a face (probably a bad one). Fror just set his mouth in a firm line. I could barely see it under the huge bushy beard, but I got the gist. I glanced at my compatriots. Grunk looked resigned to a fate, and Omish appeared to be on the verge of fainting. He was paler than the tall human. I would say a greenish-white at this point. I had seen greener molds on cheese.

As if coming to a final decision, Miki waved at the three of us with a wide declarative swing. “They are goblins. They can see, hear, smell, and navigate better than all four of us. They can see traps. They can hear trouble. They can smell out food and water. I can’t do those things because of my acclimation to surface life. But they can. They don’t even think about it. Do you see torches? Do you see a mage among them for light? They navigated the good old fashioned way. The way my mama would have. I say we take them.”

“And if it doesn’t work out?” Grunk asked sullenly.

“We set you on your way, when we know that we are clear to do so.” Christoph shrugged. “We are headed downwards.”

“Inwards.” I corrected.

“Yes,” he looked at me shrewdly. “Inwards. Indeed.”

“Can we put our hands down now?” I asked, again. “My arms are going to fall off at the shoulder.”

Miki looked us over. “Those two can. You can’t.”

“Why the fuck not, lady?” I asked.

“Because your gauntlet is absolutely roaring with mana right now.”

“Mana? That is reserved only for living things,” Streya squinted at my gauntlet. “That is definitely armor. Not a living thing, Miki.”

Miki took a step forward and held out her hands. “Show me.”

I sighed for the sheer art of pissing her off a small measure of what she had caused me to feel so far. “Why?”

Miki lowered her voice as if the two of us were alone. “Because I want to look at it. You don’t have to take it off, ok? We are not thieves. It is still yours.”

Hmmph. I kept the groan inside my head. “Fine.”

I lowered my armored right hand into Miki’s waiting own. I swear I could feel her touch through my gauntlet, and I had the brief, one could almost say fleeting, sensation that I could stand like this forever. She smelled amazing. Was that vanilla?

She rolled my right hand over in her own, as she studied the gauntlet’s hexgrid that extended down the back of my hand and onto my wrist.

“Was the hexglow always purple?” Miki asked.

“Yes.” I replied.

“That is a lie.” Streya offered her opinion.

“No one asked, you. What are you anyway?” I shot back.

“Be nice.” Miki admonished. “When did the hexglow turn purple?”

“Today. Or yesterday. I am not sure what day it is,” I corrected as I made eye contact with Streya. “We have had a bit of a hard time since the collapse. I may have passed out one point from exhaustion.”

Miki looked over her shoulder at Streya, and the stout woman nodded. “True.”

“What caused it?”

Let’s see how accurate that Streya’s sense of truthiness powers were. “I honestly don’t know what caused it to turn purple.”

“Also true,” Streya shrugged again.

“Interesting. It seems that something was invoked. Your gauntlet is housing a soul.”

“That is news to me, lady.” I sighed.

“True again.”

“Could you stop it?” I asked politely. Well it may have felt polite. The way it came out of my mouth it did not sound polite. I hoped that no one was paying attention.

“Alright little goblins, you can climb out of the bench. We are going to start a fire and set up camp. I have first watch.” Christoph said, the last part was for his party, not us.

Or maybe it was for us. He would be watching. They would all be watching. Shit on a stick (again.)

“We don’t have an excess of provisions, but you can share what we prepare,” The knight continued. “If you are able to track more food down, that is.”

Grunk spoke up, “We can.”

Miki let go of my gauntlet and clapped her hands together. “Alright that is settled then. What are your names?”

“I’m Teller. That’s Grunk, our newbie is Omish. And you are Miki, he is Christoph, Streya, and the dwarf is Fror.”

“Very good,” Miki nodded thoughtfully. “Smart too.”

They all had backpacks and bedrolls, and they let them drop to the ground, falling into a routine that I had a feeling was well established. They each seemed to have a job in setting up camp, and they fell to their parts.

The dwarf pulled a length of blackened lumber from his bag along with a cast iron skillet.

Grunk walked over to the wall. “You can save your ironwood for later on. These dubndubs have wood boxes.”

“What? Dubndubs?” Fror eyes went wide. “Show me the wood!”

“This symbol here?” Grunk pointed at the triangle over his head. “Tap here.”

Grunk elbowed the wall and it pivoted open. “Not constantly replenished, but the brownies…”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Fror laughed loudly, interrupting Grunk’s explanation. “We have spent days fretting over firewood. You my are my friend, …Grunk was it? Yes! Let’s get a proper fire going, eh Grunk?”

Grunk nodded, letting his previous explanation go, and instead started pulling firewood from the box.

How did they not know about the wood boxes? Did they know about the clean water? Did they know about the waste grates? Did they know you could shower in a dubndub if you needed too? By the Underking, no wonder these asshats died so often. They had no idea of the basics. No concept of inwards or outwards? No sign reading? No pathing details. I bet they didn’t even know the pattern of the logic rooms! Idiots.

They were babies. Wee babies with bonnets and nappies, just wandering the Underfell. They were going to die… it was just a matter of time.

We could use this to our advantage. They would have to take care of us… until we run across a point that we can escape. Some opportunity would pop up eventually, we just had to keep our eyes open for that moment. Make sure they were nice and comfortable with us and the could give them the slip, work backwards and find a dungeon management team. Maybe after watching them all die. Painfully. That would be almost perfect.

Timing. In the end, it was all about timing.

Thinking all this through, I was not paying attention to what the others were doing and I realized I was just standing in the box like an idiot. Grunk was helping build the fire, Omish was asking a million questions a minute of the tall human in armor as they set up camp, and I was still standing in the box with my gauntlet arm slightly extended in front of me from where Miki had released it. She was doing her part at the fire, making small flames catch at the smaller tinder.

Streya made eye contact and she started to chuckle. “Have you never met a girl goblin before, young one? Do you think she is pretty?”

“No.” I outright refused a bit too quickly.

“Ah… that was a lie. But you knew that already.” Streya started laughing. A deep rumbling belly laugh.

I grinned for a second at the sound of her laugh, but I shifted it to a nasty frown the moment she looked at me. That only made her laugh harder.

I pouted.

Still standing there like an idiot.

Dammit.

This follows Damage Management Team, Part II, and Part I…

Something hit me at speed. And time slowed down to a crawl.

There are moments in my life that I would hope would flash before my eyes when I am about to die. Like, I would see glimpses of childhood, growing up in the village of Stoccard-on-the-Well. It was probably the third largest Goblin village on the continent, nestled in the heart of a lonely mountain about a two hour walk in the Underfell. I would see my mother. I would see my father. I would see my siblings. I would see us hunting. Fishing. I would see us laughing in our cozy Goblin kitchen, tearing into a flank and greasily making fun of each other’s eating habits. I would see that one girl. You know the one, Teller. The pretty one with the long ears.

But no. As I was flung across the open space of the ant nest column, and I looked downwards into the dark depths of my impending death, none of those memories crossed my mind’s eye. Not a single great moment arose from the depths of my consciousness, and instead, you know what I got?

The urge to scream. That’s it. This is how you die, Teller. Screaming like a little baby Gob as you fall to your death towards the crushing darkness, only to be eaten by ants the size of stupid ass dogs.

But hey! At least I would be dead when they would eat me.

Then time spun back up, and after being flung, I hit the far wall and amazingly did not fall to my death. The warrior ant that had flung me in such an insulting manner was apparently surprised I did not fall to my death either.

The ants rushed us from all sides.

Grunk and Omish landed near me. Omish pulled his lighttosser and fired a bolt at the nearest cluster, and the flare shattered as it hit the lead ant in the head, spraying fuel and flame all over the rest. The light in the dark tunnel was brighter than it had been so far, and I watched as Grunk come to terms with his death as he simultaneously pulled his chisel and his hammer from his belt, the grizzled veteran making the choice in taking a few six legged freaks with him.

I looked at my Enchanted Power Gauntlet Mark 4. My baby. And she hummed. She was alive! Thank the Underfell Wizardking.

I flicked my fingers over the control grid, and with a start, realized none of the controls were the same. The nobs, the nubs, the depressions were all laid out differently. And the colors! It hummed with a fell purple light, not the customary arcane blue that it had before.

With dawning horror I realized the purple ball of death that I had grabbed in the Kelpie pool room was something more than just another power source. It must have been an engine hex core. I had somehow, mysteriously, miraculously just had my EPGmark4 upgraded against my will and with zero technical or arcane knowledge.

AND NOW I HAD NO IDEA HOW TO OPERATE IT.

A couple ants lunged in from my right, and I swung with my EPGmark4 encased fist. The balancers hummed, and the control I felt was immense. It was like dancing. I twirled, and my fist crashed into both ants. The first one’s head caved inwards like it was made of paper, and my fist smeared the first ant’s head bits across the face of the next one as it continued, caving the next exoskeleton inwards as well. The ants behind them stopped, confused.

Imagine the scene. Three goblins. And not even big goblins. Just regular old maintenance goblins, standing in a row, dirty and disheveled. The one on the far left is screaming at the top of his lungs, swinging his discharged lighttosser like an axe, as a trio of ants burned nearby in a hastily assembled bonfire of limbs and fuzzy carapaces. Then in the middle, a grizzled, slightly overweight, veteran goblin slamming his hammer into the forehead of a warrior ant, sending the oversized pinchers flying outwards as if he had just hit a mandible ejection button. The last, but not least, leader of this motley group, covered in fresh ant goop, roaring as if he had just taken down a minor god all on his own.

The ants stopped.

They slowly backed up and seemed to regard us, antennae waving to and fro confusedly.

“YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT, YOU HAIRY FUCKWADS! OMISH WILL BURN YOU ALL!” Omish screamed fervently, his eyes bugging worryingly from his skull. At some point he had pulled a flare dart from his belt and was brandishing it like a knife.

Grunk was breathing so heavily I thought he was about to have an apoplectic fit. He held his hammer over his head like he couldn’t decide to chase the ants down or put himself out of his misery.

And all I could do was marvel at my gauntlet like an idiot. There were four red nubs along the knife edge of my right hand, and another on the inside of the wrist… almost like…

I laid my left hand across the back, and sure as shit, all my fingers lined up with the red nubs. They glowed briefly as each finger made contact, and as my thumb came to rest on the last nub, the fingers of my gauntlet straightened of their own accord and my palm…

Growled?

It quickly shifted upwards in tone, transforming into something like a banshee’s high pitch scream…

THEN A RED FOUNTAIN OF ENERGY POURED OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING PALM AND OBLITERATED AN ENTIRE COLUMN OF ANTS.

I yanked my left hand off the gauntlet, looked worryingly at the remainder of what I assumed would be now very pissed-off ants (their antennae had stopped waving altogether, which had to be bad), and I felt my face scrunch up with embarrassment as black ash that was previously their compatriots drifted downwards all around us.

“Sorry?” I tried.

The hissing noise that came back at us was nothing short of shit-your-pants-terrifying. The column of ants that I had just obliterated had left a nice empty ramp upwards though. That was nice.

“RUN!” I yelled. I hauled ass up the ramp, into another tunnel. Grunk flung Omish ahead of him, and turned to swing his hammer at the wall. He pulled his hammer hard across the face of it, and the metamorphosis of rock spell of the hammer did its job. A wall formed behind us, blocking our pursuers for the moment.

“I have no idea how long that will keep them.” Grunk put his hands on his knees and was attempting to take some very deep breaths. “Next time you decide to deathray something, you should let us know, first.”

“I had no idea that was going to happen.” I admitted. It sounded lame to my own ears.

Omish’s face appeared to be covered in something like surprise. It might have been shock. I wasn’t sure. But then his eyes somehow went even wider than before and I was certain that he had blown a brain vessel.

“That… that… was FUCKING AWESOME!” Omish squealed. He held his hand up, mimicking my gauntlet. “It was like all AAAAAAAAAAAH and then WOOOOOOOSSSSSSH and then… was that ash? Am I covered in Ant ash?” He sat down heavily as he came back to himself. “This might be the best day of my life.”

“We still have to make it behind that explorer party.” Grunk grizzled. “Let’s be honest, it might be the last day of your life.”

“Seriously, Tell, what the fuck is going on with your EPG?” Omish laughed.

“I wish I knew, Om. Grunk, look… the hexgrid is… different. Like the controls are not the same.”

Grunk took a few steps and slipped his tools back into his belt. He took my arm into his hands and looked over the gauntlet cautiously. “Well it’s purple.”

“Yeah, no shit.” I sighed. “What else do you see?”

“I have no fucking idea, Tell. I have never even heard of something like this. Mickroof was a great artificer, but this is beyond what I know of his work. This is… something else.” Grunk tapped his knuckle against the side of the metal.

It knocked back.

“Was that you?” Grunk looked at me.

“Uh, no.”

“Huh. Possessed Gauntlet. That’s new.” Grunk nodded. “Thought I had seen it all.”

“You have never been on your own before? Remember? Never cut off from a portaling?” I teased.

“Today is just full of new for you Grunk!” Omish grinned. “What’s that saying? Old gobs can never learn new tricks? Or was it a new gob can’t learn old tricks? I can’t remember.”

I laughed. “Shut up, Om. Come on.”

We trudged up the tunnel and after a few minutes of quiet walking upwards, we came to wall. Cut and carved stone. Not ant. Big development.

Grunk pushed past me and laid his hands on the wall. “Ha, this is new to me too. The backside of a wall.”

He pulled his chisel and hammer from his belt, and thumbed a sigil on the side of the hammer’s head. He lightly tapped the back of the chisel and cored out a peekhole out like he was uncorking a bottle. He put his eye to the hole and Omish and I collectively held our breath.

He leaned back. “Looks empty. Another hallway. There is a dubndub to the right across the way. I don’t see anything else.”

“What should we do, Tell?” Omish whispered. “Are we still on level two? Or is this one?”

“We have been heading upwards for a stretch. Why wouldn’t we be on one?” I scratched my chin. “We could be?”

There was a faint angry hissing behind us.

“I don’t think we have a choice.” I amended. “Go!”

Grunk nodded, repeatedly tapped his chisel in the shape a relative Goblin sized door, and then slammed his hammer against the center of the mass like it was a door knocker. The section of wall pivoted outwards.

“Neat!” Omish noted.

“You haven’t had to repair a labyrinth yet, have you?” Grunk teased. “It’s how we traverse the maze.”

I tilted my head towards our new exit.”Come on.”

I ducked through the entry way, Omish followed behind, his lighttosser in his hands, and finally Grunk. He pulled the hammer and the door slid shut as if it had never existed. There was a slight sizzle as the rock fused back together. Grunk slid the core back into the hole and tapped it lightly with his hammer. Another sizzle sound and the wall was exactly as it had been.

“When do I get some enchanted tools?” Omish whispered in awe.

“When it is the right time for you to get enchanted tools, numbnuts,” Grunk whispered back.

I sulked slowly across the tiles, keeping my eyes wide for traps, wires, and the like between us and the dubndub. The fell light of the ceiling stones helped me pick way towards the water and waste room, and thankfully there was nothing. I pushed the door open, held it for the other two, and then closed it in a rush. I slung the lock shut, and prayed that no one would wander along to test it.

I needed a nap. The chemicals in my bloodstream were finding ways to exit, and the fatigue was hitting me hard. I slumped against the door.

Grunk sat down heavily against the wall, tilting his head back in repose. Omish just laid flat on the stone floor.

“What a day.” I groaned under my breath. I cradled my EPGmark4 in my lap and closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but it had to be longer than a few minutes. When I came to, Grunk and Omish had a small fire going in the warming pit, and they were drinking some of Grunk’s breaktime tea that he carried in his backpack.

We should probably inventory our gear. I can’t imagine we have much in the way of supplies. Or food. My stomach growled as if on cue.

“We may starve to death.” I grumbled.

“Nonsense.” Grunk smiled. “I have jerky!”

“And when that runs out?” I said.

“Then we eat Omish!” Grunk laughed brightly.

I made a face. So did Omish.

“Hey, I am sitting right here!” Omish complained.

“Don’t stress it Om. We both know you would taste terrible.” I stood and walked over to the small fire. “Any more tea?”

Grunk handed me a small wooden tea cup with a wink.

“Thanks Grunk.” I took a sip. It was warm and delicious. Grunk handed me a piece of jerky, and I bit out a chunk savagely.

“There is actually plenty of food to be had in the Underfell. Just have to go looking for it. Mushrooms, gardens, groves, fish in the pools… even bigger game if you are for up it.” Grunk said thoughtfully. “The Underfell is world unto itself.”

“But what’s the point?” Omish asked.

“The point of what?” Grunk asked.

Omish waved at the group sitting around the small fire. “What we do?”

I spoke up. “We manage the dungeon. Fix what needs to be fixed, help where we need to help. You know this, Om.”

“But WHY?” Omish overemphasized the point.

“Do you ever wonder why we don’t live on the surface?” Grunk asked.

“Uh, we don’t like the surface.”

“No,” Grunk shook his head. “The humans, the elves, and the ones they deem ‘good’ species lay claim to the surface. The rest of us have to rot at the edges. We have to stay in our realms.”

“That makes sense,” Omish nodded. “Goblins can be bad, alright.”

“But you are asking why the Underfell exists. This is why.” Grunk said. “What if we aren’t supposed to stay in our realms? What if the surface belongs to all of us? I will tell you straight up Om… humans and elves can be just as evil as any orc or dragon. I guarantee it.”

“I don’t get it.” Omish shook his head. “That is not a why.”

“The Underfell exists to provide a home to those that aren’t allowed to have one. Up there. And in creating it, the Wizardking worked magics that have had lasting impacts on the world above. They topsiders see him as a great enemy. They seem him as a devil. In reality, he is a savior. He gave us power. He gave us control over our own lives.”

“True, true, Grunk. That he did.” I tipped my cup towards him. “He took all the scattered peoples, Om. He took all of us and he made us something new.”

“So he just creates dungeons that anyone can wander into?”

I tapped my chin. “Yeah, what’s up with that?”

“I honestly don’t know. Obviously, the Underfell Wizardking knows something we don’t.” Grunk admitted. “Maybe the exchange is important for some reason. It has to be.”

“It keeps us in a job!” I grinned, knocking the rest of the tea back. “Although our lead is definitely shot now.”

“Team Snake can suck a dick.” Omish frowned heavily. “Ratking too.”

“Maybe they got shit assignments too.” Grunk said.

“Maybe,” I nodded.

“Maybe we got lucky, and that nasty Ratking leader got her mouth blown off!” Omish grinned.

It seems everyone hated that one.

I glanced down at my EPGmark4-something and noted that it was off again. By its own choice? Does an enchanted gauntlet just get to decide when to itself off? It had learned to knock? It had learned to shoot a death ray. Hopefully it didn’t learn how to consume goblins that stick their hands in unknowingly.

I pulled my right hand out slowly and besides that bit of a tacky moisture feeling that I always had on my skin after taking the EPG off, everything looked completely normal. All five fingers, all my skin, and all of my pre-existing bruises and scars were accounted for. No new bruises and no new scars. I flexed my hand with a hesitation, like it wasn’t my own.

Grunk huffed. “It is just an enchanted gauntlet, Tell. Not the devil himself attached to your arm.”

“Did you not see the gnarly beam of total destruction come out of it?” I raised my eyebrows up as far as they could go. If I had been wearing a hat, it would have been pushed off.

“Well, yes… that was a bit odd.” Grunk conceded.

“A bit odd? Grunk, dude, its a power gauntlet. It is for construction! Designed for a goblin… like me… to do construction-y stuff. Earthmoving! Preparing materials! Not shooting beams of death!” My voice was rising of its own accord. “And bashing in the heads of a couple ants with a single swing? This was supposed to help goblins like me avoid using a shovel and a mattock, not cave in any skulls that get in the way!”

My gauntlet vibrated like an instrument strong for a hot second and then powered up. Grunk and I looked at each other and then to the gauntlet. The artifact rolled over and spread its fingers, forming a hand shaped gauntlet crab. It scuttled towards the door, hovered next to it like it was listening, and then scuttled back to me double time.

Omish was so invested in his jerky, he didn’t notice the EPG walking around of its own volition.

My gauntlet leaned against me and then butted me. Then butted me again.

“Why is your EPG bouncing against your thigh?” Omish said airily.

It pointed a finger at the door. Then again. Insistently.

“Douse the fire,” I whispered. “Gather the things.”

“Why?” Grunk looked at me weird.

“I don’t know why, but I think someone… or something… is coming.” I whispered again. I slid my hand into the waiting gauntlet. I got the sense it was like a puppy dog, just waiting to be petted lovingly.

Omish doused the fire, and pushed the wet smoking remnants into the drainage grate.

“Grunk, quick. Build a box against this wall, something that nestles in the corner. Make it like a bench or something simple that we can hide in.” I gathered all of our things as Grunk tapped a sequence out on his hammer. “Shit! Omish, unlock the door. Fast!”

Omish nodded and padded off.

Grunk tapped the stone lightly, and folded out a stone ledge from the wall, and another from the floor. I crawled into it, pushing our stuff ahead of us. Omish followed close behind, and then Grunk came in behind and closed the end with another slice from the wall. The joins sizzled briefly, and I knew it would blend right in. Grunk tapped a couple peek holes for us and we collectively held our breath.

The door opened.

“Oh thank the heavens above! Its a bathroom!” A human in silver armor walked in, a long sword at his waist, and a leather satchel across his back. “I feel like we have been attacked and wandering for days without a good place to rest.”

“We have been attacked. And have been wandering. For days.” A deadpan female’s voice came up from behind. A small diminutive woman, she had bow over her back and a pair of knives at her waist. I thought she looked like a human, but she was too short. And she had no shoes on. Big hairy feet instead. Not a dwarf either. I had no idea what she was.

“That golem was unexpected,” a third voice came up behind. It was definitely a male dwarf, the massive axe on his back was impressive. “Thing must have been sitting there for years.”

“And that is why you have me. To reduce things like that to slag.” A fourth voice said.

My eyes went wide.

“You are the best fire mage I have ever met, Miki.” The dwarf laughed.

I looked sideways at Grunk and then over at Omish, and they couldn’t believe it either.

The fire mage was a goblin.

A very pretty female goblin with gorgeous long ears. I felt a twinge in my gut.

Holy shit – ah…

Holy shit.

Holy shit!

This follows Damage Management Team, Part I…

“What in the Fell happened, Teller?” Omish shouted, as best he could at least, he was laying flat on his back still. And coughing. And spitting.

“I don’t know! How the fuck would I know?” I shot back, my right hand felt… heavy. It was distracting. My gauntlet looked the same as always, when it was off. I sat up and gently flexed my fingers within, making sure my hand still worked (for the third time).

It did. I exhaled heavily.

The memory flashed briefly of that unlucky goblin walking through the Demark from Bay Blue, one arm missing and covered in soot… that was an hour ago? Two?

“Because you are the dumb ass that launched your Gob ass at the glowly pearl of death, Tell.” Grunk followed with a grimace. “Although… in hindsight, that may have been dumb taking it out of the box.”

Omish turned his head and glared. “Ya think? Grunk? Aren’t you supposed to be the most experienced out of all us? Like aren’t you the guy that should know better?”

“I am still just a Gob, you lank.” Grunk sighed, holding his britches up. “This old Gob is going to go wander to the nearest water n’ waste room and clean up. There should be one down the way.”

“If you find a dubndub, try not to intentionally step on… ANY TRAPS ON THE WAY!” Omish yelled after him.

“Om, if you stay so high strung, you are going to have a heart attack or a stroke,” I said. I would need a dubndub too if I needed to wash any wounds once I got my hand unstuck. “But to be fair, Grunk, try to avoid traps, eh?”

Grunk just waved at at us with an extended middle finger as he wandered off with an apparent mess in his pants.

“We can’t fix an entire room collapse!” Omish whined. “And our portal back to the hub was in there! What the hell are we going to do?”

“Yeah, I am thinking. Give me a minute.” I put my finger to my chin and scratched absentmindedly. My other hand remained locked in the inert fist, and once again, I flexed my fingers. So what? I am paranoid.

You know what goblins are called by the Dungeon parties?

Cannon fodder. Yeah. Paranoia is a good thing.

We had a couple options. Grunk would know better than most, he probably had done it himself at some point. It wasn’t impossible, it was just rare… and dangerous. Any party that we come across wouldn’t think twice about obliterating us on sight.

And that’s the trick. We would have to work backwards to get behind an advancing party without being obliterated. Find a damaged room (there should be many) and wait for one of the many Dungeon Management Teams to portal in. Then hitch a ride home. Easy.

The last part was easy.

The first part was un-fucking-believably hard.

Not to mention, finding the way back meant that we would have to head outward in the dungeon design, and we, against our well established regulations (thanks Fat Tits), had dove inward during the collapse of the room behind us (thanks me).

The Underfell had a design. It had a well multipathed structure. It had connections between floors and between areas, so one caved in room would not mean that we were stuck going in only one direction. Explorers all had different reasons to explore the Underfell. Some were looking for wealth, others for action, others for glory. I have no idea how the surface worked, but I would guess that they were all crazy.

Who would volunteer to come into this? Like honestly? You had to be nutzo. I didn’t want to be here and I was born and raised in the Underfell. And I work here! For two measly glints a day and the promise of a sublevel homestead back at the Gob villages if I survived my contract.

And I thought the places I had visited so far were obvious places to die. So if the surface was thaaaaaaaat bad that you just had to come down here to make your way, you have my pity.

So I knew going forward was problematic, but it was really the only choice we had.

Grunk shouted down the hallway, “Dubndub here, lankheads. There is a spike pit to the left, don’t walk into it.”

Omish made a face and yelled back, “Its amazing you didn’t!” He turned to me, his young face still wide with the aftershocks of fear. “What do we do, Tell?”

“Well we have our wits, our limbs, and most of our asses. So that tells me we find a path outwards and try to slink behind whoever is working their way this way.”

Omish’s blood drained from his face.

“We will be fine, Om.” I added encouragingly.

“It won’t be. It will be that party that is causing the ruckus. The one with crazy Fire Mage.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We will be blown to smithereens. Black, crusted, ill shaped bits of ourselves smeared all over a wall.” Omish continued as if he had ignored me outright. He dragged his hands down his face theatrically.

“Om!” I shot with a bit of heat.

“Yeah?”

“Get off your ass and get to the dubndub. We can figure it out with Grunk.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Omish stood up, groaning as he got to his feet.

He tottered off unevenly, and I stood to follow, pulling my heavy right up hand behind me. With the gauntlet in a tight fist, I couldn’t free my hands from its depths. I pulled it up to my waist with a sigh (again flexing my fingers within to ensure they had not been reduced to burnt jelly) and flicked the buttons for the start up sequence with my other hand. Same old routine I always had.

Nothing happened.

It did not hum.

It did not glow.

It did not even vibrate.

It was a hunk of inert metal at the end of my arm.

I felt a wave of emotions all at once. (Gobs have emotions, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.) Fear, doubt, anger, regret all washed through me at once. I had one of the greatest enchanted power gauntlets ever made and I had cocked it up so bad that now it was one of the heaviest useless gloves you could imagine. Without the enchantments powering the glove, the sheer mass of it was going to strain my shoulder socket until my arm popped free.

It wouldn’t, but it felt that way. I would chuck it in frustration, BUT IT WAS ATTACHED TO MY FUCKING ARM.

I followed Omish to the dubndub, cursing under my breath the entire way. I did not see the spike pit to the left, but there was a sense of deepness in the soft dark that spoke of a hole in the floor. Humans would have torches or a mage to light the way. Goblins have exceptional vision in the dark, and depending on the part of the Underfell, there was light to be had, you just had to know how to look. Or you said fuck it and shot a flare at the ceiling with a lighttosser. Either way.

In the muted dark the hallway, the stones reluctantly issued their fell light, and the pit became obvious to my goblin eyes. I did my best to look for pressure plates and tripwires, but the designers had thankfully thought only a silly spike pit would be sufficient. Idiots. Any party would consider this hallway a damn blessing. They could set up camp here, it had a dubndub and everything!

I pushed the door to the dubndub open to find a well appointed washroom. Omish was drinking heavily from the tap, and a half naked Grunk was wringing is pants out over a drainage grate.

There were pairs of eversconces on each wall, giving the space a warm, welcoming light. I never had understood why the Underfell Wizardking had thought that while building a subterranean fortress city for himself and his minions, he should include accommodating and aesthetically pleasing bathrooms along the way. Thank goodness he did.

I wasn’t so thankful to see Grunk’s wrinkled ass as he wrung out his pants. He looked over his shoulder and gave me a wiggle of his hips.

“Don’t be jealous of handsome backside, youngins.”

“Grunk, your backside wasn’t handsome when you first shot out of your mom and I assure you it has only gotten worse since,” I said.

“You’re jealous.” Grunk hummed. He pulled his damp pants back up with a smile of satisfaction. “Your gauntlet?”

“Still stuck.”

Omish looked up from the basin, a concerned look on his face. “Stuck?”

“Its fine, Om. Not a big deal. Happens all the time.”

“It does?” Omish pushed back with worry all over his gob.

Grunk and I exchanged a knowing look, but I lied anyway. “Of course it does. Not a big deal. Sit for a minute while Grunk takes a look.”

“Pull up here and lay it on the basin counter.” Grunk tapped his fingers on the surface and shifted his knapsack from his back. He pulled some more tools from its depths as I tried to lay the inert metal fist as gingerly as I could on the stone surface. “I don’t have the tools or skills to fix this, but there is usually an emergency latch to decouple the mechanisms. I think the Mark4’s had them. Pretty sure at least.”

Grunk looked over the gauntlet, and grabbed a small screwdriver (normal, nothing enchanted about it) and started tapping the knuckles.

“Roll it over, let’s look at the hexgrid,” Grunk said.

I rolled my forearm so the back of my hand was raised to the ceiling. With a start I realized the controls that I normally would use to control everything…

“The hexgrid is gone?” Grunk’s eyes went wide.

“No wonder nothing was happening.”

“Yeah no wonder.” Grunk tapped the knuckles of my gauntlet again, and put his ear to the back of it. “I don’t hear the cores.”

“What?”

“Listen.” Grunk tapped his screwdriver against it for emphasis.

I put my ear to the metal, and sure enough, there was nothing. The signature resonance was completely absent.

“Easy fix. We get back to dispatch, then we stop off at Torino’s shop, he pops in some new cores, and you are back in the races.” Grunk smiled.

“What about the grid? I can’t operate it without a way to… operate it.”

Grunk made a strange face. “It is odd. The grid is a part of the metal, from the first forging of the artifact. It can’t be just blown off.”

“So where did it go?” I tried.

“Great question. One you should ask Torino.”

Omish finally piped up, “If we ever make it back to dispatch.”

“What’s his problem?” Grunk asked me first, then he looked at Omish pointedly, “What’s your problem?”

“We are going to die,” Omish whined.

“We are not going to die.” Grunk looked at me and lowered his voice. “We are not going to die are we?”

“Why are you asking me?” I asked increduously.

Grunk shrugged. “This is my first time.”

“What do you mean this is your first time?” I added with some extra sauce.

“I have never been cut off from a portaling.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I groaned. “You are kidding, right?”

“Uh. No?” Grunk shrugged innocently.

“We are going to die!” Omish repeated.

“We are not going to die.” I said, repeating Grunk’s sentiment. “We can do this. Come on, Om. Get your ass in gear.”

“What about your hand?” Omish crinkled his nose as if something was obvious.

“What about it?” I shot back angrily.

“What are you going to do?” Omish flinched like he was about to get hit.

I sighed heavily. A release latch would help nothing. I pulled my hand away from Grunk and shook my head. “Nothing, Om. Come on.”

Grunk packed his shit back up, and pulled his enchanted hammer from his belt. He flicked his fingers over its side, and I noted the runes shifted from glowing blue to a soft red. I raised an eyebrow.

“We don’t have much for weapons do we? So I set it to Obliterate.”

“You mean demolitions?” I laughed.

Grunk tilted his head. “I figured if it explodes stone, it will explore a skull or two.”

“Om, pull out your lighttosser and nock a flare,” I said.

“So we can see?”

“No, so you can shoot something if you have to, kiddo,” Grunk smirked. “Its like a crossbow. Except your bolts have a hot pokey bit at the end.”

“Oooooh, smart.” Omish nodded and put a bolt from his belt in.

“How many of those do you have left?” I asked.

“Counting this one? Eleven.”

“Well that just leaves me.” Dead fucking weight, Teller. I kept that thought inside. I pulled my knife from the small of my back, its gleaming six inches looking all the more pathetic than usual. I might as well been holding a fork. “Let’s go.”

Grunk opened the door from the dubndub, and a massive fucking tentacle grabbed his face and pulled him out.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Omish screamed and he fired a flare wildly in the direction that Grunk was pulled.

“Careful, Om. You could hit Grunk!” I shouted. I put my knife between my teeth and yanked the door handle.

To find Grunk on his back, being whipped back and forth, swinging his hammer wildly, futilely trying to make contact, as the tentacle’s thrashing was preventing any such event from happening. Thankfully the flare had hit the far wall over the pit, illuminating it brightly, and it was imminently obvious that it was definitely not a spike pit. It was a lair. For something that appeared to be made out of nothing but tentacles. The fucking designers of this hallway could suck a dick.

A bag of dicks. And they all should be Orc dicks. Sweaty ones.

I pulled my knife from my teeth, and launched myself towards the closest part of the tentacle. As I flew towards the tentacle holding Grunk, I realized that my gauntlet was not just dead weight, it was a cudgel too. I let it drop along side my knife hand, and the noise it made as it made contact was satisfying. It was like a scrunching, squelching sound, and my knife went in like the tentacle itself was made of butter.

The tentacle went slack for a hot second and Grunk finally swung true. The hammer hit the tentacle and the entire end of it exploded outwards and upwards, covering Omish and I with blue slime.

“FUCKING GROSS!” Omish kind of screamed (as his voice was subdued since it had to travel through the slimy bits).

More tentacles whipped upwards and started to seek us out, as the injured explody one was pulled back with a deep whispering groan winding its way out from the pit.

“To the doorway!” I shouted.

Grunk stood, his eyes wild, a sucker mark or two across his face like he had gone on a wild bender and had made a terrible choice for a facial tattoo. He started to run, his little gob legs moving faster than I could have imagined for the old guy.

“Come on, Om!”

We ran for the doorway, and thankfully, did not encounter the trip wire that a real asshole designer would have put in the way. This was the challenge that we had to face as we moved inwards. Traps were designed to face one way, and we were running in that very direction.

We caught up to Grunk, who appeared to be flagging. I could hear him muttering the same curse word under his breath the entire way.

“…fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.” With each step, as if he was chanting his way to success.

The three of us crossed over and I ventured a glance. Thankfully whatever was in the pit could not reach much further than what we had encountered coming out of the dubndub. I looked Omish over (covered in goo), I looked Grunk over (sweaty and puckered), and then I looked down at myself (also covered in some goo). Thankfully the goo was not acidic and actively melting us down to our bones.

“Man, we just left the dubndub!” Omish muttered sorrowfully.

“The smell might help ward off other nasties,” Grunk observed.

I looked around the palely-lit room and frowned. “Its a puzzle room.”

“Goddammit.” Grunk agreed.

“My mom told me about a puzzle room she had to repair once. It killed every single party that had wandered into it? Something about vaporization.” Omish observed thoughtfully.

“Not helping, Om.” I said. “At least we have three doors. That means at least one of them goes backwards. And that means at least one of them is less valuable than the others…”

“Why does that matter?” Omish looked at me funny. Like I had a booger for a head.

“Because that means we only have to be half-right. The most expensive option is the path forward, and we don’t want that.” Grunk explained patiently. “We only have to solve half of the puzzle or solve the wrong part. Stakes will be lower.”

“Ohhhh.” Omish said.

“And no monsters.” I added.

“Yet.” Grunk appended quickly.

I shook my head and appraised the room.

Four columns were arrayed around a square in the center. The columns did not reach the ceiling, but they were far taller than a human. The room itself was a square, and each door had a symbol above it. I could throw a rock from one wall to another (reminder, I am a goblin), so it was not a huge space by any means. Not quite cozy, but not quite airy.

The fell light from the roofstones was enough to make out the parts and pieces. The columns were the puzzle. The symbols were the paths. It was most likely the one straight ahead was the way inward, and one, maybe both of the side doors were outward. There was a chance that the designers were dicks and had intentionally made it harder, but we were only on the second level. Nefarious shit was deeper down. Level one was easy. Level two was a step up. Going outward and upward should make things easier as we go…

Hopefully.

“What do you think Grunk?” I asked.

“Simple logic puzzle. I am guessing an elimination game. Each column describes a path, but you have to discern all four columns to understand which path is which. And the warning of what is next room is given. I bet…” Grunk walked around the first column. “I bet that the least dire one is the one we want.”

I walked around the column to the left and noted symbols at regular intervals. The second to the right and furthest third one were the same. The fourth one, the one that was closest to the entry door, it was different. It was a series of arrows. I looked back at the symbol over the arch that we come in through.

Grunk apparently had arrived there at the same time. He said, “A circle with a slash.”

I ran my eyes up the column. There it was. “And that is the first symbol. Arrow to the right.”

Omish picked up on the process and pointed at the top of the column. “It’s a square.”

I looked down for a square on the first column. It was a… “Arrow to the left.”

Grunk moved to the other column. “Moth? Or may be a mirrored footprint?”

“Got it. Arrow to the left again.”

“Uh…” Grunk tilted his head, looking it over. “A couple fingers crossed?”

I looked down the column. There it is. “Yeah, like a promise breaker?”

“That’s it,” Grunk confirmed.

“Arrow straight on.” I said.

Omish moved over the to the fourth column. “Its a picture of the room we are in? A circle with four circles, in a square shape.”

“That’s it. We came in from the circle marked arch, so we follow the pattern to the door you want.” I confirmed it as I said it out loud. “So the circle lead to here. Makes sense. Which door, Grunk?”

“Righty tighty?” Grunk offered.

“Sure. Its a toss. The right one is a… square?”

“What’s in it?” Omish wandered closer. “It looks like an ant? Or a termite?”

My gut sank. “Fuck. What’s to the left?”

Grunk squinted and sighed. “Its a square again, with a chicken claw?.”

My gut sank further, now it was pressing against my abdomen firmly. “I am going to regret asking, but what is above the last door?”

Omish laughed. “A square with a tree.”

“Square with a tree?” Grunk’s brow furrowed. “Weird.”

“Well I would bet that way is a fire ant colony. And that one is a cockatrice.” I said pointing to the side arches. “What’s worse?”

“What about the tree?” Omish ventured. “That sounds easy.”

“That is what makes it the worst choice.” Grunk and I said in chorus. I added, “It is probably something really nasty, like a Dryad or a Tree Golem or some shit. That’s part of the trick. Make the explorers pick the worst thing thinking it was the best thing.”

“I say we go ants. At least we can step on them.” Grunk thought out loud.

“Omish? Big cock wanting to slice you to pieces or billions of boiling death bugs to sting you to death?” I asked.

“Uh… bugs.” Omish frowned heavily.

“BOILING DEATH BUGS IT IS!” I shouted. “That is an arrow to the left.”

“Frowny face. Like a fairy.” Grunk pointed.

“Got it. Arrow straight on.”

Omish ran his eye down the column. “Like a boat? Upside down?”

“Yep, arrow to the left again.” I said.

“Smiling face, but definitely a human. It has exes for eyes.”

“Hilarious,” I grinned. Dead explorers were the best. “Arrow to the right.”

Omish jogged to the other column, “Uh… oh here it is. It is a fish?”

My column only had one thing on it that looked like a fish. I pushed it. The door in the archway to the right swung open slowly, gratingly, as if it was just trying to sound ominous.

“Alright. Bugs.” Omish said to himself as if he was psyching himself up. “I can handle bugs.”

We all gravitated to the center of the room and stared at the door, expecting a flood of ants rushing out to meet us, but nothing happened.

“I guess we have to go to them?” I said.

“If I was an ant minding my own business, a door wouldn’t bug me.” Grunk waved a hand as if it was obvious.

“Pun!” Omish grinned.

“Pun.” I concurred. “Let’s go.”

As we crossed the doorway, we found ourselves in a tunnel. Not another room, but a tunnel? Like a…

“Ant tunnel.” Grunk said.

“Ants the size of wolves.” I said. The ceiling was only inches from my head. At least I did not have to duck. “Hopefully they are busy. Anting. Somewhere else. Let’s get through quick. We may get lucky and this will dump us on the first floor.”

“Wolf-sized ants? I changed my mind, I can’t handle bugs.” Omish said.

I scratched my ear, pulling the tip down to my shoulder absentmindedly. Dried goo flaked off.

“Quick. Quiet.” I retorted. “Follow me.”

I pulled my knife out and headed in. The tunnel curved slightly to the right and up. We followed it upwards, stopping every so often to listen for the ants. All we heard was our own ragged breathing and the internal paranoia whispering sweet somethings along the lines of ‘you are going to die’, and ‘the ants will eat you’, and don’t forget the all time classic ‘you are a failure of goblin and terrible leader.’ The last one was special to me as it was an all time hit. Top 10.

I wanted to shush myself, but an internal monologue runs whether you want it to or not. Also I was distracting myself from the death bugs that we were about to encounter. The tunnel curved left suddenly and I turned it carefully to find an ant a few meters further on. It was the size of a small dog, maybe one of the witches’ cats. It did not sense me, thankfully. It didn’t do much of anything, except stand there, its antennae wiggling back and forth and up and down.

A sentry? It did not see me, or at least it eyes couldn’t pick me out in the dark.

I hugged the wall and sidestepped towards it slowly. The antennas did not reach the wall, and they would let me pass if I timed it right. I watched the pattern. Flick, flick, wave, wave, flick, flick, wave, wave, and… go.

I stepped past confidently. The ant did not move.

Grunk was next. He watched the pattern, and stepped past. The ant did not move.

Omish looked like he was shaking. I waved him forward, trying to encourage him.

He watched the pattern, closed his eyes and stepped past. We all collectively sighed. Thank god ants did not have a sense of hearing. Turned out that must be just as bad as their eyes.

I kept moving forward and the tunnel opened into a vast cavern, crisscrossed with bridges and entryways going for what looked like thousands of meters deep and at least a hundred meters above us. Lines of ants crisscrossed all the flat areas, sometimes in both directions, if there was room enough on the bridge or ledge, sometimes in one direction as if every ant had agreed on the flow. The ants were all the same size as the sentry, except for an occasional ant that was about thirty percent bigger with huge pincers held upwards at the front of their mouth parts. Those were soldiers. Surrounded by drones. Annnnnnnd… any touch would alarm them all.

We were going to die.

And this was the exact moment that my gauntlet decided to turn back on. There was a loud hum, a crackle of purple energy across the knuckles, and the entire thing grew warm.

Huh, that’s new.

My arm was suddenly light again. The hex cores were alive!

I was so elated that it took me a hot second to realize that both Grunk and Omish were feverishly tapping BOTH of my shoulders.

“What!?” I whispered.

Grunk and Omish both just pointed. I looked all around, and illuminated in a wash of soft purple light, every single ant had stopped in place.

They were all looking at the three of us.

“Fffffuuuuuuck.” I sighed defeatedly.

There was a heavy pause.

“…FFFFUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSS…” The ants hissed back in unison.

The Underfell Wizardking does not deal with us. His Supreme Majesty has so many other things to deal with. Like Heroes and Chosen Ones and little Timmy from a slave colony now on a hero’s journey to vanquish the grand evilness of the Underking.

So that means that generally… typically… most often-ish… the Master of the Underfell does not care what we do. As long as our jobs get done.

But that doesn’t mean that our boss, Fat Tits, extends to us the same level of disdain. Oh no, unfortunately, his unctuous ugliness, the grandiose Fattest of the Tits, makes it his life mission to ensure that us goblins stay under his thumb. Supposedly, if he does a good job, he will get a bonus.

Do we get a bonus?

What do you think? My boss’s nickname is Fat Tits! Of course we don’t get bonuses. We get kicked. And hit. And whipped.

“GET OFF YOUR ASSES, BREAK TIME IS OVER, YOU SUBPAR TINY PEEN JACK OFFS!”

That was our Orc boss, Fat Tits. Yelling (normal). Slobbering while yelling (also normal). And his big bouncy oversized orc-boobs were bright red (not normal).

Omish elbowed me lightly in the ribs, an impish grin on his wide face, “Look at Fat Tits. He must be in trouble.”

“I hope so. I *hate* that guy…” I replied. I pushed the last of my simple Moo sandwich into my cheek, chewing the last of the spicy delectable preserved meat sandwich thoughtfully.

Grunk smirked, “Who doesn’t?”

“Whoever butters his tits,” I joked, still mid-chew.

“GET OFF YER ASSES AND GET OUT TO LEVEL TWO, WITCHES ARE CONJURING AT BAY ORANGE.” Fat Tits continued to loudly slobber (again normal).

How that fat bastard managed to even talk around those massive lower incisors of his, I will never understand.

I hastily dropped my canvas lunch sack back into my small locker, grabbed my tool belt and my Enchanted Power Gauntlet Mark 4 (the best) and heaved a huge sigh at Omish, since he was still fiddling with his salad (gross) and not getting his shit together (dumb).

“Bay Orange, Omish, come on!” I rolled my eyes at him as I buckled my tool belt across my chest. “Fat Tits is going to beat you.”

“Fat Tits won’t notice me. He is stalking down Team Snake.” Omish waved me off. “I will catch up.”

I glanced in the general direction Fat Tits was headed, and sure enough, he was chasing down Team Snake. Fuckers. They were our biggest competition. I mean Team Ratking was close too, but Snake really rubbed me the wrong way. Their lead, Dizzi, was hot as hell, but a total see-you-next-tuesday. Power hungry and just… plain mean.

“Forget your salad, Om. We gotta roll to stay on top of Snake. They are having themselves a slowdown.”

“Fine.” Om shook his head and gathered his things. “Maybe we can take the leaderboard today.”

As if on cue, Grunk shouted from the break room doorway, “You dumbshits coming?”

I pushed my right hand into my oversized EPGmark4 (again, the absolute best), and I felt the hum as its hex cores spun up and tickled my fingertips. My gauntlet was nearly an antique, but it had been made by a master hexsmith, the greatest of my grandfather’s generation, Mickroof the Resolute. There was a rumor he created a Mark 5 EPG before his death, but I think that was wishful thinking for those diehard Mickroof fan boys. Sure I was one of those too, but I was at least realistic that what I had was the absolute best.

“YOU GOBLIN FUCKS NEED TO MOVE OUT!” Fat Tits yelled from the other side of the break room.

Omish tapped my shoulder, and we jogged to catch up to Grunk. Grunk grinned at two of us like a loon and we headed to the demarcation room (what we all called the Demark).

“Think we should add a fourth?” Om asked again. “We are the only Gob team without one.”

“There is no replacing Dink, Om.” Grunk shook his head, his pitbull like jowls shaking in emphasis. “We do just fine as a three Gob team.”

“But we are the *only* three Gob team… how can we expect to keep our lead?” Om complained.

I held up my gauntlet, its knuckles glowing blue. “We beat the shit out of them.”

“I don’t think we can beat up our competition, Teller.”

I laughed. “We could…”

Grunk turned into the cavernous Demark and beelined toward the massive bowl of the orange bay. Omish and I followed closely behind. The entire area was a hum of activity. Other Goblin teams filed through the space, either heading towards their work assignments or coming back to have their break. The conjuring bays were arrayed around the circular cavern hall evenly, each bay was like a carved out vertical bowl in the wall, each wall painted its designated color. A team of witches stood at each one, their projection crystals between them, sometimes lashed to wood trusses, sometimes nestled into a stone base, it depended on the witch team leader’s preference. Bay Orange was manned by Clementine, a human witch with a mostly Elvish coven. The three elves were named after flowers, but I could never keep them straight. Something like Rose, Orchid, and Tulip? No, that wasn’t it. Daisy, Poppy, and Lily? Fuck. It didn’t matter.

“Hey Ms. Clementine,” I yelled.

The tall human witch turned, and like most witches, she was a knockout. Even my Goblin boy parts felt a tingle looking at her. I knew it was the enchantment she held, but still. So hot. The tight clothing helped too. Goblins and humans are not so different. Outside of the skin color. And the height. And the weight. And the facial features. And the smell… ok, just about everything was different. But woof. Like all the witches manning the bays, Clementine and her elves were sex on a stick.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite Gobs. How is Team Kelpie this fine morning?”

Omish grinned like a schoolboy. “Good ma’am.”

Grunk just made a noise that sounded like he either was about to orgasm or take a dump in his leather shorts. Either way, he turned away embarrassed.

“Ready to go, Ms. Clementine.” I said. “Send us on our way.”

There was a loud boom from the Blue Bay, and we collectively turned to see a team of Goblins pour out of the shimmering portal, with smoke billowing inwards behind them. A couple were limping, and another was missing an arm. The fourth was cursing up a storm, punching the ground. He was *pissed.*

“Damn it, third team today. Word is that there is a party of adventurers wrecking havoc on level one. Some hotshot mage is in the party. Apparently, he really likes using fire magic.”

“We are headed to two, right?” Om said, his nerves showing. His father had died in a confrontation with an adventurer.

“Yes, yes, you will be safe my little Gob.” Clementine winked, and I almost lost my composure. Omish definitely lost his, and he turned away, following Grunk’s earlier example.

Clementine giggled, and started her incantation. Her elvish cronies joined in on the chant, the air wavered, the rocks vibrated under our feet, and then their crystal flashed brilliantly as the cusp of the portal flared to life. It was taller than a troll’s height, easily fifteen feet tall as it was wide, and it took on a mirror-like sheen.

“Good luck, boys.” Clementine crooned.

We stepped through to find…

Chaos.

Two walls had caved inwards, and a wide blue shimmering pool between them had an entire colony of Kappa arguing loudly between. The ceiling did not show any damage, so all in all, it appeared to be highly salvageable. I couldn’t make out what the group of Kappas were gesticulating at each over, but it sounded like they were debating on how to save their families from an imminent collapse.

“Oy!” I shouted raising both of my hands into the air. “We are here to salvage the situation. Who is in charge?”

An elder Kappa limped towards us with a cane in one hand and carrot in the other. He took an absentminded bite of his cane before he realized the carrot was in the other hand. He spat out1 splinters.

“Oh thank the Underking. You are the damage control I requested?” The old Kappa asked aloud, having to shout over the arguing that had continued even with three goblins stepping out of nothing into their midst.

“We are Dungeon Management Team Kelpie. We prefer the term Dungeon Management.” I said.

“Oh sure, put on airs,” the Elder Kappa grumpily turned his lip. “Can you fix the walls?”

“Yes.” I replied.

“Is the wall damaged?” He asked.

“Yessss?” I trailed off.

“And you will control it?” He added.

This old fuck can get bent. “Yes,” I sighed.

“Then damage control it is.”

“Thanks. Can you get your people out of the way?” I asked with a sneer.

The elder Kappa turned and whistled loudly, and the entire cohort dove into the pool, heading for the deeps. He waved his carrot at me like it was his dick and jumped in last, quickly disappearing from view.

“What an asshole,” I grumbled. “Oy, Omish. Lights?”

Omish pulled his Lighttosser from his back holster and cranked it back. He gently placed a triad flare into the slot and fired it towards the ceiling. The flare spread widely, and each dart hit a different part of the ceiling, throwing off a bright yellow light.

The space was wide, the bright blue pool was lit from within, even though the depths were just a black as any pool of deep water. The walls that had caved inwards were encroaching the edges, the light of the water illuminating the lower half of the walls, while the flares cast their yellow light in a diffused way, only being noticeable once the blue light faded to nothing.

Omish made a face, “Wonder what caused them to cave inwards like that?”

“Pressure,” Grunk nodded knowingly.

“Pressure?” Omish was younger, so he hadn’t seen as much as Grunk had. Grunk was nearly twenty, which was ancient in Goblin years. Omish was only nine. I was between them, at fourteen years old, so a full adult. Om had a year or so before he would be considered an adult himself, stature and thin black hair on his upper lip aside.

“Think of the room like a box. If you squish the top, the pressure has to go somewhere. The ceiling transferred the load to the walls and the weakest walls caved first. The other two held… we need to check them out but see how the ceiling is braced? Those stanchions and arches? Then look over here,” Grunk pointed. “These arches were put in to be wider, fewer stanchions, right?”

“I see it.” Omish nodded.

“Those were designed to fail first. Warning the inhabitants to get out. Dwarves know what they are doing. Great engineers.”

“You ever met one?” I asked.

“A dwarf? No.”

“You wish you could be an engineer, Grunk?” Omish followed.

“Ha. No. I fix things. Over time, you learn to appreciate good design. Because when we have to fix bad design, our jobs are much, much, worse,” Grunk grinned his trademark veteran smile.

“I will clear the rubble,” I said. Not like Grunk or Omish had anything to say, as we each had our role to play. I was the earth mover, hence my EPGmark4. Grunk was the builder, and Om was the apprentice, which meant he held shit, levered shit, and shot shit when we told him to. He had nothing enchanted on his person, except maybe a talisman or two under his clothes, but we all wore those. Basic safety in these parts.

I ran my left hand over my oversized gauntlet on my right hand and flicked my fingers deftly over the nubs and runes that told the limited intelligence of the hex engine designed in the metal on what I needed it to do. In this case, I selected two hexes, Earth Melt and Shift To. Earth Melt would take the rubble, and aggregate it into super heated floating balls of molten earth. Then Shift To would push them into block shapes, set to a standard size that Grunk preferred. Then Grunk would use his enchanted hammer and chisel to carve and place the bricks in quick successive series to rebuild the wall while I braced it where needed. We would iterate this way multiple times until the walls were back to what they had looked like before. No one would have ever known they had collapsed.

I sighed. I guess we were damage control after all. Dumb Kappa with his stupid carrot got in my head.

“But where did the pressure come from?” Omish shook his head. “I mean, something had to create that pressure, right?”

“What’s above us, Grunk?” I asked, using my fingers inside the gauntlet to select which piles of rubble to start with. The first chunks started to accumulate a few feet above their resting place, and the heat increased. Heat waves rose from the mass as it took on its round orb shape. The first blocks emerged from the side and landed near Grunk.

“Probably that fire mage Ms. Clementine mentioned, if I were to make a guess. Probably a big explosion. Air expands rapidly, all that force has to go somewhere. Up and out. And in this case, down.”

“If I was a fire mage, I would just melt my way to the bottom of the Underfell,” Omish joked.

Grunk pulled his hammer from his belt and tapped his chisel against its wide side, inscribing what he wanted. He swung at the top block, and it flew upwards to where the stanchion columns had failed, pushing their way in and re-adhering in place as if they had their own self contained mortar, which they kind of did, since they were still so hot.

I grunted as my hand became exceptionally heavy, which meant there was something stuck in the pile of rubble. “Om, take your crowbar, and push it under that column section, eh?” I pointed at the stuck piece.

Om nodded, and Grunk continued. “You wouldn’t be able to melt your way down. The walls, the floors, the ceilings, all of it was crafted to prevent that from happening. And to blast your way through with explosions would fail quickly. You would end up either blowing yourself up, or exposing something that kills you just as quick. Imagine opening up a floor to find a deep well underneath you? Or a sleeping monster? Or the Underfell Wizardking himself? No… adventurers know that if they want the loot and the want to live to enjoy the loot, they will need to play by the rules.”

“What if they aren’t in it for the loot?” Omish pressed as he tried to find a place to place his crowbar.

“Like if they are after the Underking?”

“Yeah.”

“They die. There is a reason the Underking has been the Underking for three hundred years…”

“Ha, true!” Omish laughed as he pushed down on his bar. The column shifted upwards, and I felt my gauntlet lighten.

There was a huge crack, and the column split at the top. Omish scrambled backwards afraid he was about to be crushed, and I waved my gauntlet forwards to ensure I pushed any remnants away from him. Our fourth, Dink had died in a collapse. And it was too soon to lose another team member of Team Kelpie.

“Om? You ok?” Grunk called.

The dust settled, and Omish was sitting on his butt staring at the column. It had been hollow.

“What the hell?” I said. “Who in their right mind builds a hollow column?”

Grunk put his hammer back into his belt and helped pick Omish off the ground.

Omish smiled sheepishly, “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

I lowered my gauntlet after the last rubble chunk shifted to a white hot brick and floated to its waiting spot among the others. I stepped up behind Grunk and Omish and looked on. In the hollow of the column, there was a small white chest. It looked like it was crafted from wood, but the surface nearly glowed it was so white.

“Its hailstone.” Grunk breathed heavily, his voice full of wonder.

“No.” I said. It couldn’t be hailstone. That was rare. Rarer than rare. That was like Wizardking bedroom chambers kind of rare. “Surely, its just a trick of the light.”

Grunk stepped cautiously over the rubble, doing his best to make sure it didn’t shift. He laid his hands on the chest and lifted it from its hollow.

“What if it had vaporized you?” I asked.

“Then you would know not to touch it, eh?” Grunk said flatly. “This is hailstone. Look at the etching. Its old. Ancient.”

My gauntlet seemed to vibrate as I drew closer, like I had an angry bee in my palm.

Omish stood and looked on in awe. He had been raised on stories of the magic of the Underking, the power that he had wrought in the Underfell. Hailstone, the living rock of the dwarves, said to have built the very foundations of the Earth. What was a chest made of hailstone doing on level two of all places!? It would be like going to the surface and finding a chunk of moon rock just sitting in your garden. Not impossible, but highly improbable.

“Should we open it?” I asked Grunk. “What if your face melts?”

“Then don’t put your face over it,” Grunk replied in his flat monotone.

“Gee thanks, Grunk.” I laid it out as sarcastically as I could.

Without recognizing my tone, Grunk flipped the clasp and pushed the lid open slowly.

Inside there was a jewel about the size of a hex core sitting on a small wire enclosure affixed to the bottom of the box. The stone glowed with a purplish light, not the customary bluish light that I was familiar with from my own EPGmark4.

“What is it?” Omish whispered.

My gauntlet felt like it was about to vibrate off my hand. I ran my fingers over the controls worryingly, instinctively turned everything off.

“I have no idea.” Grunk picked it from its wire cage and turned it between his fingers. “It looks like a core?”

“Uh…” I muttered. My gauntlet was vibrating even more violently. I had turned it off, but it was not off. It was violently asserting to me that it was still on. Omish and Grunk where staring at the core between Grunk’s fingers, and not paying attention to me at all. “Guys?”

“Teller…” Grunk turned in time to see my eyes go wide as my right hand, wearing my EPGmark4 literally lifted me off the ground. “Let go!” Grunk yelled.

“I CAN’T!” I yelled at no one in particular. I tried to yank my hand free, but it was like my fingertips were glued to the inside surfaces of the gauntlet, the knuckles were glowing so bright, I had never seen my EPGmark4 do anything like this before. I yanked and yanked, but it ended up with me jiggling about like a marionette, bouncing around on invisible strings, the tips of my large goblin toes inches from the ground. I felt panic. Goblin level panic.

Let’s pause here and explain something critical to understand.

See… most folks have all sorts of emotions. Intelligent beings feel things. Shocker, right? Even Goblins. But some intelligent beings feel things much more distinctively than others. Elves are really good at disassociating, and with long lives, they feel the same feelings over much longer time spans. So they may have mind blowing sex, but it also takes days, so its really spread out. Not worth the time, if you ask me.

A goblin’s life is a fraction of a humans. And we are small, so we die easy. So when we feel things, it tends to be explosive in nature, and very much in the moment. A human feels panic, they figure they either have to fight or run away. When a Goblin feels panic, we figure we either take some motherfucker out with us or we die screaming so at least our killer is deaf for their rest of their life.

I felt Goblin level panic. And the only choice I had was to start screaming.

Omish started screaming.

Grunk started screaming.

GOBLIN PANIC FOR EVERYONE!

And like reality was unrolling in slow motion, I witnessed everything with perfect clarity as it unfolded before my horrified point of hanging-in-the-air observation. All at once, Grunk’s hand inadvertently tossed the purple core upwards in his panic as if the core was a stick of lit dynamite. Omish dove for a pile of nearby rubble, pulling Grunk along behind him as if the old Gob was a bag of oats. An elderly dick-waving Kappa head emerged from the blue pool, his eyes growing wide as the same scene unfolded. And I, my legs dangling like an aforementioned dick, was launched through the intervening space, being pulled by my EPGmark4 (scary as fuck right now), as if I was a smoke trail of a projectile (and that projectile being my aforementioned SCARY AS FUCK EPGmark4).

My gauntlet encased hand flew in front of me, the fingers closed of their own accord around the purple core, and there was a blast of purple light without sound. I landed on the ground roughly, feeling my ribs get bruised against some rubble. Serves me right, right?

It was absolutely quiet, except for the sound of sizzling. I cautiously opened my eyes and noted that all the piles of rubble were smoking, the surface of the pool was steaming, and a headless Kappa elder floated at the surface. There was no blood. His neck had been cauterized shut. Ew. Gross.

“Om? Grunk?” I mumbled, pushing myself upright. My right hand was still folded over into a fist. My EPGmark4 looked the same as it did when it was off, just an inert hunk of armor.

“We are here,” Om called out. “We are ok. You ok, Grunk?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Grunk mumbled. “My ass feels flash fried.”

“Not as bad as the sunburn the Kappa has,” I snickered. It was terrible. But it was also hilarious? I was so confused.

There was an ominous crack from above. The kind of sound you don’t really hear, you mostly felt. That was the sound of bad shit about to happen.

“The ceiling!” Grunk shouted.

I spun my chin from shoulder to shoulder and quickly noted that the other two wall’s arches and stanchions were not only cracked, but crumbling like old paste. This room was about to cave.

“FUCK!” I screamed.

“What? You hurt?” Om yelled back.

“No! There goes our fucking lead!” I shouted.

“Run to the doorway!” Grunk picked Om up and we started to run towards the dark entry way closest to us.

With dawning horror, I realized the entry was was going inwards. Regulation said we should never leave our assigned work area. BUT… our assigned work area was about to cave in. Regulation said we should never head inward, as that is how traps get set off. BUT… were not only heading inward, but running as fast as goblin’s legs could carry them. Double side of holy hell with the fuck sandwich.

I managed to catch up to Grunk and Omish, and the three of us cleared the entryway as the ceiling gave way behind us. We collapsed in the hallway (thank god, its a hallway, traps are usually halfway down), and the reverberations were intense as everything behind us was swallowed by the earth. And we sat, exhaling heavily in our desperate panting as if we had just outran Death himself, and somehow had managed to escape the guy, while he stood there staring dumbly, his hands in his underpants clutching jewels.

“Well not only did we lose our lead,” Grunk sighed. “I think I shit myself.”

I let my head rest against the cool stone. Goblin level panic and all had taken its toll. I sighed, “That’s fun too.”