#catfeetz

General Catfeetz, who had remained silent until then, snickered. “So? Fuck 'em.”

The boss's thick brows lowered, shadowing intense carmine eyes.

“This is a problem.”

“Is it?” Gremix asked, with a note of surprise so obviously feigned that it was almost insulting. “Was this not the plan all along? You were so on board before, Boss.”

The Boss stood, jabbing a finger against the map on the table.

“Yeah. Before that.”

“The plan's already in action, Boss,” Catfeetz said. “The ‘copters already left. It’s too late t' call it off now.” He grinned maliciously.

A deep sigh cane from The Boss, and he eyed both co-trade-princes with a look that could only be described as “tired”.

“I can’t do this with you.”

“Well,” Gremix pointed out, “we’ve already done it without you, haven’t we.” It wasn’t a question.

There was a break of silence, where the only thing that could be heard was the tapping of The Boss's nails on the table as he considered the warlock.

“I’m out.”

It seemed that was the end of it, and The Boss started to the door. But before exiting, he tossed one last aside:

“An’ fuck th’ both a' you.”

They only smiled as the door slammed behind him.

After a silent moment, Gremix nudged Catfeetz’s arm with a robed elbow.

“Sick. D’you hear that? Boss wants t’ fuck us.”

Catfeetz broke out laughing. Was it even funny? Probably not, but Gremix knew how to tickle the undead ice cube’s funny bone. After all, they’d been working together for… how long had it been?

“You’re an idiot, I fuckin’ hate you,” Catfeetz said, wiping his eye in a habitual movement that did nothing considering he couldn’t even produce tears.

Gremix smiled; perhaps the most genuine smile he’d given to anyone who wasn’t Rusco in a long, long time.

“I hate you too, Cat.”

“Hey, congrats on the promotion,” Gremix said as they walked the stone halls together, heading back towards the throne room.

“What?” Catfeetz asked. “Who’s promotin’ me now?”

“Why, Gutshot, a’ course,” Gremix said. “With Boss gone, we take his place as th’ very tippy-top of th’ pyramid. What better time t’ change your title an’ rise above “general”? What have you always wanted t’ be referred to as?”

“What is this, 20 questions? Geez,” Catfeetz grumbled; but it was obvious he was now thinking about an answer, despite himself.

“Imperator Catfeetz,” the death knight decided.

Gremix raised a brow. “Alright. Didn’t give ya enough credit, I was sure you’d pick somethin’ dumb-soundin’. You’ve almost impressed me.”

Catfeetz—Imperator Catfeetz, flashed him a snarky smirk. “Alright, oh Grand one; what would you have picked fer me?”

“Tyrant,” Gremix said immediately.

“Now, that’s rude.”

“You asked.”

“So? What about you, huh? Is there somethin’ even better than grand?”

Gremix shook his head. “Afraid not. I’m quite fond of “Grand Warlock” anyways.”

“It’s gonna look like I’m taking the top an’ you’re jus’ gettin’ the tippy, if I get a nice new title an’ you don’t.”

“I am my own hierarchy,” Gremix said, outstretching his arms so the sleeves of his robes burst to his sides theatrically as he gestured to the palace around them. “I have always been at the top of this pyramid.”

“Okay, dude,” Catfeetz said, leaning away from the exuberant show of imagined grandeur (they were only in a gilt stone hallway, after all). “Up t’ you. I think I like mine though. I’m keepin’ it now.”

“Wouldn’t want anythin’ else,” Gremix said. “In fact, why don’t we announce it at th’ conference? It’ll be easy to relay alongside news of the other… changes in direction th’ Family’s takin’.”

“Good call,” Catfeetz said, pointing at him. “See, that’s why I’m keepin’ you around.”

“Oh, it’s you that’s keepin’ me around?” Gremix chuckled. “Well, I guess so; after all, you’re on top an’ givin’ me the tippy.”

Catfeetz pursed his lips. He tried really, REALLY hard. But he couldn’t—he burst into laughter again.

“Goddamnit, you fucker,” he wheezed.

“No, in this scenario, you’re the fucker; get it straight,” Gremix went on.

Catfeetz continued to crack up, taking a momentary pause in his trek to regain his composure.

“I fuckin’ hate you so much,” he finally said, rubbing a hand down his face and continuing along as Gremix smiled cheekily.

“I know, I know,” Gremix said. “You don’t have t’ confess your feelin’s for me every 20 minutes, I’m flattered, but…”

He didn’t get to continue, cut off instead trying not to fall over at a “playful” shove of the much too physically strong goblin to his shoulder.

“Shut it, we’re gettin’ to the throne room, ya dipshit. I don’t want none a’ your touch-horny followers thinkin’ you’re serious an’ gettin’ jealous of me.”

“Oh, I’m certain they already are,” Gremix admitted, brushing off his sleeve as though somehow Catfeetz had dirtied it. “You get far more one-on-one time with me than any single one of them do.”

“Aw, fuck, you better make sure nobody follows me back then, I don’t want no crazy fangoblin tryin’ t’ kill me. They wouldn’t succeed or even get close to it; but still.”

Their banter ended as they entered the palace’s throne room, where crowds of Gremix’s followers stood around, talking in hushed voices, the room generally sounding confused and maybe a little worried.

Gremix ascended the steps to his throne, then turned to the crowds, who had all started to quiet down, noticing their leader’s arrival.

“Children!” he started, voice projecting such that everyone in the large, crowded chamber could hear him clearly. The last who hadn’t realized him before came to attention, and hundreds of rapt eyes pointed up at the Grand Warlock. “The General and I have a magnificent announcement. We will be presenting it in the Midfields; go, now, and gather any others you find along th’ way.”

“Yes, Master,” the whole room seemed to say in perfect unison. Catfeetz’s brows rose in admiration. Now that was some good leader-work; if they were only standing in perfect grids with straight postures though…

The crowds began to depart, most heading out of the chamber and through the great stone doors that marked the main entry to the palace, others rushing down halls to fetch those who were absent from the announcement.

Gremix descended the steps gracefully, each bare foot stepping without a sound as he bounded down several at a time.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Ladies first,” Catfeetz said, waving an arm ahead of them, towards the entrance doors.

Gremix couldn’t think of a good one, so he conceded and accepted his fate as the lady who went first, and they made their way to the Midfields.

The Midfields, as it was known, was a huge, flat area of nothing, high enough people could see a nice view of the shores of Azshara, the Pleasure Palace, and the Orgrimmar gates over the tops of the clutter of buildings below. (There were hundreds of homes there before, but the war machine needs materials, after all.)

It was practically jammed with followers by the time Catfeetz and Gremix reached it, and still more were rushing to catch up behind them; everyone atwitter in excited befuddlement as they gathered there so late in the evening. Obviously not even half of the overall troops were there for the proclamation; many being deployed in various base camps and attacks, and many more in bunkers across the water… the Family had grown so fast that there was simply not enough room in the harbor anymore.

“Children! Silence, if you will,” Gremix called out as he and Catfeetz came to the front end of the Midfields; somehow even here, outside and in the open, he projected unnaturally well. As such, the followers, hearing him, stood to attention: Catfeetz’s soldiers straightening their stances and giving a firm salute while Gremix’s simply quieted down, enthralled eyes on their Master as he spoke.

“Our dear old Boss, the great Gutshot, has… departed.”

There were some mutters in the crowd.

“As such, the general and I are taking full control of things from here on out. And we, your beloved co-trade-princes, have chosen a bright new direction for the future of our family!”

Catfeetz stepped forward now—so used to barking commands across battlefields at this point he needed none of Gremix’s magical amplification. “Soon, we goblins will rise above all others! As we grow in power, so do we grow in rank! From now on you maggots will refer to me as Imperator. A new General will be selected soon—but for now…”

Catfeetz and Gremix leaned together, each outstretching the arm on their open sides like cheesy performers and yelled in unison:

“Let’s start our new world with a bang!”

It was eerie; like the sound of the entire planet had gone muted. Then, a rumbling began. Low at first, but soon enough it became a horrible, dissonant roar—and the sky flashed suddenly into bright, fiery orange. Behind the two gesturing leaders, in the not-so-distant distance, Orgrimmar was, within moments, entirely engulfed by explosion. The giant ball of flame seemed to move in slow motion, taking what seemed like forever to transform into a cloud of ash and smoke that blocked their view of what had become of the city. The general consensus among the crowd was that the Horde capitol was pretty much fucked.

“Soon, the world will bow to Goblin, and Goblin shall bow to no one!”

They cheered, they applauded, and they celebrated the beginning of a new era.

Many drinks were had by all, chunks of people splitting into different parties—Gremix and Catfeetz ended up with the one that headed back to the palace to tap into the celebratory kegs stored in a room among the cool cellar-like dungeons. The two leaders, however, eventually broke off from the crowd, both nearly having to peel tipsy, fervent followers off of themselves to escape. They headed up to the war room to make sure they had the next step in eventual world domination down; dictatorship never rested, after all. Drixzy followed close by Gremix, her clicking boots and Catfeetz’s stompy ones an intimidating cacophony as the dark three strode through the passages. (Irrelevantly, Gremix, in contrast to his companions, preferred soft-soled shoes or none at all.)

Tipsy conversation of other things overtook any actual planning when they got there, however.

“Man, can y’ even imagine how many useless orcs an’ trolls an’ other bullshit people we jus’ took care of?” Catfeetz cackled, humoring himself by sticking as many pins into Orgrimmar on the map as possible, the paper becoming useless shreds beneath them.

“It’s quite a feat,” Gremix agreed. “T’ think th’ Alliance couldn’t accomplish in all that time what we jus’ did so swiftly.”

Gremix cast a look to Drixzy before turning back to Catfeetz—a detached, nondescript voice seemed to speak in the back of her head. “Obey.”

“In fact, Imperator,” Gremix said, coming to Cat’s side and placing a hand on his thick forearm. “What’s a celebration of such a feat without a gift of good will between the leaders of th’ new goblin empire?”

“A gift?” Catfeetz snorted. “Sorry, Grem, I didn’t get ya anythin’ in return.”

“That’s more than fine.” Gremix gave him a sly smirk. “If you enjoy it, that’s all the return I need.”

“Oh yeah?” Catfeetz asked, curious brow rising. “What is it, huh?”

“I’d like for you to spend the night in my palace. Our deluxe guest suite can be truly decadent,” Gremix said, dropping his hand and stepping back towards Drixzy, then running a demonstrative fingertip from very low on the front of her torso all the way up to her chin in a soft caress that made her gasp silently.

Catfeetz seemed to take a moment to process what was being said, but slowly a smile grew on his lips until he bore his teeth in full wicked grin.

“For real?” he asked in disbelief.

Drixzy’s ears lowered ever so slightly. “Obey”. She had no choice, did she? It was for The Master.

“Jus’ for th’ rest of the night, ‘a course,” Gremix said. “I do need it back in the morning.”

The death knight’s lichfire-blue eyes flicked to Drixzy. Cruel eyes. Cold eyes. Hungry eyes. “Finally! I knew ya couldn’t hold out on me forever.”

“Yep, you wore me down,” Gremix said with nearly tangible sarcasm. “If you’ll excuse me, now, I have other things to attend to before I retire, myself. Drixzy, take our dear Imperator to th’ guest suite, and do make sure he’s completely comfortable before you deign t’ leave.”

Drixzy pulled in a breath. “Yes, Master.”

He was almost half out the door before he spun on his heel, pointing a finger and moving it back and forth between both of them.

“The blindfold—”

“Stays on, yeah, I get it,” Catfeetz scoffed, waving the warlock off as he stood to follow Drixzy from the room. “Only part of a chick’s face I care about’s still perfectly accessible, anyway.” Drixzy crinkled her nose in disgust.

Gremix nodded, and headed off down the hall, Drixzy and Catfeetz heading in the opposite direction. With every clack and thump of boot closer to the guest suites, Drixzy could feel another ounce of dread weighing on her. Not that she was going to disobey or even dare to say anything, but she reserved her right to not be happy about following some demands.

She could sense the awful goblin’s eyes on her back as they walked, the man tracking a few steps behind to get a good look and clearly already mentally undressing her. A shudder ran down her spine, but they reached the room in question and Drixzy opened the door, waving him inside.

“Your accommodations, Imperator.”

“Not all of ‘em,” he corrected, and scooped an arm around her waist, pulling her in and slamming the door behind them.

It was… not great, or at least at first. Drixzy was essentially so disinterested in the newly-promoted death knight that in combination with what was surely a ridiculously large package for such a small man, the overall friction situation was not very enjoyable. It certainly didn’t help that touching his skin was like touching flesh-textured ice—or that just before they started, he had commented that the candy you’re not allowed to have always turns out to be the most delicious. She couldn’t say it was exactly a flattering comment.

But then, as Catfeetz leaned in to run a cold tongue up her neck, Drixzy felt that familiar, dull feeling that happened just before a mental message from her master came through. “Touch”, it said this time. She furrowed her brows in uncertainty but then perked, noticing a green glow from behind the man’s shoulders where her hands rested. She shifted one up to take a glance at her wrist, and sure enough, there was an intense radiance coming from the runes thereupon that seemed to morph from light to a physical vapor, which drifted slowly up just a bit before appearing to be sucked into Catfeetz’s flesh.

Suddenly, she understood why Gremix had left her with such an otherwise vile task.

As the fel vapor emanated from her wrists behind the death knight, so too did it seem to flow into her own body; unexpectedly and a little begrudgingly, she found herself quite enjoying herself, (if only physically, but that was enough.) Able to get more into it, she got to work on the task at hand: letting the magic seep into Catfeetz for as long as possible. The longer they went, the more he absorbed, and the more dazedly those lichfire eyes leered at her, only making her job all the easier.

By the time Drixzy left the guest suite, the sun had risen, and she had just finally managed to wipe out the Imperator’s seemingly endless energy (much assisted by her Master’s gift affecting Catfeetz’s sensation situation along with her own.) He was utterly knocked out, to her surprise; she didn’t even know the undead man slept to begin with, but found herself glad for it, uncertain just how much longer she could have kept that up.

She knocked upon the door to the Grand Warlock’s chambers, waiting for the sound of his smooth voice to call out an “enter” before opening it. It was obvious by the tone of his voice he knew who was there, and he didn’t so much as bother turning from the mirror where he was switching out earrings before addressing her.

“I presume you’ve succeeded, if you’ve dared return t’ me.”

“Yes, Master.” Drixzy’s voice was rigid, her ears slightly downturned. Gremix peered aside at the woman, and, finishing his task, turned and headed towards her with outstretched arms, much to Drixzy’s surprise. She did not hesitate to close the rest of the distance between them and squeeze him in as tight an embrace she could without hurting the warlock, burying her face into the robes at his chest.

“Oh, Drixzy, my dear Drixzy,” he cooed, stroking fingers through her hair and leaning his head down to give her a gentle kiss atop the head, “I know it wasn’t th’ most fun of jobs, but you understand why it needed t’ be done, don’t you?”

Drixzy nodded into him.

He squeezed her back in a much weaker return embrace before they broke apart, Drixzy automatically taking it upon herself to re-neaten the embroidered robes she had shifted from their perfect aesthetic positioning.

“You did an excellent job, my girl.”

“Thank you, Master.”

After the Imperator woke and left with his troops later that afternoon, Drixzy, finally, got to spend some nice time with Gremix again. Catfeetz’s forces were deployed to scour the ruins or Orgrimmar for any survivors, salvageable materials, or, though doubtful, Horde soldiers. Gremix’s instead worked tirelessly in the dark labs and various chambers dotting the halls—on what, Drixzy was not told. Nor were any of those working on it, oddly enough. The Grand Warlock had many different teams working on many different things that made no sense alone; but together, apparently they would form the next big step.

But she hardly cared about all that. Finally, she was there with him again upon his throne: draped across his lap like a pet, stroking her fingers down his chest lovingly, while his hand idly caressed the tight leather around her legs. Sometimes, his fingers moved just ever so slightly too far up and brushed against the exposed skin of her upper thigh—“accidentally”, but with each gentle touch she felt the very deliberate rush of Fel energy sending tingles through her whole body and making her crave him just that much more. He was teasing her on purpose, and it was a wonderful kind of torture… just like the old days, before—

“Rusco!!”

Drixzy internally groaned.

“M-Master, Rusco is here to—”

The door guard was trying to chase down the new arrival to do the introduction proper, but Rusco, at full sprint and with a gleaming dagger in each hand, apparently didn’t care about formalities.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHI—”

With a loud THWACK, the knife-brandishing rogue was kicked straight in the face with a heavy, hoof-toed boot, the impact tossing him like a doll several feet across the ground. Drixzy, on instinct, had leapt from her spot immediately upon sensing a threat; and reacted how she was trained to: protect the Master.

“Drixzy,” Gremix said imploringly.

Her ears shot up. “I’m sorry, Master, he had knives, I—”

“No, no, you did wonderfully, my dear, but remember,” Gremix said, standing and placing a hand on her shoulder, “we’re gentler with Rusco, yeah?”

“Yes, Master. My apologies, Master.”

A long moan came from aside, Rusco shakily sitting up and holding a hand to the side of his head in pain.

“Geez, what th’ fuck’re those shoes made outta? Bricks?” he groaned. He pulled his hand away from his temple and dizzily looked at it. Not surprisingly as guessed by the stinging pain, a dark red stain had wet his fingers. He tried to look around for his knives, but his head was so out of wack from the hit he could barely make out the gleam of the blades against the dark stone floor. It hardly mattered, as guards had already retrieved and confiscated the weapons by the time he figured out where they’d clattered away to; and to his chagrin, Gremix was approaching him with his classic, haughty-looking hands-folded-behind-his-back stance.

“My darling Rusco, how have you been?” Gremix asked, leaning slightly over Rusco as he came to a stop just a couple feet ahead of him.

“Cut th’ shit,” Rusco spit, pressing his hand back against his bleeding head. “You destroyed Orgrimmar!”

“Oh, yes,” Gremix said with a smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

“There were people there! Hundreds—maybe thousands of people! Innocent citizens! Kids!” Rusco yelled, the indignation cracking his voice. “You murdered them all!”

“Not all,” Gremix corrected, straightening his posture and waving his hand in a gesture towards some followers who had, prior to Rusco’s arrival, been idly chatting. “Those two over there are from Orgrimmar. In fact, many of our newest recruits are.”

One of the followers Gremix had mentioned chimed in; “yeah, there were fliers goin’ ‘round the slums. Warnin’ to get outta Org before th’ day. Said to keep it down-low—goblins only.”

Rusco looked appalled.

“Only g… what?! Even then, not all of th’ goblins coulda possibly gotten away! What about th’ ones that didn’t see th’ fliers? What about people who’d jus’ arrived?” He winced, his own voice causing his head to pound, the blood seeming to gush more from it the more upset he got.

“Such is the price of war, Rusco,” Gremix said, a faked sadness in his tone.

“This ain’t a war, it’s insanity.”

Gremix crouched in front of Rusco, lifting a hand towards the injured side of his head.

“Don’t you touch me, you… you…” Rusco tried to shove the hand away but still hadn’t seemed to reclaim his ability to not see double, missing terribly and instead just gently smacking an ear as the warlock’s hand successfully found its place on the bloody boot-wound. He squeezed his eyes shut, which sent another pound of pain through his skull, but as he had agitatedly expected, a warmth came from the warlock’s palm, and within moments, the pain had mostly resided, Rusco’s eyes finally able to focus as the world stopped spinning.

He pulled away, nose crinkled as he now successfully swatted the hand away and scrambled to stand.

“Now you made a mistake, idiot—”

What mistake that was, Rusco didn’t get to say, finding himself cut off by a pair of lips abruptly pressed against his own.

All that bristling rage, all the fury and hatred seemed to melt away like wax in the summer sun, and instead he found himself nearly sinking into the bastard’s arms. Drixzy, not far away, watched with a scowl as the violet gem centered at Rusco’s throat upon the delicate, ivy-like collar fused to his neck glowed in deep purple pulses. She scoffed, sure she’d never understand why Rusco was allowed to be touched and even have an artefact when he hadn’t even been Blessed.

Mouths pulled apart just slightly, a thin strand of spit hanging between them for a second before splitting away; heavy-lidded violet-blue eyes stared into fel-flaming magenta and Rusco searched his mind.

What was he mad about again? How long had they been kissing? When did he get here?

Rusco stared blankly at Gremix.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

“Because you missed me, silly.”

Rusco’s eyes squinted in doubt, but for some reason he could simply not remember what he was so sure was important just moments ago.

“Why don’t we head to my chambers,” Gremix suggested, his hand sliding down Rusco’s back and finding a comfortable spot of flat ass to squeeze, “and I’ll give you a proper welcome?”

Rusco found himself mildly agitated at his sudden forgetfulness; but somehow, even more than usual, he just couldn’t resist the warlock’s advances.

“Fine,” Rusco said, trying not to sound too eager despite the fact that the longer they stood so close the more he wanted it, “but after, I’m yellin’ at you. About somethin’. Once I remember what it was.”

“Of course,” Gremix said, leading Rusco away with an arm scooped behind him.

It was odd. Rusco had only meant to stay for the afternoon, or perhaps even less, a faded memory seemed to tell him; yet there he was, sprawled in a huge comfortable bed next to an actual evil villain after fucking for the… how many times? In fact, how many days had he been there? Or had it been weeks? He only felt entirely sure it wasn’t the same afternoon. He found himself once more garbed in Gremix's weird stocking fetish crap, though free to wander the creepy labyrinthine halls of the palace; but strangely, having no desire to leave. Perhaps it was just nice to sleep in a bed again after trekking around doing… whatever he had been doing before he returned. What was he doing? Why had he left? Rusco sighed, staring at the canopy as green glows and shadows danced upon it as though the crystal that lit the room were a fire instead. Did that always happen? He tried to remember the room full of pillows he used to be imprisoned in, the crystal brazier in the corner by the bars… he squeezed his eyes shut, his head starting to ache. Whatever. It seemed like too much effort to think about it.

The marching could be heard long before the troops arrived at the great stone doors of the palace. Grids of perfectly systematized soldiers marched into the gilded chamber, led by Imperator Catfeetz, his replacement general, Gaztonne, and Gaztonne's own selection of lieutenant, Niknack—who Rusco, having come to peek into the throne room at the sound, recognized as the woman who had happily splashed boiling oil on a man's bare skin at Catfeetz's command. His nose crinkled and he glanced to Gremix, who had been lazing in his big gaudy chair expectantly.

“Imperator,” Gremix said with a nod of acknowledgement.

Catfeetz gave Gremix a lazy salute, the rest of the troops all instead giving him rigid, trained ones.

“I have some fun news,” Catfeetz said with one of his usual nefarious grins.

“Go on,” Gremix prompted, waving his hand. “I don’t have the patience for chit-chat. Did you find her or what?”

“We sure did,” Catfeetz laughed. “Madame Steelknuckle was located along with some other rebels in a cavern Northeast of th' harbor. Sneaky bitch found a nice li'l hidey hole, but I’ve got ships an’ cannons at the ready t' take her an' the rest of that stupid rock out at our command.”

Gremix stroked a finger down his jaw in thought. “Perhaps we shouldn’t kill her quite yet,” he suggested.

“What? Why not?” asked Catfeetz, aghast.

Gremix scanned the troops behind Catfeetz, and his own followers chatting in hushed voices around the perimeter of the chamber.

“We should discuss in private,” he said. Catfeetz pursed his lips, but complied, turning to Gaztonne.

“Report to the temp barracks outside the palace an' await further command.”

“Sir, yes, sirrrrr,” Gaztonne said with a salute, turning to the troops and barking the command to move out. The army turned on its heel, the perfect squares of goblin soldiers marching out of the throne room in a measured rhythm of boot-stomps. Gremix and Catfeetz began to head down towards the hall… that is, the exact hall Rusco had been peeking from.

Hurriedly pulling his head back, Rusco made a dash for the nearest branch off from the hall, slipping behind a wall just as the villains entered the passage. He pressed himself back, hoping desperately they wouldn’t turn there.

Luckily, they passed by, Rusco going unnoticed as they talked in low voices.

“What th' fuck, man, I thought we had this down already,” Catfeetz grumbled.

“I assure you, I’ve thought this over quite a lot,” Gremix said. “I think once I explain, you’ll understand why I think it’ll be better this way.”

Catfeetz shook his head, stuffing bony hands into uniform pockets. “If ya say so…”

Their conversation cut off as the door to the war room shut behind them.

Rusco watched the hall around the room for a moment. Nobody seeming to be around, he began to step out back into the main passage, but was unexpectedly turned by a rough hand on his shoulder.

Shoved back against a wall by his neck, Rusco had a good guess who it was before his eyes even caught a glimpse of her.

“What do you think you’re doin', little sneak?” Drixzy asked in a sinister coo. “Did Master give you permission to stalk him? Or do you jus’ have nothing better to do? I'm sure my darling pets could use another hand scrubbing the ballroom floor by nailbrush.”

“Sounds great,” Rusco said, grabbing at Drixzy’s arm to try to pull her hand away. “But I—nngh—let GO!”

Drixzy leaned in reaaaaaaaally close, the tip of her green nose touching his.

“Leave.”

She released him, and he shook himself off, rubbing at his throat. Oh yeah, he thought as his fingers traced over familiar intricate metal filigree—he’d forgotten that he was still wearing that collar. Just another thing that slipped his mind.

Rusco scoffed. “Whatever,” he said, shrugging and plodding off down another of the many halls, that he could swear there were more and more of every day. “The walls are soundproof glass an' all covered from inside so even if I was stalking him, there’s no use anymore.”

Drixzy merely sneered and watched him until he was out of sight before heading to the war room door herself and standing guard.

“Yeah, I guess,” Catfeetz muttered, leaned back casually with his arms rested on the back of the war room sofa to each side of him. “I still think bombing her out would be more fun, though.”

“Trust me, Cat. You know I wouldn’t lead us astray.”

Scoffing, Catfeetz conceded. “Fine, fine. Tomorrow mornin', then. I wanna be the one t' kill her when we do, though.” Catfeetz stuck a finger towards Gremix pointedly.

“I wouldn’t dream of gettin' in your way,” Gremix said, pausing ahead of Catfeetz, where he had previously been pacing as they spoke. “Well… If you’ll assist me in an act of humorous irony, that is.”

“Irony?” Catfeetz raised a brow. “The hell you talkin' about?”

“Back in the day, the Steelknuckle militia would give each other celebratory smooches upon a well-won victory; if you recall.”

“No, you dipshit, I don’t recall an' you know that.” Catfeetz frowned, doubt in his eyes. “Sounds like bullshit though.”

“Oh, of course,” Gremix said, feigning forgetfulness. “You can’t remember th’ times from before you died. It was such a charmin’ tradition an’ you used t’ take part in it so often, what a shame.”

“I kissed dudes?” Catfeetz scoffed in disbelief. “Now, that don’t sound right. I think yer jus’ makin’ this up cuz you wanna kiss me.” He grinned. “That it?”

“Please,” Gremix sighed, giving Catfeetz a stare of incredulity. “You’ve seen my taste in men, and it’s certainly not…” Gremix gestured to Catfeetz in general. “…any of this.”

Catfeetz’s head tilted back and he narrowed his eyes with an amused half-smirk up at Gremix. “Hey! Now you’re almost offendin’ me. You sayin’ your gay ass wouldn’t enjoy gettin’ some a’ this?”

Gremix snorted. “There would only be one way to find out, wouldn’t there?” He gave a shrug of apparent defeat along with an exaggerated sigh of “but ya can’t even let me have a small peck’s worth of fun.”

Catfeetz snickered. Just more of those silly suggestive conversations with Gremix, right? “Fine, I guess, I’m gonna believe you that it’s a thing an’ humor your stupid in-joke… but jus' real fast so you’ll shut up.”

Gremix smiled, leaning in to the death knight's face, where said death knight had shut his eyes and crinkled his nose in preparation for the disgusting act. Two surprisingly warm hands—Catfeetz could barely feel temperature, how were they so warm?—rested upon his bony cheeks, pulling him ever so much closer… Also surprisingly, the warlock's lips were incredibly soft, just like a woman’s. And the way he moved his thumbs at Catfeetz’s temples was so relaxing that the cold soldier felt suddenly very… distracted.

Gremix pulled away a little bit to observe his work—with this feeding and what he had pumped through Drixzy, he must have started to take some control. Catfeetz seemed mildly drained, but not yet responsive… at least, Gremix thought so, until the dead blue gaze (beginning to seem a teeny bit more teal) flicked up to him and two powerful arms pulled Gremix down atop his lap.

Gremix, ever the trooper, kept his grip on Catfeetz’s head and kept the magic flowing despite being manhandled. However, now he stared closely into the eyes of what appeared to be quite a different situation than he’d expected.

“So, tell me you didn’t like that, even a little,” Catfeetz said, narrowing eyes which, despite his unanticipated aggression, were getting greener and greener by the moment.

Gremix swallowed, eyes drifting down slowly, slowly towards the space between them. Yep. That was one big ol’ dead-guy boner barely staying within the confines of its clothing covers. He closed his eyes and took a deep, resolute breath.

“And what if I said I did?”

Rusco really hadn’t gone too far, having simply taken a path of halls that looped him back to the war room from another direction. As he returned, his brows rose; he had expected to find Drixzy guarding the door; not peeping.

“So what’s goin’ on in there?” Rusco asked, causing a clearly very focused Drixzy to yelp, startled.

“I told you to leave!” she said in what could only be described as a whisper-yell. Her face was unusually red, as were her ears. Rusco leaned to one side, tilting his head to try to see what she was looking at. Between two of the curtains blocking the contents of the room from the inside was a small gap, where if you looked at just the right angle…

“NO!” Drixzy shoved him away and stood against the glass wall, back to the peeking-hole. “It’s a very secret important meetin’, um, plans and—"

“C’mon, lemme see!” Rusco said, trying to shove the blindfolded woman out of the way.

“It’s not your business!” she hissed, shoving back against him in resistance.

“Well it clearly isn’t yours either!”

Drixzy opened her mouth, but didn’t necessarily have a retort, considering he was right.

“Fine!” she said, moving away so suddenly that Rusco stumbled forward, barely catching himself before he could faceplant into the thick glass. “But be quiet.”

Rusco smushed his face against the glass where Drixzy had been watching—it was extremely poorly lit in there, unfortunately. Rusco huffed, remembering that the woman had some sort of magic hoo-haa eyes or something. Cheater. He squinted hard, trying to focus into the darkness… finally he saw light catching movement. A bony hand clutching a robed butt, grinding its owner’s hips into theirs… faces pressed together while that eerie green glow Gremix made flowed around. Rusco suddenly realized why Drixzy had been so flustered.

He glanced over at her. “They fuck?”

Drixzy’s face screwed up in disgust. “No! They’re not, I mean… Master is tryin’ to overtake Imperator Catfeetz’s mind, but…” She cleared her throat. “Well, sometimes it feels very, well, sensual, you know? I don’t think that he expected this outcome, necessarily—typically when it happens, the person jus’ loses it in their pants. Catfeetz seems to be of a, uhm, different breed.”

Rusco blinked at her. “Weird. Aaaaand why’s he doin’ that, exactly?”

Drixzy sneered. “It’s none of your business. But if you must know, the answer is so simple maybe even you can understand it: Catfeetz controls half of th’ Family. We control half of th’ family. So if we control Catfeetz…”

“…you control it all.” Rusco’s ears lowered. “He’s really jus’ tryin’ t’ take it all over, huh? The whole world, with jus’ him sittin’ on top?”

“Not quite,” Drixzy said with a twinge of spite. “Him, sittin’ on top—with his nasty little puppy Rusco on his lap.”

“He doesn’t control me,” Rusco scoffed, “an’ he never will. An’ ya know what else? He won’t control Catfeetz! I’m tired of all this control crap!”

Drixzy gave him an incredulous look, but before she could make sense of how he meant, Rusco was already ripping open the door to the war room. Crying out in anger, she dashed and followed him in.

“Stop!” Rusco called, jumping to the fore—that is, in front of the sofa where Catfeetz was in the process of being mind-drugged with a heaping serving of heavy makeout. Startled by the intrusion, Gremix’s focus broke and the green energy flow cut off.

“Rusco!?”

“I’m sorry, Master, he got through—” Drixzy stammered, trying to snatch at a struggling, slapping and scratching Rusco.

“Well get him out of here!” Gremix snapped, glancing back and forth between her and the fel-addled horndog who quickly seemed to be getting even more handsy the longer the fel siphon was cut off.

Struggling, Drixzy huffed “You said be gentle—”

“I changed my mind!” Gremix yelled, and he twisted back and shot one arm forth from the sofa. A couple yards away, a demonic gate containing an abyssal rift rose from green flames on the floor, and before Rusco knew what was going on, Drixzy had shoved him through it.

As Rusco stumbled backward, the last thing he saw was the Grand Warlock suddenly looking very uncertain, laughing nervously as the Imperator flipped him around and onto his back on the sofa; then the scene vanished, the rift closing and the demonic gateway crumbling into dust before his eyes.

“No!” Rusco cried, scrambling forward far too late, only to scoop up the ashy remains of fel magic with a frustrated groan. He looked around to gather his bearings, but wherever Gremix had sent him was such generic a palace hallway that he had no clue which one it was. It didn’t help that rooms weren’t labeled and there was nary a sign to be found in the entire building. He sighed, and clambering onto his feet, he began to run.

He didn’t know where to run, exactly. He just followed his gut: left here, right there, stay straight here and then turn…

He stumbled to a halt, hitting a dead end. Where were dead ends? He didn’t remember there ever not being another direction to go. Was this a part of the palace he’d never been to before? How deep down was he? He glanced around again, then, with a weird sinking feeling, looked down. There was the dusty remains of the demonic gateway.

He’d ended up just where he started.

A small sound came from behind the nearest door, which upon observation stood out from all the others, because of a short chain hanging from the handle: it was wrapped around loosely, but not locked, the padlock dangling open from one end of it. Especially interesting was the fact that this was the only door in the palace halls he’d ever even seen even seemingly intended to be chained shut. Every other one he tried to open simply wouldn’t budge, except for the one to Gremix’s quarters, all locked by some sort of internal or magical mechanism he had yet to figure out.

But he really didn’t have time for that. He had to stop Gremix! From… doing…

Rusco made a loud frustrated sound that echoed through the halls for what seemed like forever before fading away.

“I’m so fuckin’ sick of forgettin’ everything! What th’ fuck is goin’ on here?!” he yelled out at nobody.

He heard the same strange sound from behind the door. A sort of… croak? He eyed it.

No time.

He made a mad dash in the other direction this time. He’d be sure to measure his lefts and rights so there would be no possible way he could end up…

He stopped, panting, and grimaced in defeat at the chained door, which somehow, he had once again returned to.

“Fine!” he gasped, tossing his hands in the air in defeat. “I’m gonna do it! Geez!”

The chain clattered to the stone brick flooring and the metal door’s hinges gave a horrendous creak as it moved, as though it had not been opened in quite some while.

It was… just an unimpressive, mostly empty dungeon containing only one ankle-shackle chained to a wall, a bucket that reeked of its purpose, and one extremely dead-looking goblin splayed out on his front.

It was sort of horrifying, not only because the prisoner was emaciated from obvious starvation and dehydration, but also because as Rusco made wary steps towards the corpse, it moved.

He made a quiet startled noise, taking a step back as the seemingly-dead person’s head shifted slowly, wads of clumped, matted pink hair falling aside to reveal one side of a dry, dying, defeated gaze.

Rusco swallowed. This guy was in an unlocked cell, and his feet were both free of the shackle, but from the looks of it, he simply did not have the life left in him to escape.

“How long… have you been down here?”

A wheeze came from the floor-bound goblin, and a gravelly, dry-throated voice croaked, “always”.

Rusco shook his head. “That’s not true—it can’t be. This place hasn’t existed that long.”

The prisoner showed no sign of acknowledgement, empty eye just staring at him.

Rusco pondered his next course of action. It wouldn’t be right to leave this guy, would it?

“Kill me,” wheezed the withering goblin.

“What?” Rusco’s ears pinned. “No, I’m not gonna—”

“Please!” A sharp, wheezing inhale followed, the goblin clearly having used more effort on increasing the volume of his voice than he had in him, his head flopping aside once more, face again covered by the dirty dreadlocks of pink.

Rusco took a deep breath.

“I ain’t gonna kill you. But I ain’t gonna let ya rot here, either.”

There was no response, but a gentle wheezing sound told Rusco the man was still alive yet.

“I’m gonna save you.”

“You’re in panties,” the goblin wasted his breath wheezing out in reply.

Rusco clenched a fist. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

It was surprisingly easy to heft the gaunt prisoner onto his back, little weight enough left to make him bearable despite being a decent bit taller than Rusco. But then came the walking, which would have been much less a problem if Rusco could figure out how to get back to the parts of the halls he knew. In tiresome steps, he passed the door to the weak prisoner’s cell three more times before giving another roar of defeat.

“Do you know the way out?” he desperately asked his living cape.

The goblin shook his head ever so slightly, but formed a pointing gesture with one hand which he weakly tweaked in a direction—Rusco tried to follow the sad excuse for pointing, but found himself puzzled, as the guy was apparently pointing to the dead end, where there was nothing but...

“What? The torch thing?”

An extremely weak nod told him his attention was on the desired topic, but Rusco wasn’t going to put money on his companion being able to explain what he meant.

Carefully, Rusco set the guy down, propped sitting against the wall, where his head hung uselessly to one side, unable to upright itself. Then he turned to inspect the torch. It was just like the one from his pillow room, as he remembered it, at least: a golden pole brazier over which a floating green crystal hovered, which was the most common lighting in the whole place. So what was special about this one? He searched the eyes that seemed to slip in and out of consciousness for some sort of clue, but there was nothing.

He kicked it. Nothing. Tried to pull it, push it. Wouldn’t budge. Warily, he reached for the crystal itself, but as his fingers approached it they began to burn furiously and he couldn’t help but draw away, sucking on blistering skin. He groaned, feeling around the walls of the dead end for anything special. But it was just stone, nothing more. Sighing, he looked around one last time—then a glimmer caught his eye. A tiny speck of light bouncing off the gilding that decorated all of the halls that he knew drew his attention to the fact that many of the walls around him right then did not have that. His eyes dropped to the floor where the torch base ended. From it extended a stretch of intertwining golden filigree décor across the stone floor and up the wall, where it turned and continued on horizontally for as far as Rusco could see.

“Ah, you observant dyin’ bastard,” Rusco said with a grin, scooping the other goblin back up onto his back and hurriedly following the gold-plating path through the convoluted halls.

Finally, things started to seem more familiar, the slant of the ground telling him he was ascending and thus growing closer to the ground floor, where surely he’d be able to make heads and tails of things. However, Rusco’s shuffling run slowed to a halt as he looked around again; now all the walls had the gold décor; and even odder, when he turned around, so too did all the walls behind him.

Puzzled, Rusco simply heaved his deathly companion up a little higher to get his grip firm again and trudged forward.

He seemed to be on the right level now; at least, he was fairly certain he was. The air had a different feeling to it aboveground. But he simply couldn’t find his way, and somehow, he hadn’t seen a single other person the whole time. The halls were silent save for Rusco’s shuffling walk for a great deal of time.

Suddenly, Rusco’s ear twitched; to one side, he heard the faintest of sounds, and his head whipped around in excitement—another person? What he was met with instead was a plain door, cracked open just a tiny bit, which shut instantly as his eyes met the two unmatching ones that peered out at him, one over the other.

“Wait!” Rusco shouted, scuffling over towards that door. “Wait, can you give me directions?”

There was no response for a moment, then the door creaked open a tiny bit again, revealing a sliver of a rather short, young, buff goblin wearing rather bizarre leather clothes. Well, bizarre normally, but Rusco could hardly talk in his own getup.

“Yeah, how can I help?” the goblin behind the door asked humbly.

“D’you know which way th’ war room is from here?”

“Oh!” said the goblin, seeming to brighten up at the sheer thought of really being able to help the stranger. “Jus’ follow the hall all th’ way to that end an’ take a left, then th’ third right, fifth left, take the stairs up an’ you’ll see th’ throne room’s arches—”

“That’s good enough, I’ll know from there,” Rusco said, cutting him off. “Thanks.” Once again affirming his grip on the guy he carried, he hobbled away, ignoring the hushed voices from within as the door re-closed behind.

The throne room was in the opposite direction of the war room—ignoring the chit-chat from that side, (followers mingling, Rusco was sure), he beelined for the war room. He set his buddy down hurriedly but delicately before busting into the room again.

However, to his dismay, the only person within was Imperator Catfeetz, who was lounging on the sofa, legs crossed and foot bouncing as he spaced out. In fact, Rusco noticed as he slowly approached, Catfeetz didn’t seem to even realize he was there. There was something off about him. Rusco squinted, leaning in real close to the death knight’s face. Were his eyes always teal? Rusco could have sworn they were blue.

“Hey,” Rusco said, putting a hand on a cold uniformed shoulder, giving the guy a gentle shake. Why had he just been left in there? “Dude. Imp-rotter? Catfeetz.” Rusco shook him harder and harder, until finally just giving in and heaving him off the sofa.

That seemed to do the trick, Catfeetz scrambling up and onto his feet in a start and looking entirely disconcerted.

“What th’—what’s goin’ on? When’d you get here? Where’s—we were plannin’…” Catfeetz’s brows lowered and he looked Rusco over.

“Nice sockies,” Catfeetz said with a smirk. “They go great with your frou frou poet shirt.”

“I don’t have time t’ make fun of Gremix’s taste in harem attire with you,” Rusco said, waving a hand toward the door pointedly. “You need t’ do somethin’! Th’ dude’s tryin’a brainwash you an’ take over th’ whole family, or somethin’!”

Catfeetz stared blankly at the panty-clad goblin. “What’re you yammerin’ about? I’d know if that idiot tried his stupid conversion spell on me.”

“Then explain why you were sittin’ here so zoned out so I could push you over, huh? Why I got teleported outta here after catchin’ you two dry-humping while he gave you a fancy fel headrub?”

Catfeetz barked a laugh. “What’re you talkin’ about? Dry-hu—” Catfeetz froze mid-sentence, his amused grin slowly dropping into a slightly agape look of revulsion. Rusco could almost see the memories clicking into place again as revulsion morphed into pure rage.

“THAT MOTHER FUCKER!”

Rusco didn’t realize the top-heavy military man had that kind of speed in him, but he was already out of sight by the time Rusco rushed out after him. He stumbled ahead, pausing to scoop up his questionably conscious compadre before waddling after the death knight as fast as he could.

The Grand Warlock was reclining in his throne once more, seeming even more content as usual as he ran his fingers across the tight leather worn by his faithful Drixzy, who was again draped across his lap and quite enjoying his touch. Idling high-ranking followers watched in envy, some whispering snide remarks while others only sighed about what a dream she got to live. Truly, Drixzy was the most blessed of followers. She was even given little pets, one of which was tied to the side of the great throne by a leash—Zubert sat obediently, causing no fuss.

Catfeetz's troops had returned at Gremix’s command, and stood in perfect formation, taking up much of the chamber's space. They waited wordlessly for their Imperator to return, Gremix having told them he may be a while.

The silence was broken by heavy, fast bootsteps as they echoed through the stone halls to the left of the throne's staircase-tower. Gremix’s brows furrowed. The only person he could imagine would be wearing rubber soled boots deeper within his palace was—

“Oh, no,” Gremix said, paling as the death knight skid to a pause under the arches just to turn his momentum towards the lounging felcaster, “He’s awake too soon!”

Drixzy leapt from his lap in a flash of purple and blonde, standing between him and the raging Imperator as she drew her knives. Catfeetz roared as he came down upon her and it came to attention that her blades were of little concern to the rampaging man, since a hard, bony fist made solid contact with her face. She was tossed down the staircase with a clatter of metal and pained grunts, rolling down the last few. From aside the throne, her bound boytoy cried out in concern.

Gremix, the moment Drixzy had stood, had made to hide or evacuate, but with nowhere to run he instead glanced hopelessly over the terrified followers and soldiers, who all watched with the clear internal conflict of not knowing whether they were supposed to assist.

Now with Drixzy tossed out of the way, Catfeetz had open access to Gremix. “You stupid asshole, you think you can control me?” he rumbled, teeth bared not in his usual devious grin but a snarl that belonged more on a feral wolf than a goblin.

Gremix gave a nervous laugh, stepping around Zubert and behind his throne. “Drixzy,” he said loudly and perhaps even pleadingly, eyes flicking aside to the woman who though back on her feet was still at the bottom of the stairs, having been intercepted.

General Gaztonne stood in her way, sharp meat cleavers in each clawed hand. “Sorry, hottie,” he snickered. “I don’t think I’m aloooooooowed to let you interfere with th' Imperator—whatever it is he’s doin’.

She scowled, but having grabbed her own daggers off the floor, just went at him—the goal only being to pass by, but the perpetually bleeding rogue was made General for a reason. Clashes of blades and skids of shoes on stone as they struggled and danced around each other was all that answered Gremix's call.

Unfortunately for him, a fist also did, smashing a chunk off the back of the throne right by Gremix's head. He yelped, circling around further as Catfeetz pursued, the poor guy who remained tied to the seat hunkering down and holding his head close to his body, afraid of being stepped on or tripped over. Gremix couldn’t keep the little circle chase going forever, though.

Determination in his eyes, the Grand Warlock stepped away from the throne and faced the oncoming furious brute. An angry fist made its way straight for his head and… he moved forward, grabbing Catfeetz's face and shoving their lips together frantically.

Drixzy and Gaztonne stopped their standoff mid-fight, all the troops and followers in the chamber just frozen and watching their leaders in absolute confusion.

Beefy arms went to shove Gremix away immediately, but then hesitated, slowly lowering to rest hands instead on Gremix's hips. Catfeetz's eyelids drooped and closed in magically forced contentment. Peeking his own eye open, Gremix took a small step back, still holding the now-dazed death knight's head and channeling his Fel... But it wasn’t enough. Burning blue still broke through his green from the undead goblin’s mind.

Wild green flames erupted from the Grand Warlock’s hands, engulfing Catfeetz's body in fire. The flames flickered wildly as though in heavy wind, and Catfeetz cried out in what may have been conceived as pain, though Gremix was certain the man didn’t actually feel pain. It stayed that way for a while, the intense inferno nearly blinding everyone who watched; and when the fire finally subsided and Gremix lowered his hands, Catfeetz collapsed. Somehow, his body showed no sign of burn—nor harm of any kind—despite having seemingly just been on fire for a good 30 or more seconds.

Drixzy had never seen it this way… Her heart sank into her stomach. She hadn’t ever seen it because after all, she had been the only one it happened to before.

And Rusco, finally catching up and trying to gather what he'd missed from the archways as he huffed and puffed for air, definitely hadn’t ever seen it. Frozen in fear or perhaps despair, his grip on the mostly dead goblin he carried loosened, unintentionally letting the guy slip to the ground with a plop.

An eerie silence came over the throne room, all eyes locked on the scene. By all intents and purposes, it seemed the Imperator had been slain.

Then, Catfeetz began to move again. Slowly, he pushed himself off the floor, rising to his feet and brushing dust off the front of his uniform before raising bright glowing green eyes to Gremix.

Gremix looked him over warily, seeming about ready to bolt. Had it worked?

“Uhhhhhh… Imperator?” came a timid voice from below.

Catfeetz’s head snapped to the side instantly and he raised one thick arm. A shadowy purple tendril of energy that looked akin to some ghastly witch’s hand erupted from the knight’s palm, zig-zagging through the air like a lighting bolt until its gangly tendrils met flesh and wrapped around the neck of the errant speaker—Gaztonne. With a swish of Catfeetz’s hand, the general was lifted into the air by his throat and then smashed into the nearest stone column, which cracked and chipped where the goblin struck it.

“You will not speak unless spoken to, maggot!” Catfeetz barked, getting a moaned “y’sir” in response, and a hand lifted dizzily into the air from where Gaztonne lay at the base of the column, bleeding, and in quite a lot of pain.

“An’ stand up! You’re in th’ presence of The Grand Warlock and will show proper decorum an’ respect!”

The battered goblin agonizingly obliged and clawed his way up to standing, or close to it, leaned back against the semi-crumbling column. He gave a weak salute and crooked smile, blood streaming down his face and dripping off to stain the stone below.

Gremix watched the exchange with a satisfied smirk, and gave an interested sideward glance to the… former death knight.

“Catfeetz?” he asked, tentatively.

Catfeetz turned back to Gremix and grinned wide, a sinister and hungry look behind his narrowed, hollow eyes.