#gremix

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.

“How did you get him?” Gremix asked in fascination.

“Scouts caught him tryin’ to steal a boat, probably meanin’ t’ escape th’ harbor.” Catfeetz snickered. “Easy catch, too. This guy’s a joke. Didn’t even fight back.”

“Hm,” Gremix muttered, scooping the prisoner’s chin with his fingertips to lean his face up to his own. “Identify yourself.”

With a loud, disgusting sniffle, the crybaby choked out “Zubert, sir.”

Gremix smiled ever so slightly. Not often they came in pre-respectful.

“He should be a good bargaining chip for taking down Zippa. If I remember anything about that bitch, it’s that she only has one family member, and it’s this bozo.”

“Seriously?” Catfeetz scoffed. “She should’a had another after this loser popped outta her cooch. Li’l “Zubert” here ain’t fit to lead a cartel; can’t even escape from an island in the dead ‘a night, shit.”

“Please,” Zubert muttered, giving another sniff and peering with frightened, watery eyes between the two overlords, “I don’t have any money, Ma cut me off. There’s no point to keepin’ me.”

“Money?” Gremix barked a laugh, Catfeetz in turn grinning his nefarious grin. “Please; I melted down all the gold I owned to gild my palace.” He raised his arms, gesturing to the room around them, where not only his throne but all the pillars and even the stairs had intricate golden designs decorating the stone. “Money means nothing to us anymore.”

“Who needs money when ya rule th’ world, eh?” Catfeetz said with a chuckle. “Nah, we don’t want yer momma’s dough, kid, we want her dead.”

“Wh-what?!” Zubert’s eyes widened. “Don’t kill my mom! There’s gotta be—I mean, can’t ya jus’ negotiate, or, or…” He swallowed hard, the tears welling up again in an instant.

Gremix rolled his eyes. “What’re we doin’ with him for now?” Gremix asked.

Catfeetz tugged the ropes that bound Zubert’s hands in front of him, leading him closer to the warlock. “Don’t ask me, Boss figured I should give ‘im to you. You got a much less, uh,” Catfeetz squinted one lichlight eye in thought, “open floorplan at your base.”

“I see.” Gremix considered Zubert for a moment. What was he supposed to do with the bawling young man? There was plenty of dungeon space, of course, but if he wanted to use Zubert to negotiate with Madame Steelknuckle, he’d need to stay in decent condition—at first, at least. More could come if she refused to cooperate; but for now…

“Drixzy,” Gremix said flatly. “Come to me.”

The fel-infused rogue was nowhere to be seen in the throne room, but within moments the fast clicking of boots echoed from one of the stone halls and she entered.

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, stopping at Gremix’s side and kneeling into a bow. He patted her gently on the blonde head and Catfeetz gave a sharp whistle.

“Well how’d you train her t’ do that? You psychic now too?”

“Hardly,” Gremix laughed, motioning for Drixzy to stand, which she immediately obeyed. Gremix took her hand in one of his own, lifting it to display the golden cuffs that decorated her wrists. “I’ve been working on some fun toys, however.”

Catfeetz gave a vaguely impressed nod. “You’re weird as fuck, brother,” he said. “But whatever floats yer boat. Now take this idiot so I can get back t’ important stuff.”

Gremix turned his head ever so slightly, peering at his faithful servant. “I have a pet for you, my Drixzy.”

Drixzy’s light brows could be seen rising just above the cloth tied over her fel-glow eyes. “For me?” she asked.

“Yup,” Gremix said, Catfeetz handing the confused woman the rope that bound Zubert. She rolled the rope around in her hands, face tilting as she looked at the young man through the unnatural sight granted by her Master. He seemed pretty cute for a guy that had all sorts of gross fluids running down his face.

Gremix raised a hand, placing it gently on one of Zubert’s cheeks—Zubert flinched, but stayed in place, squeezing his eyes shut in fear of whatever the hell was going on. But to his surprise, the hand was warm and inviting… perhaps almost supernaturally so. His body relaxed, his mind emptying of all those worries that had plagued it merely moments before, a warm bliss expanding through his body from his cheek. The longer it stayed there the more unfocused he became, until he felt almost as entranced as he would during a really good fuck. There was a snap in the back of his mind and his focus returned, Zubert finding suddenly that he had been so lost in pleasure he’d almost forgotten where he was. Gremix’s hand had lowered, which he determined to be the cause of the abrupt end to that bizarrely wonderful feeling.

“Wh… what?” he asked, blinking slowly. He wasn’t sure what was going on anymore; but at the same time, he did. The faces around his blurred and came back into focus repeatedly until finally settling into normalcy and he focused on something concrete—Drixzy. She was staring straight at him, Gremix having already left to return to his throne and the general already out the great stone doors. Or, he thought she might have been staring, but surely she couldn’t see him from under that blindfold.

“Take good care of Zubert, child,” Gremix said. A sly smirk sneaked onto his lips as fel-tinged magenta eyes watched the silent exchange. “He’s yours; do as you wish with him in your idle hours. But keep him in okay condition for me, alright?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, giving a curt nod. “I am ever grateful for your gifts.”

Zubert could do nothing more than blink in puzzlement, his mind still trying to reconnect the dots that all fell apart the moment Gremix touched him. The rope around his wrists tugged him forward and still in a minor daze, he plodded along behind Drixzy as she led him away.

Gremix watched them leave, then casually flipped himself around to lay upon his lavish throne once again. Maybe this will be good for Drixzy, he thought. She’d gotten so moody since his own little “pet” had shown up, after all. Maybe having a little boytoy of her own would keep her quiet, considering how little interest he found in “playing with” her these days. Oh, forget the smooth curves and soft skin—all he could think about was the dark path of tummy hair leading down to the unmentionables of the ex-rebel Rusco; who since leaving, permanently collared, had not shown hide nor hair around the palace. But Gremix knew he’d be back. He bobbed his foot up and down once more, humming a tune to himself as he stared up at high ceilings, lost in pleasantly distracted thought.

Drixzy had brought Zubert to her quarters, but she puzzled over what exactly to do with him. Gremix had never left her a charge, after all. Zubert quietly peered around the room. It had stone walls like the rest of the palace, lit by torches that displayed floating, glowing green crystals instead of fire, a soft blue carpet on the marble floor and an impressively large, luxurious looking bed draped over with sheer canopy… but very little sign of character. There were no wall decorations, no furniture aside from the bed and a dark wooden wardrobe, no knick-knacks, nothing. Was she just a really boring person? Oh, no, it was probably because she was blind, right? Zubert shrugged, turning his attention to his captor.

“Uh, Miss…. Miss Drixzy?” he asked quietly.

Drixzy glanced at him, frowning.

“What?” she snapped.

Zubert flinched at the cold, careless tone of her voice, swallowing.

“Uh, I won’t…. I promise I won’t try nothin’, I swear; so could you untie me?” He raised his bound hands in front of him to emphasize. “My shoulders are crampin’ somethin’ awful an’ I’d love t’ get a good stretch in.”

Drixzy considered him with distrust. “I’m not an idiot,” she hissed. “Now be silent. I need t’ think.”

Zubert wilted a little. “But I—okay…” he muttered. He looked around again but finding no furniture had magically appeared since last time, he just flopped down onto the ground, folding his legs and staring down at his lap miserably.

Drixzy paced the room, her demonic hoof-design heels not issuing their characteristic clicking steps in the downy carpet of the room, leaving the two in an eerie silence as she thought.

What was Gremix expecting her to do? Was this some sort of test? Or was he really just letting her have a person? But why? She was naught but a servant herself, surely she didn’t deserve such a thing. There had to be something else…

A sniffle interrupted her thoughts, Zubert still suffering mild sinus drainage from his earlier cry. She sighed in annoyance.

“Alright,” she said, conceding and striding over to him as she pulled a large dagger from her hip. Zubert perked instantly, holding up his hands with grateful eagerness so she could saw through the rope. As the bindings fell to the ground, he stretched his arms out to his sides with a huge sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Miss Drixzy!” Zubert said with a big smile, continuing to sit. She watched him, but he just… sat there, smiling like a doofus.

“If you so much as raise a hand to me—” she started, but she was cut off quickly by a startled “goodness, no!”

She cocked her head questioningly.

“I’m sorry, that was rude a’ me t’ interrupt, but I swear I wouldn’t ever hurt you, miss. I mean, I know I’m like, a prisoner a’ war or whatever right now, an’ most people would try an’ get away, but, uh…” He chewed his lip a little bit before continuing. “Ma kicked me out, so I wasn’t livin’ nowhere anyways. I don’t got anywhere to run away to, so I think I oughta jus’ comply an’ make it easier for both of us. You don’t gotta worry about me pullin’ nothin’, I’ll jus’ do whatever you tell me to, an’ get to sleep under a roof again.”

Drixzy’s face screwed up in befuddlement. “What? You’re just… acceptin’ your capture?”

“Yup, pretty much,” Zubert said. “If I try ‘an run for it, I’ll definitely get attacked an’ maybe even killed, but if I listen t’ you, I don’t, right? I’m not the best thinker, but even I can see what my best option here is.”

Drixzy nodded slowly, re-sheathing her knife. “Yes. But I don’t trust you, nevertheless.”

“Fair,” Zubert said almost understandingly. “You jus’ met me, after all. But I’ll show you, I’ll be a real good, uh…” he squinted. “D-did that warlock guy say pet?”

Drixzy pursed her lips. “That warlock guy is my master—and by extension, yours as well—The Grand Warlock Gremix Rivensoul, and you will address him with proper respect.”

Zubert hunkered down a little in shame. “Oh, sorry. But th’ question remains… what exactly am I?”

Drixzy let the question bump around in her head for a while. What was he, indeed?

“We’ll see what you prove yourself to be,” Drixzy decided. “It’ll be up to yourself to determine how you are treated, so act mindfully.”

Zubert nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll do my very best!” he said with a big, stupid smile. Why did he keep smiling? It was almost annoying Drixzy; yet at the same time, there was something about the dopey face and big kind eyes that she couldn’t help but find kind of cute.

“Can I ask you some stuff?” Zubert inquired. “T’ get used t’ the way things are here an’ whatever.”

Drixzy sighed. She had nothing to do right now anyways; the family was between ambushes and waiting on something she wasn’t told of (upper management info only, after all). “Fine,” she said, crawling onto her bed until she could plop backwards into the lush pillows. “Ask what you will.”

“Cool!” Zubert chimed. “So firs’ thing’s firs’… uh, can you…. see?”

“Yes, and no,” Drixzy said. “I can see normally, but blindfolded I hold a special form of sight much more intricate than what your own eyes will show you; yet it also conceals some things from me that you can see.” She shrugged slightly. “It’s hard to explain, but for all intents and purposes, just keep in mind I am watchin’ you.”

“Oh!” Zubert exclaimed. “That’s pretty cool. So what do I look like under there?”

Drixzy scoffed. “If you aren’t gonna ask relevant questions, then just keep yer mouth shut.”

Zubert wilted a little again. “I’m sorry, I was jus’ curious.” He pondered a moment. “So what was, uh—” he squinted, trying to find the right words—"what th’ heck happened t’ me out there? Th’ Grand Warlock guy touched my face an’ I got real dizzy an’ weird feelin’.”

“That was a gift,” Drixzy said, her voice softening as though the words were a happy sigh. “The Master’s Blessing is the promise of sheer bliss as reward for obedience. All who follow him melt at his tender touch.” Drixzy’s voice wandered off dreamily, the goblin seeming to zone out for a second. Coming back to herself, she continued, “when you do good, he rewards you with more. If you do poorly…” Drixzy frowned. “Well, just don’t anger the Grand Warlock and you’ll never need to find out the rest of that sentence.”

Zubert gave a curt nod. “Noted,” he said. He thought for another moment, then posed his next question. “Who’s that guy that brought me here?”

“General Catfeetz leads the military side of the family,” Drixzy said, crossing her legs comfortably. It was strange, but she was finding herself enjoying talking to Zubert—she couldn’t remember the last time she just had a conversation with someone that wasn’t instructions, commands or other work issues.

Zubert stifled a laugh but a pfffft escaped his lips anyways. “C-catfeetz? That’s the dude’s name? Really?”

Drixzy scowled. “He’s no laughing matter.” Her face dropped once more into a stern serious look. “General Catfeetz is powerful, ruthless, and cruel. He leads through fear—his soldiers know that dyin’ in battle is a merciful end compared to what he’ll do to them if they fail or betray him.”

“Yikes,” Zubert muttered. “Okay. He was pretty buff so I didn’t wanna mess with him anyways, but that’s probably good to know.”

Drixzy breathed a laugh, then tilting her head back such that she would be looking at him down her nose, she said “come up here,” patting the bed beside her with one leisurely hand.

Zubert’s ears flicked upwards, the tips noticeably reddening along with his cheeks. “Oh! Uh. Are you sure? I mean, that’s your bed and—”

“NOW.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Zubert leapt to his feet, almost falling over in his haste before scrambling over and onto the bed. Crawling over, he warily laid beside her–not because he was scared, but rather, uncertain of her boundaries.

“Do you have any more questions?” she asked him.

“Lots!” he said with another dumb smile. And those… cute dumb… biceps. A thought crept into the back of her mind. Did Gremix hand over this tiny beefcake to preoccupy her? She wasn’t sure if she should be hurt or happy for the gesture if that were so; sure, maybe he was trying to make her feel better about his own lack of attention, but shoving another man at her to do it for him? She rolled onto her side, leaning her head into a hand to look at the guy as he went on with another question about the palace. There was something so nice about just talking, though—she would worry about that all later.

To Drixzy’s surprise, the young Steelknuckle heir did in fact stick to his word. She left him untied in her bedroom for hours at a time and when she would return, he was sitting there waiting patiently for her. Sure, she’d left a guard at the door just in case, but it became clear in short time there was no need. For some reason, Zubert was genuinely just going along with it all. She was baffled, having seen so much resistance against Gremix’s rule from those who were brought in since the uprising. But here was this guy, brought in against his will, just cheerily doing as she said without batting an eyelash over it.

Oh, and she told him to do things. Before long, he was following her around the palace to do her bidding at a whim—lift this, move that, and for the love of the Light, please take off your shirt first. Over time she chose to decorate him: clasping a sparkling gemmed leather collar tight around his throat, combing his hair up however she liked, painting his nails, and dressing him in tight pants and minimal other clothing. Slowly but surely, she became accustomed to the idea… he was hers. Her pet. Her toy. Hers to do with whatever she pleased. And she wanted to do some things, admittedly. But a thought nagged at her.

She was Gremix’s.

And so it came, an awkward conversation she was about two convincing words away from not going through with:

“May I have sex with him?”

Gremix stared blankly at the blindfolded blonde from behind the war table, where maps and notes and other miscellaneous papers were spread out and pinned with meticulous planning.

“What?” Gremix asked. “What do you think I gave him to ya for?”

Drixzy’s shoulders rose in embarrassment, her ears pinning. “O-oh!” she said quietly. “It’s just that, Master, my body is yours, an’…”

Gremix strode around the table, approaching her and laying his hands on her cheeks, drawing her face close to his own, his touch enough to make her hitch a breath.

“You are, and always will be mine,” he agreed in a low voice. “And since you are mine, you are mine to treat; and the Steelknuckle boy is your treat. I care not what you do with him. Sleep with him or hang him upside-down from the ceiling with a burning candle shoved in his ass for 12 hours, it don’t matter to me.”

Drixzy swallowed, giving a tiny nod.

“After it all, you will still be mine,” Gremix said, dropping his hands to her waist and moving his face in closer until their cheeks brushed together and he could speak directly into her ear in a near-whisper that sent a shiver down her spine, “because I do it better.”

Drixzy gave a nervous laugh—the closeness had her heating up in an almost pavlovian response to his physical attention. Oh, why Zubert? Why Zubert when her master was here, so warm, so gentle, so full of that delicious power that seeped in through her skin and made her sigh in pleasure and press her body into his. Gentle kisses on her neck were enough to drive her crazy normally, but oh, when he put his Fel into it… She simply wanted to dissolve into him where they stood.

“Master,” she said breathily, “please…”

A quiet chuckle in her ear denied her request, and Gremix backed away, to her massive disappointment. She felt so hot and her heart was pounding, and she wanted him so badly—but he shook his head.

“I’m very busy, silly girl. You’re hot an’ bothered now, ain’tcha? Go use it on your little pet. I bet he’ll appreciate it.” He gave her a smile that almost seemed kind, and in that moment, she thought of the doofusy grin of the foolish loyal man set away in her boudoir, no doubt cheerily awaiting her return. She gave a quick nod.

“Thank you, Master,” she said quietly, and left him to his planning.

Probably needless to say, Zubert had no complaint when the woman returned, her calm steps devolving into a near sprint when she had the door closed behind her, then becoming a leap that resulted in her tackling him onto the mattress. He only blinked up at her and gave one of those stupid, cute smiles of his. Damn that smile! She would be rid of it, by pressing her mouth to his.

And oh, what a kiss—at least, for Zubert. There was that feeling again. That dizzy, almost orgasmic fuzziness that Gremix’s touch had caused. There was no need to convince the more-than-willing young man, but had he been resistant before, he surely would have caved in to her desires as the wave of pure, unadulterated, unnatural bliss came over him.

She pulled her face away only barely, and without bothering to catch her breath as his eyes dazedly cracked open, she panted out a simple command:

“Fuck me.”

“H’okay.”

Didn’t need to tell him twice.

And so things continued; Drixzy freely indulging herself for satisfaction from the frustration that Gremix’s continued general absence caused, with whom she decided to call her “attendant”. After all, he did attend to her every need, there seemed no better term. Zubert liked it better than “slave”, anyways.

But it wasn’t just his servitude, sexual or otherwise, that kept her interest. For some reason, he liked to just talk. And it continued to seem so strange to her, just talking, about anything. Zubert talked to her about ships, about Steelknuckle isles in their heyday, about the ocean and fish and food he liked and something funny his friend said once… She herself kept quieter, content to just listen to him and interject when he asked her something. She would openly answer most things about the family but wouldn’t speak of her past. He’d only brought it up once, but her sharp, instant demand that he never inquire again ended that line of curiosity right quick.

Months passed by as such. Zubert became a palace-wide spectacle: guards would snicker at his slutty outfits as he passed by, plodding along behind Drixzy as she went about her daily business. Others whispered rumors of who he might be or where he came from—perhaps simply a hapless commoner Drixzy found attractive? A relative of one of the generals? One such rumor that wasn’t held by many as true said he was in fact the heir to an entire cartel. Nobody asked, however. After all, nobody dared talk to Drixzy about anything besides work.

“New batch of prisoners, here!”

Catfeetz’s lieutenant arrived with a posse of guards to the castle, a string of captured rebels in tow to be offered up to Gremix’s forces. As per the usual routine, they were brought to a dungeon and stripped to their underthings, chains around their necks hooked to the stone floor ahead of them, keeping them kneeling uncomfortably as a pair of shackles attached to their wrist from another short chain behind them kept them forced upright. It was a pretty typical bunch of rebels, some jeering and spitting when their gags and blindfolds were removed, the others solemn and quiet. One by one, Gremix offered his “Blessing”, and they either accepted it or were killed. Drixzy stood by—and as she did, so did Zubert—much to his horror, as he watched those who rejected the Grand Warlock quickly offed by a skilled slice of Drixzy’s poisoned blades across their throats. Luckily, it seemed the more common answer to “do you want to die or live in heavenly bliss serving me” tended to lean to the latter, but the blood oozing over the stone floors from the first who’d denied the gift was enough to make him feel ill.

The Grand Warlock was halfway through the set of rebels when the next one he approached was a rather tall, fluffy-white-haired goblin who was sobbing hopelessly into his gag, hiccupping and rocking himself back and forth the little amount the chains would allow. Gremix rolled his eyes, and removing the gag and blindfold from this one, was met with what was probably the most terrified face he’d ever encountered during a conversion.

The goblin didn’t jeer or spit; in fact, he said nothing, only making a tiny throat squeak as he tried uselessly to liquify into the floor and away from the green glow that pulsed within the warlock’s pupils.

“Don’t be afraid,” Gremix started, gently, as usual, but he didn’t get very far before the captive broke into full bawling again. He gave an agitated sigh, standing and patting dust off the robe at his knees.

“This one’s defective,” he said, waving a hand at the crying mess to signal Drixzy to end him as he stepped over to the next goblin.

Drixzy drew her blade and started towards the young man, who was all but balled up now. But she only made it one loud-clicking step before she felt a tug—a hand on her arm. She looked back to see Zubert with a panicked expression. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, and even if he did he didn’t think he could get words out without puking at the moment anyways, so he just shook his head over and over, beseeching her with pleading eyes.

Gremix, noticing the uncharacteristic hesitation, looked back at the two with a scowl. “What’s keepin’ ya? Get to it, Drixzy." Drixzy glanced at Gremix briefly before inspecting Zubert’s desperate head-shaking once more.

“Yes, Master,” she said, brushing Zubert’s hand from her arm, the musclebound servant wilting in hopelessness as she left his side to do the deed.

The crying captive lifted his head only slightly to see his oncoming killer, and for just a moment, his eyes met what would have been Drixzy’s, were they uncovered—but the moment was the same regardless. The tearstains streaking his cheeks, face and eyes red and puffy, afraid… Drixzy suddenly understood why Zubert wanted to stop her. He was just another Zubert.

“Master,” Drixzy said, tentatively. “I’m sorry if I am oversteppin’, but…”

Gremix’s eyes narrowed as he eyed her with suspicion.

“May I have this one?”

The suspicious look fell to make way for one of surprise instead.

“What?” Gremix peered down at the chained goblin, who was still apparently attempting to burrow into his own being, head once more tucked down into his chest. Gremix made a disgusted face at the wretch before letting his gaze return to Drixzy. “You… want that pathetic thing?”

Drixzy fidgeted with her dagger. “Do you… remember when your Rusco was here?”

Gremix remained silent, so she continued; “He was defiant, but you didn’t have me kill him, because you looked at him and saw something you liked, right?”

The sobbing continued, but tear and terror-filled eyes were once again barely peering up at the people openly discussing his fate. His gaze wandered the room, where it then met that of a person the bound goblin hadn’t noticed before—Zubert stood back in the shadows, wringing his hands anxiously and giving the guy a forced hopeful smile before he burrowed into himself again.

“So you’re saying you see somethin’ in this trash heap that you like?”

Drixzy’s mind buzzed as she flipped through every explanation she could think of, trying to find the one that was truest.

“I have a thing for beta males,” she decided on, pointing behind herself with a thumb directed at Zubert—the comment said so flatly that Gremix couldn’t help but bark a laugh in return.

“Fine, fine.” Gremix said, shaking his head in bemusement. “You’re not getting another until one of these ones die, though, got it?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, glancing back at Zubert who had perked up significantly, and was now eagerly bouncing in wait for her word.

“Take him to my room,” she said to Zubert. “Chain him and return to me here.”

Zubert stood up straight, puffing out his chest and giving a firm salute. “Yes, ma’am!” he said, then hopping over to the person whose life he had just saved to unlock the chains.

“Wh-what?!” came the first words from the mouth of the crying but otherwise until now silent prisoner.

“Gag him,” Gremix said with an apathetic wave of his hand, and Zubert paused, picking up the cloth that had been dropped to the floor and re-tying it around the head of a now somewhat struggling goblin.

It took some doing, but he got it on, trying to reassure the frightened goblin that he would be safe and shouldn’t worry… but panic set in, and the captive was having none of it anymore, now desperately pulling against the chains he had no chance of escaping from. Zubert held the chain key tightly, giving an uncertain glance to the others.

“Oh, for the love a’…” Gremix sighed. “Hold him still.”

Zubert nodded, obediently moving behind and holding firmly the shoulders of the soon-to-be “blessed” man. Wide eyes watched in abject horror as hands rose to his face—he tried to jerk his head away but a strong grip from behind turned it back to the Grand Warlock and his warm hands cupped sharp cheeks.

The prisoner choked some sort of noise from behind the gag as green flames burst from the hands on his face, squeezing his eyes shut just to reopen them in confusion a moment later when he felt no burning.

Zubert watched in fascination—he’d never seen the Blessing from a third-party perspective, only having experienced it himself. The flickering flames looked terrifying, but no sound of pain came from the unwitting convert; of course not. After all, it didn’t hurt when it happened to him, either.

“It’s alright, see?” Zubert said quietly, a slight flick of ear the only indication he had been heard.

The flames seemed to be sucked into the held skull, a bright green erupting from behind tear-filled eyes as the convert stiffened—muscles in his shoulders and back twitched feverishly, but it was as though he could not move. The flames gone, Gremix lowered his hands, and the guy slumped forward into himself once again; but this time from sudden wooziness. Heavy, deep breaths came from him like convulsions and with one last horrified glance up, the Fel glow faded from his eyes. A calm seemed to come over him, the shaky anxiety and fear all but nullified.

“I don’t like blessing unwillin’ parties,” Gremix said, rising once more. “You will repay me for havin’ t’ do that later.”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said. “Anything, any time. I thank you for allowin’ me this gift.” Her attention turned to Zubert.

“Take him now. And be back quickly,” she said, “you will need to remove the bodies of these insolent rebels when Master finishes the conversion.”

Zubert swallowed hard, not entirely enthusiastic about that specific task, but ever faithful, he unlocked the chains and led the dazed and confused stumbling beanpole of a goblin out of the chamber.

It was quite a while before Zubert returned to Drixzy's room again. When he did, however, he came with a tall glass of water in one hand and a crumbly buttered biscuit in the other.

“Hey!” he chimed as he closed the door behind him with one stubby leg's foot.

Chained to the stone wall in the corner of the room, pressing himself as far into the joint of two walls as he possibly could, the goblin Drixzy had spared eyed him warily.

“Don’t worry,” Zubert said, approaching slowly such as not to startle him. “I’m not gonna hurt you or take you away anywhere. This is where you’ll be staying now.”

The bound goblin shook his head indignantly. Zubert shrugged.

“I mean, you don’t have much choice, y’know? If ya just behave an' listen to Drixzy and the Grand Warlock's every command, you’ll be perfectly fine, like me! Drixzy might even unchain you if you prove you won’t pull any tricks.”

The other man did not look convinced, but Zubert, a few feet away, placed the water and biscuit onto the soft carpet and raised his hands slowly in front of himself.

“Look, don’t kick me or nothin', okay? I’m gonna ungag you, Drixzy said I could. I also snuck you some water an' food, an' it’s the cold water I’m not supposed t' take, too. Figured it might be nice after havin' that thing in your mouth so long.”

A wary nod signaled that Zubert could come closer, though there was still a untrustful stiffening of his shoulders in preparation for some sort of trick… but the cloth loosened and Zubert pulled it away like he said he would, then backed up a few steps and gave him a goofy smile.

Zubert looked him over—the guy was scrawny, and not entirely impressive sitting there in threadbare boxers, but Zubert had to admit he had a thing for tall, lithe people. But more importantly, this dude clearly couldn’t feed himself, arms bound behind his body, so Zubert concluded he had to assist. Well, that was his job, according to Drixzy, right? Helper.

It was a clumsy event, Zubert tilting the glass to a very dry, desperate and eager mouth, such that between the two of their efforts a notable amount of water ran down his chin and onto the carpet; but with a relieved sigh and smacking of finally moistened lips, it was obvious that he’d had enough to satisfy, at least.

Zubert sat beside him, taking the biscuit and breaking off a piece to offer up. The captive sighed, but opened his mouth such that the crumbly bread could be popped into it.

“I’m Zubert, by the way,” Zubert said. “Zubert Steelknuckle.”

Swallowing, his companion simply said “Stix.”

“Nice t' meetcha, Stix!” Zubert said, breaking off another bite-size piece of biscuit. “We’re roommates now, so I hope you’ll stop lookin' so scared of me soon.”

“I don’t wanna stay here,” muttered Stix. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know who any of these people are n' I wanna get outta here!”

He looked the muscley and… tightly panted goblin over pleadingly.

“Y’ have the key, don't'cher? Let me outta here, c’mon.”

Zubert frowned. “No, Drixzy has it. And even if I did, I’m not allowed t' let you leave. If you try to run, I’m just gonna have to escort you back.”

Stix made an agitated sound, opening his mouth for another bite of biscuit, which he chewed in thought for a silent moment.

“Sho then, yer jusht one of ‘em, choo,” he decided, food still in mouth.

“No,” Zubert said with a chuckle. “I’m being held for ransom!” He paused, the cheeky smile on his face slowly dropping until he sort of just looked distressed. “Y’know, t' get my ma out of hidin', so they can kill her.”

Stix balked. “Why do they wanna kill yer mum? And who are they?” He really did seem genuinely confused about everything going on.

Zubert scrutinized the tone of Stix's voice, brows lowering in concern. “You mean, you have no idea about th' Gutshot Takeover?”

“Th’ what? No!” Stix looked appalled.

“Where the heck have you been?”

Stix nodded upwards. “Zeppelin. In fact, I was riding one jus' yesterday for a delivery, and then…” He scowled. “We we’re just passing by th' harbor when a ton of flyin' machines showed up outta nowhere and shot us down!” The goblin's ears lowered slowly. “I… I don’t even know if anyone else…”

Zubert perked; oh no, was Stix about to cry again?

“Hey, hey! Don’t worry. They uh, they like taking prisoners more than jus' killin' folks, cuz they make them join the troops, an' then there’s more of 'em.”

Stix looked horrified. “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” he groaned.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Silence befell them for a few minutes as Zubert fed Stix the rest of the biscuit. As he finished the last bite, licking crumbs from his lips, Stix decided to speak again.

“So, er… explain this whole takeover thing?”

“Oh, sure,” Zubert said, sitting and leaning back against the wall nearby Stix. “I don’t know all the details from their side, but, uh… I guess there was this mafia my ma was makin' deals with, an' they got a little weird an' started talkin' about takin' over Bilgewater's whole thing. Ma cut ties with 'em cuz she thought they were bonkers! But she was a big financial investor, so I think they got mad at her.” He scratched at the side of his face with a ponderous look. “Guess they were serious about takin' over, cuz the Grand Warlock and General Catfeetz are somehow ridiculously powerful, an' all the Bilgewater guys started following 'em because they were toutin' that they would slay Gallywix an' make things better for goblins everywhere. But then it just twisted more 'til they straight up decided they were jus' gonna take over th' whole world, an' now everything’s a big, scary mess. They’ve taken basically all of Azshara, killed Gallywix, an’ I’ve heard some of the followers say there’s a big plan coming to fruition soon.”

Stix looked as though the blood had completely drained from his face. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath.

Zubert shrugged. “I dunno, man, but I didn’t get too bum a deal outta it, so I’m jus' mindin' my own business here, y’know?”

Stix looked pensive for a moment, squinting down at the soft blue carpeting beneath him. “So… if I stay here, I’ll be safe?”

“Yeah!” Zubert said. “Miss Drixzy’s real good to me, an' I know she’ll treat you just as nice. Just you wait.”

Stix nodded, then gave a sigh and sunk into the corner.

“My shoulders hurt,” he grumbled.

Zubert tilted his head, peering at Stix. “Want me t' give 'em a rub?”

“No.” The reply was instant, and Zubert got the feeling Stix wanted minimal contact, so he shrugged it off.

“When's she get in?”

“Miss Drixzy?” Zubert pursed his lips in thought. “Heck, I don’t know. I haven’t seen a clock in so long, I don’t even know what month it is anymore. She don’t have a regular schedule though anyways. Jus’ kinda shows up when she shows up.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell once more, and Stix zoned out, staring at nothing on the ground, probably lost in thought. Zubert figured so, anyways. He certainly didn’t seem to want to talk though, so Zubert just sat there with him quietly.

“You. Up.”

Zubert snapped awake suddenly, blearily blinking and looking around as he lifted a head that had drooped to one side as he unintentionally dozed off. As he came to, he realized the speaker had been Drixzy, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Yes, ma’a—”

He didn’t get to finish his word, as warm lips pressed into his own. He didn’t mind, though, his eyes closing as he happily reciprocated the surprise. Drixzy pulled away and, as though only now remembering the guy, turned her head to Stix, who was staring wide-eyed at the two in what could only be described as pure confusion.

Zubert gestured to Stix with one hand, stepping back to introduce the two.

“Miss Drixzy, this is Stix. He’s a’right.”

“Stix.” Drixzy stared quietly for several moments before Stix leaned closer to Zubert and whispered, “Can she see us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zubert said.

“How?!”

“Um… magic?”

Stix scowled at the unsatisfactory explanation, peering nervously back at the demonic woman. He couldn’t see half her face, but the tight, thin purple leather of the odd but sexy leotard she wore accentuated all the right things. Maybe this wouldn’t be all that bad.

Drixzy, seeming to have satisfied her staring, once more faced Zubert.

“Unbind his arms.”

“Yes ma’am!” Zubert said, approaching Stix, who cautiously scooched around to face his back to Zubert. The knot took a moment, but soon enough Stix’s sore arms were released, and he pulled them around to his front to rub the ache from his shoulders.

“Th’nks” he muttered, backing into the corner again and glowering his distrust.

“I expect Zubert has caught you up with your current situation?”

Stix glanced to Zubert, who only smiled. Looking back at Drixzy, he gave a single nod.

“Good. Now, I ask if you plan t’ be compliant. You will live well cared-for, and The Master’s blessing will bring you joy. If you choose not to comply, then I will revoke my decision to spare you.”

Stix frowned, giving no answer for several moments.

“Stix,” Zubert said in a gentle, hushed voice, “please answer Miss Drixzy.”

A dirty look was tossed his way, but with a deep breath, Stix finally answered.

“I guess so.”

Drixzy’s stern face gave way to just the faintest hint of a smile. “Prove so and I will let you roam the room freely as Zubert does.”

Stix sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling, where eerie shadows were cast by the fel-light gems that lit the room. He watched with fascination as one of the shadows seemed to flicker and shift a little despite the still nature of the light. His brows creased, and he decided not to look there anymore.

Drixzy, in a contradictory motion, elegantly flopped onto her soft bed, giving a gentle sigh as she sank into it. Zubert glanced between her and Stix, unsure who he should be near at the time. That was answered for him soon enough, as one of Drixzy’s arms rose and gave a come-hither finger wave.

Zubert shuffled over, crawling up into the bed with her, where she rolled onto her belly and said into the blankets “massage.” Like a good doggie, Zubert obeyed, shifting over to straddle her lower back to get a good angle to start working her shoulders with firm, strong hands.

There wasn’t much else to do but watch, so that’s what Stix did. Watched. Watched as Zubert kneaded at the back of a sexy woman, the cut muscles in his bulky arms flexing noticeably with each movement. Stix was pretty sure this was how one of the smut books he’d read started.

Zubert scooted back a little on top of Drixzy as he moved down to work on her upper back, then eventually moved a little further to work on the mid-back… By then he was straddling her butt, and Stix squinted as he noticed Zubert’s crotch moved against it as he rubbed her. Now he wasn’t “pretty” sure; Stix was 100% sure he’d read this one.

Pleased little “mmm”s escaped Drixzy here and there as Zubert worked, and she squirmed beneath him ever so slightly—Zubert flinched, trying to choke a gasp as a soft, barely-clad behind pressed against his accidental excitement. The woman’s head turned away from the face-smothering position she’d been resting in, and a sly smile could be seen on her lips.

“Pleasure me.”

Stix balked; these two were seriously about to do it in front of him? He glanced around frantically. Was this weird? Should he look away and pretend nothing was happening? Should he watch?

Zubert gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, y-yes ma’am, but, it’s just…”

Drixzy’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Zubert glanced behind to Stix, who looked startled at the sudden attention.

“I mean, someone’s here.”

Drixzy scoffed. “Then pull around the curtains, you baby.”

“That’s not…” Zubert took a deep breath. “Yeah, alright.”

Stix cleared his throat, mumbling a half-hearted “I mean, it’s, uhm, it’s fine.”

Zubert’s ears perked, one brow lowering in consternation. The gears in his head took a moment, but finally he barked a single laugh, turning back to Drixzy.

“Never mind,” Zubert said, fingers trailing up her back to the small zipper tag at the top of the neck of her leotard.

Stix swallowed. Yup. Zubert was just gonna let him watch. He wasn’t sure if he was excited or mortified, but all things considered, it was hardly torture to watch two very attractive people have sex. Just like the books; except instead of words, it was—he choked on a bit of spit as Zubert tugged down his pants. But… he supposed now the tiny goblin had to have something going on to compensate in some way for his unimpressive stature, and that was it.

The act was certainly something. Drixzy, despite being “bottom”, stayed entirely in control, guiding Zubert’s every action. He was fast to catch on any time she changed what she wanted; Stix, trying to ignore other feelings, thought about how strangely in-tune they were with each other. Did they just have good sexual chemistry?

By the time it was over, Stix was hugging his legs as tightly to himself as possible; his hot, red face nestled into his own knees.

Breathing heavily, the very much naked Drixzy—well, naked but for the blindfold and the golden cuffs on her wrists which glowed faintly with fel runes—sat up and turned her attention to the man in the corner, who swallowed hard, his eyes very much unable to meet her unseen gaze, as they were lost on so many other things.

She ran a hand down the front of her body, tilting her head to the side, curtains of long blonde hair cascading down off her shoulders.

Stix couldn’t say a damn thing. A pathetic sort of squeaking whimper was all he managed, burrowing his head further into his knees, though he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Zubert, who had flopped down and not moved even a little bit since they finished up, finally shifted around, pushing himself up onto his elbows to peer over at Stix as well.

“Good show, buddy?” Zubert gave a cheeky grin.

Stix’s hands finally rose to cover his burning face and he curled into himself like a dead shrimp.

“If you behave yourself,” Drixzy said, leaning back into her pillows with her arms folded behind her head, “perhaps I will let you have some fun as well someday.”

A hopeless breathed laugh came from the center of the Stix-ball. “A’right,” his muffled voice could be heard saying. “A’right, a’right. This can’t be real. This is a weird wet dream. Wake up. Wake up.”

Zubert pouted. “You ain’t dreamin’, Stix. Well…” He glanced to Drixzy with a sideward smirk, “…not yet.”

A slight smile crept onto Drixzy’s lips. “Oh, you little ham,” she muttered.

Zubert winked at her, and Stix pulled his head out from the depths of his body to give them both a disbelieving look.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Zubert said with a content sigh.

Something told Stix that wasn’t true.

Well, he had sort of been wrong. Not entirely, but he became more relaxed over time, though internally terrified still; something about Zubert’s ever-present smiling mug perhaps? Or maybe he was just coming to terms and accepting his fate. Drixzy began to dress him about as strangely as Zubert, and was slowly but surely chipping away at his defensive shell with coos of adoration and compliments. He wasn’t comfortable around her, but she was always a looming figure in this caged life he couldn’t avoid.

He stayed silent, mostly. Zubert would press him for conversation, but more often than not was harshly denied. Sure, he may have been settling in, but he wasn’t gonna be happy about it. He would barely let either Zubert or Drixzy touch him willingly, either—Drixzy would lay a farewell kiss on his angular cheek every time she left for an extended period of time, which required a gentle but firm Zubert to hold him still as he tried to squirm away from it. There was always something about those kisses. They were so, so warm. And for several moments after she pulled away, he would think, maybe this isn’t all so bad. And that thought horrified him more than anything.

The chains stayed. He was too twitchy—Drixzy was hesitant to trust him. Not because she was worried he’d get away, obviously; they’d find him before he even escaped the palace, and that would only be a death sentence. But as he had at least complied as much as to not attempt to claw Zubert’s eyes out when he approached with food and drink, Drixzy decided to offer him a modicum of freedom, via a classic combination of ankle shackle, chain, and an immensely heavy metal ball that couldn’t have been anything as simple as iron or steel. Zubert, shocking nobody, was able to lift the ball without too much struggle, but much as he tugged, Stix couldn’t make it so much as budge, only managing to cut up his ankle trying to pull away from it when the others weren’t around.

This new form of bondage was at least better than before—he was now allowed to be led around the palace by Zubert, who would tote the ball so they could sit in the gardens for fresh air, or to the mess hall where they’d try to haggle the actual good food away from Gremix’s followers, who generally just regarded the two with befuddlement before ignoring them.

One garden trip resulted in, to Zubert’s surprise, the lanky goblin whipping out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter, which he seemed very excited about.

“Where’d ya get that?” Zubert asked.

Stix wiggled his fingers as he said “cafeteria,” his other hand already popping a cig between his lips.

“You stole it?”

“Duh.”

Zubert looked displeased, but he said nothing more, deciding he would keep quiet about the contraband to Drixzy. At the very least, Stix seemed more relaxed as he smoked than Zubert had seen him in all the time he’d been there.

How long was that now? Weeks? Months?

Zubert’s eyes rose to the sky above the towering garden walls: grey and smoggy as the harbor always was. He had no idea what the date or time was, every day blurring into the next and becoming one conglomerate concept. With a twinge of concern, he realized that he had almost forgotten he hadn’t always been there, there were times before the palace; the memories of which were faint and fading. Steelknuckle Casino, the isles, his mom… Large ears lowered, and his brows knit. Zubert wasn’t often very critical of his current living situation, but sometimes, a creeping realization like that would sneak up and…

“You, uh, ready t’ go back in, ‘r what?”

Zubert seemed to snap out of a daze, blinking over at the floofy-haired thief, who was snubbing the last nub of his cigarette out against the delicate marble seat of the bench they sat on.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Zubert hesitated for a second, squinting one eye. What… what had he just been thinking about, again?

Zubert slipped off the bench, and grabbing the chain just above the ball, hefted it up and they headed back inside.

How much time had it been?

Stix stared at the bottom of the bed’s canopy in the dark. He didn’t like it, but what choice did he have when Drixzy wanted him to sleep in the bed? Zubert would haul his ball onto it, the short chain not giving way for escape to the floor.

How much time had it been?

Drixzy rolled over in her sleep, a soft arm coming down atop Stix’s chest and he hitched a breath—but it was nothing, as usual. His eyes dropped to her arm. Slowly, carefully, he pulled one of his own from under the blankets, hovering it just over her green skin in a hesitant moment before gently laying his fingertips upon it. She didn’t react, so he let his palm slide down onto her arm as well; yellow eyes watched her through the dark to be sure she didn’t wake. But then, he stopped.

He had meant to carefully lift and move her arm away, but as his hand rested there, a warming calm came over him and he opted to just leave it resting there. What an odd feeling. What a nice feeling.

His eyelids began to droop, sleep overtaking him.

How much time had it been?

Who cared?

“So what color are your eyes, Miss Drixzy?”

Zubert lay on his belly, his feet kicking back and forth behind him, face perched in two hands as he leaned onto his elbows.

Stix was there, too, his ball and chain keeping him stuck on the bed with them. But he was starting to think he didn’t mind it so much anymore. He’d started talking a bit more, and though he was still uncomfortable with touch, he was much more willing to be within a handful of inches of both Drixzy and Zubert.

“Green,” Stix said. “You can see it through her mask, can’t’cha?”

Drixzy chuckled softly, petting a hand through Zubert’s hair as she relaxed. “You’re right, they are green, now.”

Zubert pursed his lips.

“What color were they before?”

Drixzy frowned. “Before what?”

“You said “now”, didn’t you?”

Drixzy was silent for a few rough moments.

“I don’t… recall.”

“Bet’cha they’re still that color, but just glowy, right?” Stix offered. “Like th’ Grand Dickhead’s, his’re pink but th’ green shit comes from inside, yeah?”

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed Zubert. “We could jus’ look an’ tell you!”

Stix sat up in interest. He had no idea how long he’d been there anymore, but in all that time, he’d always wondered what was beneath the blindfold—and Zubert did too.

“You can’t,” Drixzy said, defensively. “I mustn’t show my eyes to anyone but The Master.”

Stix scoffed. “How’s he gonna know?”

“Yeah, jus’ for a second! It can’t hurt, right?”

Drixzy’s hand paused its petting motion. Admittedly, she had been desperately curious to see what the two boys looked like in the real world; what she saw through the blindfold was vague, forms and shadows of depth, the concept of facial expressions, but not true to life. She chewed her bottom lip for a second.

“Fine, but just for a moment,” she said quietly, sitting up and raising her hands to the back of her head.

Zubert and Stix leaned in, eagerly awaiting the answer to their burning question.

Untied, the strip of dark cloth fell to Drixzy’s lap, and long-lashed eyes slowly opened.

“Holy fuck,” Stix yelped, backing away quickly.

“What?” Drixzy asked, glancing between the two of them. Her eyes were adjusting to the light she so rarely saw, but they tried to take in her people-pets’ forms anyways.

“Your eyes,” Zubert said, his tone low and serious, “they’re so bright with the Fel that I can’t tell.”

Drixzy rubbed at her eyes, blinking away the stars. “Really?” Finally, her eyes focused and landed on Zubert. Oh. He had such a cute baby face… but then from the neck down, was hot. She had not seen that disconnect before. Charming. Her gaze turned to Stix, who swallowed and leaned away as much as he could without falling over. Stix, unlike Zubert, was skinny, tall, and seemed, in a way, slightly worn out; like an old letter from a friend, or a well-loved paperback.

“Your hair is white,” Drixzy stated.

“Y-yeah,” Stix said.

“I could never tell,” she said softly. “I can’t figure out colors very well with this—”

A loud bang interrupted her, and she froze in terror. She was facing the opposite direction, but she was more than aware that that sound was the door being slammed open. Two guards with sharp polearms entered, followed by none other than the Grand Warlock, who walked in calmly, hands folded behind his back.

She had never felt so afraid in her life. The dread was almost tangible; her breath seemed caught in her chest, as though she were choking on the very air. Zubert and Stix could feel it too.

They done fucked up.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, my dear Drixzy?” came Gremix’s voice from behind her back.

Zubert looked frantically between the glowing-eyed woman and the eerily collected warlock, interjecting; “W-I mean, I convinced her t’ take it off! Please don’t be mad at her, it’s my fault.”

“What’re y’ doing, idiot?” Stix hissed under his breath. “You’re gonna get yerself killed!”

“Silence, both of you.”

Zubert’s ears drooped; the command had come from Drixzy.

“Come here,” Gremix said flatly.

Drixzy, swallowing a lump in her throat formed of sheer fear, obliged. Gradually, she backed up to the edge of the bed closer to the door, only turning to face her master as her feet found the floor.

She’d only met his gaze for a split second when she gasped in sudden, sharp pain, stumbling back a step and shooting a hand to her cheek—which was now red and stinging from an unexpected backhand.

“Hey!” Zubert shouted, making a move as though meaning to go defend Drixzy, but Stix grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back.

Tears welled in Drixzy’s eyes and she regarded Gremix fearfully. Despite literally having just slapped her, the warlock seemed just as cool as the moment before, his stern expressionless gaze locked on her.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said quietly, her voice barely a squeak.

“You certainly are.” Gremix looked over his shoulder, nodding a head to one of the guards. “Take the slaves.”

Drixzy’s ears whipped upwards. “What? Why—they didn’t do anythin’, Master, please!” Despite her objections, the guards headed deeper into the room, seizing Zubert and Stix; the latter trying to make some sort of resistant effort, but Zubert, as ever, allowing himself to be directed without a fight.

“You will put that blindfold back on immediately and wait here for my decision about what happens next,” Gremix said, glancing aside to the guards as they escorted the two young men away. “You will not leave this room; d’you understand me?”

Drixzy wrung the cloth in her hands for a second, but gave a slight nod, and lifted it to her face to tie on once again.

“Do make sure to actually obey my instructions this time,” Gremix concluded with a note of venom as he turned on his heel and strode out after the guards.

Drixzy watched as more guards outside saluted him, then closing her door and, assumedly, guarding it.

Her knees seemed to give out, and she sat on the edge of her bed, trembling.

What had she done?

They stood still, eyes lowered. They didn’t look but they could tell he was staring them down. The warlock’s gaze felt like needles on their skin; Stix, for the first time in quite a while, had begun to shiver.

“It’ll be okay,” Zubert said. “We’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Is that what you think?” Gremix asked from where he lounged upon his throne. The guards held the two goblins before him at the bottom of the lordly steps for his consideration, and he’d been picking his brain for the best way to go about his intentions.

Zubert swallowed, not responding. A shaky breath shuddered from beside him. Every instinct told Zubert to pat Stix’s shoulder, or hug him, or anything… but Stix probably wouldn’t have wanted it, anyways.

Gremix observed the two for a few moments, deep in thought. Then, fel-tinged magenta eyes flicked to Zubert.

“Steelknuckle.”

Zubert flinched, but raised his eyes to meet the warlock’s gaze.

“Punch him.”

Both Zubert and Stix looked taken aback.

“Stix? W-why?”

“Jus’ do it. Hard as you can. Straight in the face.”

Stix whimpered, a fearful look tossed Zubert’s way. Zubert shook his head incredulously.

“I can’t punch him… he didn’t do nothin’ to me.”

“Are you defying me?” Gremix asked, one brow raised.

“Uh…” A chill ran down Zubert’s back. “No, no of course not, but, it’s jus’…”

Gremix gave a disappointed click of his tongue.

“And here I thought Drixzy would have done a better job on you.” He slumped back in his throne, stroking his jawline in thought.

“Ah!” Gremix sat up straight suddenly, snapping his fingers before pointing at the guard holding Stix’s ball. “I’ve got jus’ the thing. Why don’t we playtest that lovely new whip I was given last week?”

“Excellent choice, master,” the guard said.

“I will retrieve it for you, Master,” piped up a follower who was coincidentally walking down a hall to the side of the throne room.

“Thank you, child,” Gremix said with a head nod towards the follower, who saluted and jogged off in the direction from which they had originally came.

Stix looked like he might faint.

Zubert raised his eyes, giving Gremix a pleading look. “D-don’t hurt him…! Please.”

Gremix simply stared at him, blinking slowly.

Zubert’s eyes welled with tears. “Please! I—I told him he’d be safe! I told him he’d be okay if he stayed here!” Zubert swallowed back a desperate sob. “Please, he didn’t do anything.”

Stix peered aside at the pleading goblin.

“Don’t… don’t make me a liar.” The tears, having no room left to well, began running down the soft curves of Zubert’s cheeks.

“How odd,” Gremix said. “His face is leaking.” His gaze drifted to the guard holding Zubert. “He should see the doctor to get that looked at, I think.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Master,” said the guard. “I will deliver him.”

Zubert’s brows knit in confusion. “Huh? Doctor?” He got no explanation, however, and was tugged away down a hallway, glancing back at Stix as he turned the corner—their eyes met for just a moment, and Zubert could only feel his stomach sink to his feet. He looked… betrayed.

“No, please,” Zubert sobbed one last time, but the guard jerked him forward and he disappeared from sight.

“Here it is, Master,” said the follower from before, now toting what could only be described as several strands of rusty barbed wire braided together on one end to form a crude steel whip.

“Ah, lovely,” Gremix said with a pleased smile. “Guard, will you do the honors, please?”

“Of course, Master,” the guard behind Stix said. He placed down the heavy ball, stepping away to take the “whip” from the other follower, who then giddily approached Gremix, bowed, and received a gentle brush of his hand on their cheek; a blissful sigh was the last thing from them before they returned to whatever business they had been tending to before.

There was no forewarning, and no words for the feeling, Stix yelping loudly as the steel wires lashed across his back unexpectedly. Fabric and flesh tore, and his eyes overflowed with tears of pain as he tried to gasp his breath back. Suddenly dizzy from the shock, he fell forward to his hands and knees, shaking and huddling into himself. Hateful eyes rose to see the Grand Warlock lounging upon his seat, looking nothing more than bored.

“Why?!” Stix whined. “What’d I do t’ deserve this!?”

“Oh, silly boy: nothing, I’m sure. I’m punishing you…” Gremix said, leaning his cheek into a hand, elbow propped onto the arm of his golden chair, “…but the punishment is not for you.”

Stix’s ears pinned, but he had no time to parse that as the wires struck his back once more, cutting and gouging at already tender, bleeding flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Gremix smirked. “Let’s do twenty, shall we?”

“Yes, Master.”

Somewhere deep within the mazes of stone hallways that led underground, Zubert trudged along with his guard. It was creepy enough in the dank, empty halls, but even worse, he kept hearing an eerie screeching sound echoing from somewhere distantly behind.

It seemed they’d walked forever. There was no way Zubert was going to remember the route back… though a nagging voice in the back of his head said that might not be a concern soon. Finally, the guard stopped him, creaking open a heavy metal door plastered with warning and hazard signs, revealing a large room full of whirring medical equipment, steel tables with long sheets of tissue paper spread over them, and…

“Oh, a doctor. I got it.” Zubert said.

“Well, they don’t call me that much anymore,” came a smooth voice from the corner. “No respect, these lot.”

Zubert whipped his head around to identify the speaker. Behind a cluttered desk sat a goblin man with long, fiery red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was chewing on something and leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk, clearly comfortable in this odd, chemical-smelling, machine-riddled room.

“What’s this, then?” asked the supposed doctor.

“Test subject.”

The doctor’s brows rose, and his eyes shone excitedly. He kicked off from his desk, chair rolling back enough for him to hop to his feet.

“Can I—?!”

“Non-fatal only.”

The doctor’s cheery face dropped into a disappointed scowl.

“Fine… but I’m never gonna get anywhere on Serum K if you guys don’t give me some expendables!”

“Yeah, yeah,” groaned the guard, shoving Zubert forward into the room. “I’ll let the Master know your concerns.”

The doctor crinkled his nose. “Yeah, sure ya will.”

The guard gave a final wave and a sarcastic “have fun!” as he left, sealing the door behind him.

The doctor turned and gave the tied-up Zubert a strange smile.

“How d’you feel about needles, little man?”

Drixzy hadn’t moved an inch from where she sat. Hours had passed, but she felt frozen. What was going to happen to her? She had spent so long following Gremix faithfully, catering to his every demand for years, and in one foolish moment had thrown that all away. What was she thinking? Why would she do something so stupid?! She rubbed at her temples, mind racing. It was Zubert and Stix—something about them. She was becoming weak for them, forgetting her place… and theirs.

Drixzy gasped, startled from her thoughts as her bedroom door opened once again. A guard’s head popped in.

“The Master calls you. He wishes you to clean up an unsightly mess in the throne room.”

Drixzy, puzzled, stood from her bed to follow the guard out. A mess? Was he making her do chores as punishment?

As soon as she crossed into sight of the throne room, she found herself wishing that true.

She cried out in despair, running into the room with loud, fast CLICK CLICK CLICKs of her boots on the stone. Reaching the center below the throneward stairs, she fell to her knees, hands shaky and unsure of what to do to what she found there… an unsightly mess, indeed. Stix was unconscious, his shirt shred to pieces and his back all but mutilated and losing him significant amounts of blood. She turned her head to the throne to see Gremix seated there, staring down at her, expressionless and cold.

“Master--!”

He raised a hand, flicking his wrist to toss something down at her. Drixzy caught it skillfully, whatever it was, and she brought it close to herself to see it. Small, green, and lightly glowing, it appeared to be a minor healthstone.

“Embed that into his back, an’ clean him up; you might have a chance to keep him alive yet, my pet.”

Drixzy swallowed back tears, brushing one hand’s fingers through bloodstained hair—hair she now knew was white. And this is what he got for her knowing.

“Oh, Stix, I’m so sorry,” she muttered into his ear as she stooped down to lift his limp body. Plenty of guards and other followers were around, and they watched her quietly, some whispering to one another, but not a one offering to help as she hurriedly part-carried, part-dragged the significantly taller, bloodied goblin away.

His eyes didn’t open right away when his consciousness returned to him. Stix pondered in the darkness of his mind if he was dead. Was he in the afterlife? The afterlife felt like a very comfy bed. But slowly his senses returned to him, and he could make out quiet noises. Little subtle sounds that signaled that another person was around. Well, he certainly couldn’t be dead, then; his happiest afterlife, he thought, would be free from dealing with other people ever again. He was already not keen on most people, and recent events were really only setting the roots of that feeling even deeper.

Recent events?

His eyes finally cracked open, just to see nothing but darkness. Wait, was he dead? He lifted his head—no, he just had his face in a pillow, after all. Damn.

He regretted the movement instantly.

“Nnngh--!!” Stix groaned as he winced, plummeting his face back into soft feathery pillows.

“Don’t move!” came a concerned voice from somewhere nearby. Drixzy’s voice.

He only groaned again.

“You’re injured, just lay still and rest,” she said. Her voice was soft, delicate… sad.

He didn’t want to feel bad for her—he was the one who suffered for her! And yet, the tone of her voice seemed to tug at his heart. What annoying, confusing, conflicting feelings he’d had since entering this palace.

“Stix,” Drixzy said, walking over to the side of the bed where he laid, “do you know where Zubert is?”

Stix thought about it. His memories of what happened before he passed out were fuzzy… what was that word again? It had seemed such an odd thing that Gremix said. Oh--

“Doc’r,” came his pillow-muffled response.

Drixzy stumbled backwards as though she had been shoved by the invisible force of his voice.

“D-doctor?!”

“M’hmm.”

“Stay here!” Drixzy said, turning to make a dash out her door, but she paused. “I mean, you probably can’t go anywhere right now if you’d wanted to, but…” Oh, what was she saying? She was in a rush!

The clacking of her boots as she sprinted down halls and around corners echoed throughout the lower chambers. One might have thought that cacophonous sound would be enough for people to keep an eye open, but Drixzy still nearly mowed someone over in her rush. She didn’t stop to apologize. Did she ever stop to apologize? She didn’t remember being polite to followers ever. Why wasn’t she polite to them?

The warning-adorned door smashed open with a loud BANG!, Drixzy immediately yelling, “BAZLEE! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?”

The doctor, this Bazlee, blinked at her, apparently having been in the middle of an experiment; syringe in hand, surgical mask over nose and mouth, and someone green and struggling bound to the metal table before him. Her heart sank. It wasn’t Zubert.

“Hello to you too, Drixzy. Why yes, I’ve been lovely, thanks for asking!”

“Where is he?”

Bazlee looked puzzled. “Whom?”

“Zubert!” Drixzy shouted, fear straining her voice. “He’s—he’s short, an’ has black hair, an’ tattoos, an’ really sexy arms!”

From somewhere deeper in the room came a weak chuckle. Her ears perked and she dashed towards the sound.

She went around a large, humming machine of some sort to find Zubert sprawled out on a stained bedroll on the floor.

“You really think my arms are sexy?” he asked. His voice was but a scratchy wisp of strained breath, his face pale and eyelids drooping.

Drixzy knelt beside him, placing a hand on his cheek. He was cold as ice. She swallowed hard, ears pinning.

“Are you in pain? Can you move?” she asked.

Zubert took a bit to respond, seeming to have to gather the energy to over time.

“Badly. Can’t move.” He gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Drixzy. I failed you.”

“No, no, of course you didn’t, don’t say that,” she murmured, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

“He ain’t gonna die, you can chill. Probably, at least. …Maybe.”

Drixzy turned, scrutinizing Bazlee, who had snuck up behind her at some point.

“How do I help him?”

The doctor pursed his lips to one side, giving an exaggerated “hmmmmmmmm…”

“Bazlee! This is no time for your crap!” Drixzy snapped.

He snickered and shrugged.

“I dunno, honestly. Warm him up? I design the poisons, not the antidotes.”

Drixzy huffed. She scooped her arms under Zubert’s back and tried to lift, but with a groan of strained effort, she realized that while the bottom half of Zubert was within her limits, his upper body bulk was far too heavy for her to heft all the way back to her bedroom.

Zubert gave another weak chuckle. “Sorry…”

“Stop apologizing,” Drixzy said, rubbing her hands down her face. What was she going to do?

She scanned her surroundings, seeking anything that could give her an idea—and her eyes landed on Bazlee, who was no longer paying attention to her, instead pulling bloodied rubber gloves from his hands to dispose of.

“Bazlee,” Drixzy started, her voice softer than it had been any time she’d addressed him before, “please, will you help me?”

The doctor eyed her.

“Please—we used to be friends!”

This puzzled the red-haired man, whose brows lowered in concern. “What? When?”

Drixzy paused. When? She could have sworn… her head pounded as she tried to dig up where that thought had come from.

“I… I don’t know.”

Bazlee gave her an incredulous look, but shrugged it off.

“I guess. That useless idiot they just gave me died before I could get anythin’ done, so I could take a break…”

Stix had dozed off, pain wearing him down into sleep again and again, but a clattering awoke him. The sound of the door opening, and what sounded like squeaky wheels…

“Thank you,” Drixzy said, taking one of Bazlee’s hands in her own with a grateful squeeze after they had moved Zubert from the wheeled stretcher they transported him with to the bed.

“Yeah, well,” Bazlee mumbled, pulling his hand away from hers and shaking it off like she’d gotten water or cooties on it. “Next time one of your dudes ends up in my lab, I’m not doin’ this again. Jus’ for the record.”

“You will never see them in there again.”

Bazlee laughed, and taking the stretcher, wheeled it out of the room. A few moments after he closed the door, fast wheel-squeaking could be heard from the halls, along with a “YEEEEAHHHHH!”—then very soon a “WAIT, NO—” and a crashing sound.

Drixzy pursed her lips—she had no time to go attend to the doofus doctor who she could only assume just tried to ride his stretcher down the halls.

“J’fnd’m?” came a muffled voice from pillowed face.

“Yeah,” Drixzy said. “I found him.” She placed a hand tenderly on Zubert’s chest. His breathing was slow and weak.

She tried piling blankets upon blankets upon blankets over him, but nothing she did seemed to warm him, and it seemed the color was completely draining from his body—she’d never seen a green so white. She searched her mind desperately, staring down at her hands. Useless hands! They couldn’t even save her… pets? No, they weren’t pets to her. An ache in her chest denied that term, and she longed for something else. Her eyes drifted from palms to the golden cuffs around her wrists. The fel runes on them flickered and glowed, seeming to move and shift around the surface. She hadn’t quite figured out what these were, but she knew that Gremix had created them, and somehow had been summoning her through them—not by sound, but a strange feeling that emanated from them and crept into her mind when he called her name. Perhaps there was more to the shackles than that. Maybe it was a two-way thing.

“Master,” she whispered. “Please… let me save them.” Zubert watched her, pretty sure he was dying and thus slipping away from reality because Drixzy was definitely talking to her own hands.

Nothing happened—until something did. The runes’ glows shone brighter in a burst of sudden green energy, then faded, the color turning into a vapor that dissipated in the air. What did that mean? What kind of help was that?

But then she felt it. A tug in the back of her mind—like when Gremix called for her, but ever so slightly different. This feeling was not saying “come here.” Instead, it simply said “kiss”.

She was too desperate to question, so she leaned in, and laid a kiss upon Zubert's cold, pallid lips. It was then she understood.

A warmth came from her hands, rising up her arms and into her body. It was the touch of her Master—but not being given to her. It was siphoning through her, and as it rose to her head, she heard a gentle inhale from the near-frozen goblin.

Stix, curious of the quiet shuffling, turned his head just enough that he could peek over with one yellow eye. What he saw, he couldn’t quite explain. Well, he could explain the part that was Drixzy smooching Zubert like she tended to, but the fel glow overflowing from beneath her blindfold and bursting in waves from her wristbands was another thing. The lights seemed to materialize into a green fog, which then drifted around Zubert, where it seemed to then be sucked into him. Miraculously, color was rapidly reappearing in his skin, starting with a golden red in the cheeks and ears signifying not just life but that he was quite enjoying what slowly but surely became a much deeper kiss. Regaining his ability to move, Zubert sat up—hands met faces, silent pleased noises escaped them, and the fel clouds continued until finally Drixzy pulled away. Zubert, half lidded eyes making him seem entranced, tried to lean to follow her, but Drixzy put her hand on his face and for a few seconds they just sat like that. With a twitch of an ear, Zubert seemed to find himself again, though looking confused, and Drixzy lowered her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Zubert looked down at his hands, turning them around, then moved his arms around a bit. “Yeah! I’m kinda achey, but way better now!” He gave her a perplexed look. “What did you do?”

“I d'no, but I don’t like it,” came a muffled voice to the side.

Drixzy frowned. “Stix, let me heal you too.”

“Hell no!” Stix said, wincing as the slight chest movement only served to reopen barely-scabbed gashes, gushing hot blood into the bandages wrapped over practically his entire torso. “Keep that demon stuff away from me.”

“You’re bleeding profusely and in so much pain, though,” Drixzy said, voice low and concerned.

“Don’t care.”

Drixzy sighed. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault, I failed to take proper care of you both but just ended up hurting you.”

“That’s not true!” argued Zubert.

“Yeah,” Stix agreed, brows lowering into a look of disgust. “You didn’t hurt us, that monster out there on his shiny chair did!”

“Do not speak that way of The Master,” Drixzy said disapprovingly.

“Seriously? How c’n yer stand up for that guy?! Don’t y’ see he’s terrible?” Stix asked indignantly.

“He isn’t,” Drixzy disagreed, slipping off the bed and walking around it to Stix's side. “You don’t know him like I do. You don’t know how he is when we’re alone.”

Stix blinked in disbelief. “Are you even hearin' yerself?”

“Stix,” chided Zubert. “Jus’ stop.”

“No! This is insane, this—nnh!”

He had started to try to push himself up, forgetting until too late that every single movement stung like a razor down his back.

He felt hands on his face, which gently turned his head in the opposite direction, towards Drixzy.

“Don’t,” Stix said. “C-c’mon…”

“It really works, Stix, I feel way better now,” Zubert said, trying to offer some reassurance.

“I’m only helping,” Drixzy insisted.

“I don’t want yer help.”

Drixzy scowled.

“Well, I don’t care what you want. You’re mine, and I’ll do as I will.”

Stix couldn’t exactly back away or fight her off, so he just squeezed his eyes shut as she leaned in, twisting to meet his pillow bound face, and pressed her soft lips onto his.

She hadn’t kissed his lips even once; Stix figured she just had Zubert for that kind of stuff. He certainly didn’t think she’d kiss him, and he certainly didn’t think he would have enjoyed it so much. There was a strange warmth that seemed to seep from her lips, tapping into his own body. His mind became vague; were they using tongue? It was as though his consciousness had left his body to float in a liminal space. It was a painless place, an anxiety-free place. So nice. So heavenly.

He blinked, suddenly finding himself once more in his broken body, strewn across Drixzy’s bed. He felt dazed, yet renewed. Shakily, he pushed himself up to sitting, and Zubert gave an excited applause.

Stix still looked worse for the wear, having lost significant amounts of blood, but as shown by Zubert carefully peeling bloody bandages off the skinny goblin, the horrendous mutilated flesh had closed up quite a bit, thick scabbing holding the cuts closed as though it’d had several days to heal already. Stix shuddered as the cold hit his now-bare torso, then hissed sharply through his teeth—“fuck, it still hurts.”

“Still as much?” Zubert asked concernedly.

Stix considered himself carefully before answering.

“Nah. Less, but it still hurts.”

Drixzy peered down at her bracers, but the runes had died down to their usual faint flickering glow. “I don’t think I can do any more. I’m sorry.”

Stix grumbled, but Zubert, much more enthusiastic about not feeling like he was freezing to death, chimed in with a “you’ve done plenty! More than we could have asked for.”

Drixzy gave him a weak smile, and the door creaked open behind her. She glanced over to see a guard simply holding it open. For a moment she was puzzled, but then she realized why he was there as the back of her mind prickled: come here.

She peered at her boys, both better but tired.

“I’m being called for. Try to get more rest, you two.”

Zubert nodded, Stix giving no acknowledgement of her even having spoken.

Drixzy turned and strode out the door. The call wasn’t coming from the throne room this time. She could sense his power even from afar. He was in his chambers.

With a deep breath, she started down the halls.

She entered slowly, warily. The dim, fel-lit room was same as it always was: cold, slightly spooky, and containing the one thing she was truly afraid of…

Gremix.

“You called for me, Master?”

“Yes,” he answered from where he lay, casually leaned against the strikingly carved and engraved headboard of his luxurious bed, arms crossed behind his head. As usual, he wore a delicate, fancy robe, which spread from his crossed legs like a fish tail.

“Join me.” He pulled his arms from behind to pat the mattress beside him. “You’ll be sleeping with me tonight.”

Her heart skipped a beat—it’d been so long since Gremix had let her sleep with him. She wanted to be excited, but a pit in her stomach warned her that Gremix was probably still very displeased with her. Cautiously, she came forth, hefting herself into the soft bedding and crawling over to lay beside her master. An uncertain hand lifted towards his chest, but she hesitated to touch him.

“It’s fine, dear,” he said with a smile that didn’t look quite genuine.

She laid her hand softly on his chest, scooting in close to him and nuzzling into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Master,” she nearly whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Bygones, bygones,” Gremix said, combing clawed fingers through her nearly-white blonde locks. “What’s up with you lately, huh? Of everyone, I never would have thought you would disobey my direct command.”

She burrowed further into his shoulder in shame.

“I’ve been feelin’ so strange,” Drixzy said. “I keep getting confused. I told Bazlee we used to be friends”—Gremix’s brows furrowed immediately—”but that can’t be true… I don’t remember that, nor did he. I don’t know why I said it.”

“I see,” Gremix said, no note of concern in his tone despite the betrayal of a distressed face. “That’s very silly of you. You never met Bazlee until the Palace.”

“I know… but for a moment, I was so sure.” She frowned and shifted back to look entreatingly at the warlock. “What’s wrong with me, Master? I feel like I’m losing grip on myself.”

Gremix pursed his lips, scrutinizing the woman’s face a moment. Reaching up slowly, he lifted her blindfold up and off her head. She opened her eyes, and as usual, they glowed with unholy intensity.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Gremix said, a soft tone to his voice that Drixzy hadn’t heard in so long. “I am going to fix you.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

Gremix froze, and the abrupt stiffening of his muscles indicated to Drixzy that something she said was wrong. Her eyes widened, and her hand shot to her mouth, covering it in confused horror.

“Wh… why did I…”

Gremix's ears pinned, slight movements in his jaw a sign of clenched teeth.

“Never. Call me that. Again,” he said, some sort of powerfully serious frustration seeming to bubble inside of him.

“I-I'm sorry, Master—oh!”

Drixzy found herself suddenly flipped onto her back, the warlock hovering above her on his hands and knees. She couldn’t remember the last time Gremix had looked so upset. Or had he ever looked upset?

“Master,” Drixzy started softly, swallowing a lump in her throat, “how… long have we been here?”

The Grand Warlock’s hand slid up the front of her body and he leaned in to her ear, his warm breath giving her goosebumps.

“Always.”

Zubert and Stix had waited a while for her, but Drixzy did not return that night, and they fell asleep sprawled out in the spaciousness of the bed. When they awoke, she still had not returned. It wasn’t until a while after the door guard brought them dinner that the blindfolded young woman came back.

There was something about the way she was walking—hips swaying, each heeled bootstep like a step down the catwalk. Her lips were tight and straight, her posture immaculate. Expressionless.

“Welcome back, Mi—” started Zubert, practically a dog wagging its tail at its owner’s return.

“Silence.”

Zubert paused. Her voice was flat, cold. He glanced aside at Stix, who returned his troubled look.

“On the floor, pets. Where you belong.”

Both guys seemed to wilt a little, scooching themselves off the comfy linens in disappointment. What happened? Drixzy seemed to have completely changed overnight. Zubert thought it felt familiar… Like how she was when he first arrived.

“Drixzy—”

“I said silence.” Drixzy sneered at them, her voice carrying a malice that chilled them to their cores. “I have failed my Master by being too soft on you both. You will learn your places, or else be destroyed.”

Stix paled. Killed, sure; but “destroyed” sounded—somehow—worse.

“Do you understand me?”

Stix and Zubert both nodded fervently.

A smile crept onto her lips, but not the soft, tender smiles from before. It seemed, in a way, sinister. As though merely watching them fear her was a pleasant joke. A horrible realization crept up on both of the guys.