The first moment that Nick knew that something was wrong was the fact that he wasn't sleeping on his lumpy and uncomfortable mattress which gave little benefit to his already sore back. The moment he blearily opened his eyes he soon realized that something else was terribly wrong, because it was far too dark. Too dark and cool by his estimations since the sun would obviously be invading his apartment in spite of his blinds, seering it's rays onto his face.

Even more confusing was the fact that he heard shouts of anger. Shouts of utter outrage that shouldn't have fit wherever he slept. Sure the neighbors could get pretty ornery with how loud and obnoxious traffic could get on his street, but it was at the very least muffled. THIS however was most certainly NOT the case.

The shouts were close. Too close for comfort and they also sounded nothing like his neighbors. Too high-pitched. Too Scratchy. Too biting and jeering.

Something was wrong, and the thought that something WAS indeed wrong only further dominated Nick' mind when he looked around himself and rubbed the crustiness of his eyes. It was when he saw the hands that he used to rub his eyes with which were suddenly the color green that the panic began to set in.

And what was worse, before Nick could truly grasp the physical changes that had befallen him, he heard a rushing footsteps that drew closer and closer. So close that he should have been faster to react to them if he hadn't been so groggy from the terrible sleep he'd endured. It was why he had been unable to move away from the swift kick to his solar-plexus which drove the wind right out of him.

Just as he was trying to suck in some air, hands were all over him. Green hands and jeering curses as Nick was forced to his knees despite the struggle he tried to put up. He could have sworn he heard a wizened and crotchety voice heckling him from beyond but it was hard to make out with so many jeering laughs needling into his ears.

Finally he could make something out as Nick sputtered and stammered utterly at a loss with his situation. "Hold da git up! Oi, wanna see da zoggin' half wit dat let da squigs go n' Oi wanna hear what he gots ta say for 'imself!" Nick's eye settled on a goblin with what looked to be a mishmash of different what seemed to be different pieces of armor slapped together that barely made any rhyme, reason or sense. But it went without saying that the armor was most definitely better than any of the others that were holding or surrounding Nick, with some not even wearing armor altogether.

The lead goblin who had several earrings on both of his ears, a surprisingly well made ax in his right hand leered at Nick, his beady red eyes boring into his one. "Whattya got ta say for yourself ya git? Wot is it? You get a bit too into da grog or into da shrooms?" When Nick failed to come up with an answer only understanding half of that statement, the lead goblin smacked the flat of ax against Nick's nose making him wince in pain. "Talk ya git! Move ya tongue before I yank it outta ya!"

Realizing that stuttering wasn't going to work here, Nick spewed out the best he had. "I-I don't even what the hell is going on here! Wh-who are you?"

Another goblin standing next to the lead goblin that had a feathered cap, sneered at Nick. "Oh he's on somethin' boss. Too much a' somethin'!"

"Wh-what the hell are you guys even?" Nick sputtered out, his eyes looking around wildly. "Wh-who are what? Wh-where am I? Is this some kinda prank?"

Now the goblins were starting to snigger with the lead goblin doing so in a more contemptuous manner, gripping his ax tightly. "Oh, he's off his zoggin' rocka' dat's for sure. Useless git, probably don't even know what part of da gray mountains dat' were near!"

The feather-capped goblin bared his sharp teeth, pulling out a dagger. "Want me ta gut im' for ya boss? Least we-

"No. Dat would be a waste. Plus too krumpin' easy for his lot." Nick dreaded the way that sounded, even as he kept hoping and praying to himself that this was a dream. A dream that hopefully and quickly he would wake up from in short order. Putting away his ax, the goblin pulled out a wooden club instead giving it a few experimental swings before getting closer to Nick. "Listen here ya git! Since you're not listenin' all too well, Oi'll keep it short n' sweet! Just like dis' lil' high you've gotten yourself off of right now! Moi name is Grotslik and as da boss of da black venom tribe you've gotten me chuff all scrounged up at da fact dat ya let Mitsk run off with all two hundred of da tribes' squigs to run off to a waagh in da east!"

"I don't even know what the hell a squig is-this is a dream! This has to be a damn dream!"

Losing his patience from the drivel coming out of Nick's mouth Grotslik tightened his grip on the club. "On second thought. Talkin' can wait." And then he swung, cracking Nick in the arm and making him squeal in pain. It was a moment that forced himself to truly look at his body, noticing how the rest of it was green and lean like the rest of what could only be described as goblins before him. Nik tried to say something. To beg the goblin boss to wait only to get a club to his nose. Then his thigh. His jaw. The pain crippling and sharp. A clunking noise breaking out with each collision as the goblins holding him up forced him to stay up, even as his ability to stand diminished with every strike.

It was only after a strike straight to the top of his head that everything went black and then bright.

…

And then just like that, the nightmare was over, and Nick looked up, the pain that seemed so real vanishing with the wind, his office cubicle surrounding his immediate environment. The pale-skinned balding man who looked to be in his mid thirties held his chest, his heart palpitations mercifully going down and the sweat on his brow going cold, chillingly reminding him of just how real that nightmare was. Taking a few deep gulps of breath and a few wild glances around his surroundings to make sure that all was well, Nick pounded his chest a few times just remind himself that all was well for his innards and that he could trick his mind into thinking that nothing was wrong.

It didn't help that his tie felt like it was cutting off his airway, but he was sure that it was just a byproduct of that terrible dream. It even went so far as to him having to wipe the spit out of the corner of his mouth to remind him how little sleep he had gotten lately which most likely contributed to the lunacy his brain had conjured up.

Before he could truly get his bearings he nearly jumped out of his seat when an older and better dressed man with salt and pepper hair and deeply tanned skin leaned out of the entrance to his cubicle, looking unimpressed. "Hansen. There's a reason you were mumbling like the many bums outside of our office district earlier."

Flickering his eyes around himself in embarrassment, Nick coughed into his fist. "Sorry sir. Just…just going through the shipments."

"Yeah, I can tell."

Looking at his computer screen, Nick winced seeing that his monitor wasn't even on his shipping and transfer reports. It was just on a blank google sheets page that had yet to be filled.

Levelling an unimpressed look at Nick, the older man sighed. "Playing catch-up again."

You're the reason I'm playing catch-up. "Sorry sir. Just a lot to go through."

"I can see why."

For a moment, a hue of green crept into the corner of Nicholas's vision, a spike of anger pricking his mind before it faded as quickly as it arrived. "...sorry Saagar."

"Uh-huh." Leaning on the office cubicle, the man smiled without any warmth. "Listen Nick, You've been in Tier III for what…two years now?"

"...four."

"Four years in Tier III. I gotta be honest man, with a work ethic like this, it's not gonna be long before the gophers down stairs start to overtake you at the next quarter."

"I get it."

"Sure you do."

I do. Nicholas wanted to bark out, but kept himself calm as was needed before the underlying threat became a reality to soon. "I'll, get on it sir."

The amused look told him how convinced his superior was. "Oh I'm sure. But, first there's another load that needs to be put in the printer."

Nicholas could feel himself die inside. "I…that soon? Already?"

"Excuse me?"

Suppressing a sigh and another spike of frustration that rumbled into his brain with more green coming into his vision, Nicholas got up, glad that his belt was cutting into his beer gut anymore. "I'll get on it sir."

"Atta boy."

…

"Nicholas the printer's out of tonic." It was Melani this time. Her dark eyes boring into him after he'd gotten done loading paper into said printer, staring at her long and hard.

"I…alright?"

"I'd appreciate it if you refilled it."

"...If it was empty then why didn't Saagar tell me to get that too? That's all the way down on the fourth floor."

"Oh? Why would you assume I've been talking with Saagar? Is this going to be a problem?"

Yeah, because I'm still having to go through shipping orders that belonged to the guys you already fired. "No."

Her lips curled upwards in a way that made Nicholas's stomach curl, flecks of green dotting his vision once more. "Atta boy. Gotta make sure that a sale I made gets sent to the boys upstairs."

"I understand."

"You always do. Also tighten up your tie please. We have a standard."

Nicholas could hear a faint roar in the back of his head. He shook his head and focused back on reality. "Sorry."

…

"Nicholas the printer isn't working."

Nick nearly threw his pen at Saagar. "I'm sorry?"

"The printer." The dark-skinned man repeated sounding impatient as he stood outside the cubicle hands on his hips. "Not working. What'd you do to it, bud?"

"I…didn't do anything?" At least nothing that would stop from working, he thought. And even then it wasn't his problem. He had shipping orders he still had to review and go through and these constant interruptions. "Look, Saagar I really need to get through-

"Later. You broke it you fix it. It's holding up the rest of the floor."

"But, I didn't even break it."

Saagar looked unimpressed, leveling a small but unmistakable glare. "Oh yeah?"

The green returned and with it a quickening of Nick's heartbeat that started the hammer away inside of his skull, making it hard to hear for a moment. Yet again, he resisted the urge within and stood up. "I'll get on it."

And when he 'got on it' things wound up just as Nicholas thought that they would. He had no idea about the inner workings of the printer since people at Tier 4 were the ones who had to meddle with these things, which only confused and irritated the balding man as to why HE was the one that had to waste time fiddling with the large black hunk of plastic, machinery and wiring. What was he supposed to say Saagar once he inevitably came up short? How much time did he have to waste on this thing before he got back to his 'actual' work. The work that he was 'actually' getting paid for.

It made a distance roaring in the back of his mind all the more audible, ironically deafening out the phone calls, key-board tapping and white noise that was happening around him. As Nicholas wasted his time on this hunk of machinery it all became quieter and quieter, guttural growls started to ring within his ear drums, pulsing a loud-

"-icholas." Melani nearly shouted at him impatiently, folding her hands to his right. "What are you doing with the printer?"

"...fixing it." Nicholas huffed out side-eyeing it.

"That's Tier four's job. Are you getting paid to waste time on something that you have no idea what to do, or is your current work just boring you?" She tilted her head as if talking down to a child. "Maybe you'd be more comfortable going down a floor?"

Nicholas's fist was tightening so much that he thought that he would draw blood.

"...will you tell Saagar that I don't need to fix the printer?"

"Excuse me?"

"Saagar told me to fix it."

"Well then don't let me stop you."

"...you just said."

"I know what I said." The woman smirked in amusement. "If he told you to fix it then you'd better get on it."

"Melani." Nicholas began turning to fully face her, trying to get in control of his own breathing, wondering why his head was starting to seriously hurt. "I have shipping orders I need to get to. Whatever I don't finish I have to do over the weekend."

"And?"

"We…we don't have overtime as you know-

"Then you should work on your time-management skills don't you think? If you want to get to Tier II like me and Sagar then it's better to make sure you're ready for that step, wouldn't you agree?"

For a sad and pitiful moment, Nicholas thought of begging the women to show some form of pity. To give him a chance to at least get started on the back-log that had been created not just from the firings but because of inane jobs like this that he had been thrown into without having any experience in to solve directly.

But, the strange thing is, the mere thought of that idea sent the man's blood boiling to the point where the green returned with a vengeance. So much of a strong green hue was flooding his vision that Nick had to blink and grit his teeth to keep himself from getting out of control. Getting of control of 'what' exactly he didn't know, but he had a feeling he would regret. That and his instinct to reel back on this primal force seemed to reject this feeling.

But, that was becoming harder to do. "I still-

"Nick." Saagar was back, much to his misery. "Is the printer fixed yet?"

"I…no, I don't know how to fix it."

"Well, then you should probably ask then bud. Tier fours might be able to help if you lend an ear."

"Saagar, I really have to get back to work. At this rat-

"You are doing work bud. Good work for everyone on this floor. I mean for now anyways, but hey every bit helps."

Nicholas felt his heart stop for a moment, as the words hit him like a block of ice. "For now?"

"Seriously, Saagar?" Melani sighed. "You had to tell him now? Think of how much longer we could have strung him along?"

"Ah, he woulda found out eventually."

"You're…demoting me?"

"Well, I hate to tell ya this Nick but the speed and efficiency in which your completing your work isn't meeting quarterly expectations. We were gonna break the news to you after this quarterly report bu-

"What…about all the work that isn't done? Is that getting taken over or-

"Of course not." Melani snorted, folding her arms. "Once you go down to Tier four after this quarter is over, you'll need to finish the reports along with your new…duties. If you have an issue with that we can release you of your current obligations an-*CRACK*

A sickening crack reverberated in the floor as, Melani flew backward, landing on her back with her nose disfigured horrendously, blood spurting out of it like a siv with the top of her lip horribly marred.

Nicholas was sure that Saagar was saying something but, the balding man who saw nothing but green now tuned out his voice. Instead he dropped the tray he had ripped out of the printer and grabbed the paper-based device and lifted it with a sense of might that the office-worker didn't know that he had.

The printer went flying at Saagar's still gaping and open-mouthed face, as if he couldn't comprehend what was happening before him. Nicholas savored that face, enjoying better than any beer he'd been guzzling down his throat to drown his sorrows these past few years, especially when the printer collided with Saagar's skull, crushing it into the floor with a sickening crack.

All around him everything stopped. The typing, the phone calls, the white noise, all of it. Suddenly all eyes were on him with the barest of sounds being made, save for the stray screams or gasps that peppered the air. For a moment, Nicholas wanted to deny what had happened. That he didn't mean to do what he had just done, that they had screwed him. That he felt backed into a corner. That he had mental health issues to give himself an out.

But, the moment he opened his mouth and picked up the blood-stained printer tray from before only one sound came from his lips.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGH!"

Everything after that was like a fever dream to the man. Nicholas had never been so angry yet so light headed. So rageful yet free. So ungodly wrathful yet…joyous. His lungs burned with a righteous indignation that desired to be filled with the iron in the air. He wanted to paint the walls red, treating as a canvas of carnage that couldn't be replicated. He wanted to stop hating himself for what he'd allowed himself to become up until now and unleash that hate onto anything and everything that was around him.

And when he finally came to, there was indeed blood. A lot of it, with his right hand coated in life-fluid that was not his own, the tray he'd been holding now bent and wrent in unusual angles and forms and painted crimson.

It was a struggle to even see anymore due to the mixture of red and green that covered his vision, and the utter absurdity of it was only going to grow more absurd. He tried to see the level of violence that he had just unleashed onto the revolving door of co-workers that he had shared a space with for years, wiping his eyes to free himself from the blood that had coated his vision. Yet when he managed to do so, instead of seeing corpses, blood and anarchy, he was met with more green. Not the kind of green that he was seeing before but a funky green smoke or mist that was coating his surroundings.

Did he dream the whole thing up? Was this a dream within a dream? Did he finally cave and get and take up that corner guy on the hottest new thing that his fellow beleaguered co-workers had been talking up to keep up with the layoffs? If so, that made him quite worried over the fact that he made have made up killing some of them within the confines of his subconscious.

Yet through the green haze, Nicholas could still see the cubicles and blood that made up his surroundings only to see them quite literally turn to dust as if Thanos had snapped them out of existence, forcing him to turn his gaze around as the ground rumbled beneath his feet. Nicholas felt himself panting from when two massive shadows began to slowly rise from what used to be his office around him, resembling to gargantuan mountains, threatening to drown him in the shade that they cast upon his position, which had dwindled into a small platform, near where that printer used to be.

At this point he HAD to have taken something. There was just no other explanation for why he was suddenly looking at two massive Orks. One a raging blood orange. The other a chillingly cool Icy blue as they glared down at him.

The blue chortled loudly, his laughter reverberating through space and time itself. "Heheheheh. What'd Oi, tell ya Gork. Dis' umie's got some Ork in' dat's dyin' ta be unleashed."

"Mmm….maybe. Could be dis' git's just a one off." Somehow the orange one named 'Gork' seemed unconvinced, yet somehow more rage filled despite sounding contemplative. "Dis git's likely to get 'imself butcha'd along wit' any of da other boyz we put beside im' by proxy! Could be a Krumpin' waste!"

"Am…am I dreaming right now?" Nicholas stammered out, his previous anger all but evaporating. "Please tell me I'm dreaming right now."

The blue ork rumbled in amusement. "Geheheh. Lil' bit umie, a lil' bit. All dose humie gits ya just killed weren't actually killed. Just a moment wit' ya gettin' a bit blitzed wit' da shrooms."

"Sh-shrooms?" So he did cave? He did get utterly hammered? He could have sworn that what he was considering getting was something he shot instead of ate, but in this case it didn't matter. This WAS a dream. This WASN'T real and he hadn't gone postal. And he still had his job.

For some reason the crushing disappointment at that realization was enough to make him consider his life choices, filling him with that familiar frustration, rage and anger that he felt before drawing a bemused hum from Gork as he stared at the human who was like a speck before him.

"Hmmmm…Take back wot Oi said to ya Mork. Yeah he'll do."

Staring back at who could only be named as Gork and Mork, Michael blinked at the figment of his high with further confusion. "I'll do…for what?"

Suddenly the world around him shifted once more. Gone was any trace that he'd been in an office, and Nichoals gasped as he looked around his feet, seeing that he was staring down at a set of continents. Continents that seemed strangely similar to the one on the globe yet so different at the same time. For example, he didn't remember a donut shaped island that large being between Europe and the Americas. He also didn't remember there being so many mountains between Europe and…whatever was east of it.

Then they sank. The planet that they were staring suddenly was getting closer and Nicholas was ashamed to say that he screamed like a bitch when he thought he was going to go flat, making this one of the worst acid trips he could have ever been apart of. Yet mercifully they suddenly stopped making Nick's equilibrium all kinds of wrong as he stared at where the three of them arrived, hovering above what could only be described as a grand mountain formation with eight giant peaks that seemed to reach out and scrape at the sky itself.

"See dis umie? Dis right e're is Karak Eight Peaks! One of da oldest, Grandest and Biggest strongholds in all of da world!" Mork rumbled as if storm clouds gathered around him. "All kinds o' creature's have fought and bled to have different parts of dis mountain! Stunties! Ratties! Even our Gobbos and Ork boyz have tried n' failed to hold all of it n' it shows!"

"O…okay? So what does that have to do with me?...my figments of my imagination."

This time the Gork spoke out, his voice as booming as a collapsing mountain to the point where Nick thought the blood in him was vibrating. "Everythin' umie! Ere's what you're gonna do! You're gonna start from de're!" The blood orange ork roared pointing to mountain range that was across a massive river apart from the badland-like area that Karak Eight Peaks was. "You're gonna lead dis' tribe gobbos over to da badlands n' you're gonna lead a massive WAAAGH n' take over Karak Eigth peaks! Den- The world shifted yet again, as they went north, to what seemed to be a frozen and charred out hellscape that not even the most desperate mountaineers would want to cross back home. "-You're gonna go North and stomp on da spikey humie chaos boyz dat are tryin' ta end da world! De'ze git's are gonna pull it off if we let em' cauze we saw in da shroomz dat none of our boyz are gonna be able ta' stop it! N' if we don't, da world ends! And if da world ends den dere's no other gitz for our boyz ta' fight! N' if dere's no gits to stomp or chop den' dat's no way to exist!"

"...I see." He was starting to get seriously concerned now. This acid trip he'd been on must have been stronger than he thought it was. He could only hope that he would wake up soon and not just be so comatose to be in a perpetual figment of his imagination…well if nothing else it was definitely more interesting than slaving away in his cubicle.

Mork apparently caught onto his skepticism and huffed in amusement…and impatience. "Da umie' ain't buyin' it Gork. E' thinks we're havin' him on."

"Well, I don't mean to offend you guys, but look, this is all very amusing but I'm just gonna wait until I inevitably wake up." Nicholas huffed. "I mean I have to admit, my brain is taking me on a hell of a trip, but this is a bit too much even for me. I-

Nicholas then found himself devoid of words to use when Gork reached forward with a mighty cloud, yet very real hand and wrapped his fist around Nicholas's portly body eliciting a massive scream as he felt a few bones in his arms, legs and ribs crack from the sheer force. For a moment, Nicholas thought that his eyes would pop out of his sockets from how tightly he was squeezed. The arguments he had been forming within his mind that this wasn't real suddenly started fading in hand as Gork seemed to roar into his face, his burning orange eyes seeming like they would vaporize him on the spot.

But, that rumbling mountain-like voice was somehow even worse. "Listen e're umie. Da only reason why I ain't turnin' ya into paste n' why we're even decidin' to use ya, is because for SOME REASON, none of da boyz can get da job to Krump da spikey gits comin' from da north! So we're takin' a page outta dat pointy-ear goddess's book after Mork e're saw her take another humie from dis world! You're goin' down de're! You're gonna lead dis Waagh, and you're gonna Krumpin' like it!"

"O-okay, okay, hold on, hold on!" Nicholas stammered, struggling to find the wind to speak his precious few words. "I-I don't even know what you guys are even talking about, I mean I'm not a fighter! N-not a soldier, n-nothin' like that!"

"But ya got some smarts. And ya got some cunningly brutal mindset in ya." Mork chuckled, leering down at him. "Er'es da deal umie, and Oi'm gonna make dis short cause time is Zoggin' precious. You're gonna be a gobbo in da tribe we're settin' ya in and you're gonna make sure to show all da boyz you're da boss when ya take Eight Peaks. Do dat and find a way to beat da spikey umies comin' from da north…n' we let ya go back to your borin' umie life."

"But if ya fail!" Gork boomed. "Den you can stay as a stinkin' gobbo! Foreva'!"

"H-hold on dammit! Hold on!" Nick repeated, finding his voice. "Y-you can't do this to-this isn't right! W-why me!? S-seriously, I-j-just lemme go or-

"Or what?" Gork rumbled, his billowy orange-smokey breath washing over him. "What ya gonna do ta stop us 'umie?"

Nicholas opened his mouth to plead his case only to stop himself. What the hell was he supposed to say to these otherworldly beings with one of them currently crushing the bones in his body without even trying.

And then it got worse when Mork, Clasped his hand with Gork's both of them now holding Nicholas in a singular grip that drove the little air that he had saved into his lungs otuward, driving a groan of pain and oxygen deprivation that the human thought would kill him.

And then they both lifted him up in unison, the mountain of Karak Eight Peaks drifting further and further away as Mork spoke once more. "Me n' Gork ain't ones for speakin' much 'umie so we ain't wastin' no time! You should be thankin' us that were savin' a soul like yours from borin', snoozin' 'umie life that so much o' your kind a've! Now you'll a've an excuse to let loose! Now you'll have an excuse to get scrappin' as much as ya want! Just like in dat dream but for real!"

"N' if ya got a problem wit it!?" Gork roared as he and his blue counterpart. "DEN KRUMPIN' DEAL WIT IT YA GIT! GET TA EIGHT PEAKS OR DIE TRYIN'!"

And then in a unified effort, Gork and Mork reared back and threw Nicholas down into the planet that they had just showed to him. Literally.

Nicholas could only scream, now with the ability to do so with his lungs now free of the crushing grip that the gass-like creatures had him in. Unfortunately being able to now scream was the coldest of comfort when you were hurtling toward a mountain that was getting closer and closer by the second.

A mountain that would probably kill Nick quickly which would be a small mercy to breaking his legs and being left to die from the elements.

…

Yet just when it seemed he would go splat, he stood up gasping, only to feel pain and agony all over his body. There was a moment that the man thought he would pass out from the pain altogether especially from the splitting headache that was ringing through his brain. Even his left arm had lances of pain running through his elbow which strangely enough was now in a sling.

His now green arm…in a sling.

Gulping loudly he looked down at his sternum, with bandages made of rags and other haphazard clothes, covering injuries, bruises and what felt like broken ribs judging by how difficult it was to breathe all of a sudden. The pain terrified Nick. Not just because pain was terrifying to have, especially to this extent.

But, it dispelled any notion that this was an acid trip. This wasn't something that he could chalk up to partaking in an escape from his usual life. This had happened. What that goblin Grotslik had done, had happened. What those two gaseous looking orcs had roared into his face, had happened.

Him being a goblin now, was literally happening as he came to this horrifying realization.

"Did…did we a do good job?" Nick turned his head two fast for his own good toward the source of the voice, wincing as he felt himself go dizzy from the speed. Blurriness had to be shaken from his vision until he saw an odd sight. A large group of women wearing rags that were quite honestly worse looking than his own. In fact, even a potato sack might have been better than what they were all wearing.

Quick with numbers, Nick was able to count at least over one hundred women that he could personally see, some of them were looking to be sewing some outfits with piss-poor equipment. Others fashioned what appeared to be bone, flint or even stone to sticks, while some just openly sat near and stared at him, fearful of what his reaction would be.

The young woman who spoke was quickly shushed by her elder counterparts looking stricken at actually speaking to them.

"...did you fix me up?" Nick asked tentatively.

The women looked at one another in utter terror, none of them desiring to be the one that spoke next, as if they would drop dead on the spot from such an action.

Eventually it was a woman who seemed to be in her twenties, shakily raising her hand as pale as a sheet. "I…I'm a former wet-nurse master. I-I've skill in healing and remedies."

Given the many bandages and medical fixings that were nearly coating his body, they would have done a bang up job if they didn't have to resort to rags to get said job done. But, given the state of their clothes, Nick didn't think they purposefully went out of their way to do that. They probably just worked with what they had or what Grotslik had told them.

Or maybe they did do it on purpose? The fact that he now had the physical appearance of a goblin probably would have contributed to that idea.

And given how these women all were looking at him as if he could lunge and tear their throats out at a moment's notice and that they all had a mishmash of leather, cloth and heavy-metal collars, it didn't take a genius to see that they fixed him up at the goodness of their hearts.

And even though that may have been the case, Nick sighed, wincing at the soreness of his ribs before muttering out. "Thanks…I appreciate it."

Then the mood changed from tepid terror to utter bafflement and shock with many women turning to look at one another as if making sure they had heard what he had just uttered. For a beat, Nick wondered if he was better off just keeping his mouth shut, as this group looked and wondered if they had heard the goblin correctly.

Eventually, the wet-nurse slowly dipped her head. "Y-you're welcome…master Goblin."

Nick didn't like how he both liked and loathed those words feeling greatly conflicted, especially given the state of these girls.

And just like that he found himself speaking again. "You're…all slaves aren't you?"

More confusion was found on the women, with some looking offended but not finding the courage to say anything about it. Others looked down crestfallen at the reminder while others looked utterly baffled that he would ask that. Nick could have sworn that he heard one of them mutter about the head injury that he suffered urging him to scratch his head and to suddenly realize that he indeed had bandages around his now bald, green cranium.

"We are." Another older woman said, with slight wrinkles around her mouth and eyeline, but with blonde-hair and a braver tone. "Did Grotslik beat so horridly that your senses are leaving you?"

"Marthe!" The wet-nurse hissed, most likely terrified of the disrespectful tone.

Nick personally couldn't bring himself to be bothered by it. There was so much else bothering him in his mind that it barely registered.

He was a goblin. And he was part of a tribe that condoned slavery, and he barely survived by the skin of his teeth given the state of him.

Lucky him.

…wait…why was he still alive? If Nick could look back into his rattled brain properly, he was blamed for something that led to him getting that beat down to begin with right? Why not just kill him?

So naturally, he decided to ask the closest people near him. "That…that guy, Grotslik…did he tell you ladies anything after he dropped me here?"

"That guy, Grotslik?" Marthe reiterated, taking careful note of how he worded the question. "How…badly did he bash your brain in? Do you not even know the boss of your tribe?"

"Just answer the question. Please? I've got the worst headache pounding in my skull."

This time all the women started chatting animatedly, some openly debating the sheer amount of brain damage that he sustained while looking at Nick as if he not only had two heads, but two sets of arms, the likes of which they had never seen.

Marthe in particular had to close her mouth which opened in shock from this exchange, trying to remember the last time any of the goblins that harassed them into doing their bidding ever said the words 'please' or 'thank you.'

Eventually she decided to answer. "Grotslik did tell us to tell you something, if you lived."

"Oh yeah?"

"He says you've now been demoted from squig-herder to slave-herder. And that if he discovers that any of us escape under your watch…that he'll finish the job."

"Ah."

"Quite."

"...please don't run away then." It was a tad embarrassing that Nick couldn't quite keep the fear and terror out of his voice. Armed with knowledge like this, he might as well wear a collar himself given his new occupation. The fact that he felt a tightness around his throat at the threat that was tied around it like a noose only enforced this idea. "Also what the hell is a squig? I feel like that's what's gotten me into this mess to begin with."

The wet-nurse from earlier sighed and looked at another collared woman. "Brain damage." The woman she spoke to only nodded solemnly, which only mildly irritated the goblin in question.

"I don't have…eh." Just as the refutation was on his tongue, Nick couldn't even outwardly refute that idea. The only reason he was convinced he hadn't lost his marbles and wasn't comatose back home was because of the sheer agony his body was going through right now.

Absently he heard sniggering behind him and as quickly as his body would allow, Nick turned and saw goblins which immediately put him on edge. It was only now that he realized how utterly vulnerable he was, not just because he was battered to hell and back, but because he was small, weak and utterly small, like all of these goblins who were now leering at him. He was half the size, maybe even less than half the size of all these enslaved women. If these armed and gnasty looking goblins decided to ice him, what the hell could he do?

It only put him further on edge as these goblins snickered at him with many others behind them, side-eyeing him with those beady red eyes of his. It was the same look he'd see other Tier 4 workers at his job before they were about to get laid off.

"There's a bet you know."

Nick whipped his head back to Marthe. "Wha?"

"A bet…amongst the goblins. One of the other slave girls overheard that many are betting that it won't even be a week until Grotslik swipes your head off and yanks out all your teeth."

"...thanks for the update."

Once again, seemingly put off by a goblin giving thanks even if it was made in sarcasm, Marthe nodded slowly, eyeing the goblin as he sat down on the uncomfortable ground, running a hand through his bald, bandaged head and coming to grips with his new reality.

Take some place called Karak Eight Peaks or live out your life as a goblin.

Suddenly working back in Tier 4 of his old job seemed like a paradise in comparison. Then again, if that bet was anything to go by, it may not even come to that.

It only made Nicholas wonder what he'd done to deserve this situation, much like the rest of his life.

He was about to scratch his inner leg only to stop when he felt something there. Or rather a lack of something. When he reached further into his thigh and noticed a large absence, his confusion turned to panic, urging him to pull open his tattered pants and look pointedly down at his crotch.

For a moment, Nick didn't utter a word, a choked feeling bubbling in the back of his throat as he gazed down the sheer empty void that was between his legs, his new and beady red eyes looking as though they were going to pop.

He then screamed his lungs, damned the pain and making the women in front of him jump at the sudden burst of sound erupting from his lungs, many wincing wondering if he'd finally wised up to the offenses that had been sneakily thrown his way.

Only for him to howl in terror. "Why'd he take my manhood when he could just kill me!?" He screamed, mistakenly believing this to be yet another punishment from Grotslik.

A/N:

For those who are new to me, this is a part of what I'm calling the 'Successor Verse' which is a Warhammer story that is in the same setting of my first story, Kemmler's Successor. However fret not, because you don't have to read or have read Kemmler's Successor to get into this story, since they are only loosely connected and stand out on their own, especially since both stories take place in different parts of the Old World.

For those who have read Kemmler's Successor the best I can tell you is to be prepared for a more ethically loose character than Lyle. Lyle had a better situation and more power to throw around at the beginning to force his somewhat noble ideals upon the Barrow Legion, but as you've seen here, Nicholas won't quite have that strong of a position.

Will our new hero be able to get the Black Venom tribe to eventually go and take Karak Eight Peaks? Or will he die trying before he even gets the ball rolling?

Tune in next time and let me know what you think of the premises so far in the reviews! The more responses I get, the more motivation I'm going to have to give more momentum to this story.