---Lord Klar POV

“Where isss the Captain goings?” asks a female, to my great surprise. Bulky males shadow her, protective and, if anything, trying to intimidate me. Neither make any move, keeping their jaws shut while their lips ripple to reveal their white, perfectly meshed, and pointed teeth.

Climbing to my feet helps, but they are still taller, even the female, if only slightly. “He has certain tasks to perform.”

“What is wrong with those two females?” The heads of the males lurch over her shoulders, their eyes peering to support her question.

I had choked Cassia out before their arrival, as I didn’t need her struggling to speak. Given the overly interested audience, I congratulate my forethought.

“They have become overcome by stress.” I nod towards the dust pile that was Ed.

“Oh?”

“Ed over there tried to ingest too much of my blood at once. I didn’t realise his aim of attacking me until his mouth latched onto my wrist. I could have warned him, but I am certain he wouldn’t have listened anyway. He had tasted …”

“Oh? We, too, felt invigorated by your blood and considered … well, asking for more of your… magic.” Her bottom lip curls back, revealing a bottom row of fine razor-sharp teeth. Disgust?

“What are your plans now? You have your freedom.”

“We are wondering why the battlecruiser hasn’t destroyed this ship.” Both males now stare at me.

“If the ship had any projectile weapons, I assume they used them many years ago. Beam weapons would require energy, and perhaps the new owner prefers to save such energy for a fast escape, or someone has locked them out of that weapon system. The Captain didn’t mention that his Navigation Officer survived. Therefore, if he and that officer locked out the weapons, only they could unlock them. The only other alternative would require the return of the ship to Earth. A failsafe in case a ship was ever captured.” I take a deep breath. “Probably the only reason a ship that disappeared years ago can still approach human ships with impunity. No weapons powered up.”

“You know much about human spaceships for a green non-human,” she replies. Those around her hiss, not threatening, chuckling?

“The Captain…”

She shakes her head. “To save more wasted breath, yes, I am certain the Captain told you everything about human spaceships before we arrived. Speaking of which, I assume he has run off to claim the Scout to return him home. Which leaves us with a problem.” She looks around the lab. “I assume this ship has been in geostationary orbit for hundreds of years and hence has no long-range propulsion?”

I am going to be honest because it will cost me little. “That I can confirm. It has manoeuvring thrusters but no space jump capability. From what I can tell, the owner transported the ship, section by section, into the solar system by what are called Modular Cutters. As they arrived, they joined the modules, and once finished, they piloted the spacecraft into orbit using the thrusters.”

“More quality time spent with the Captain?” The males issue a wet sniffing sound out of largish nostrils and steady themselves against the door-jam. While her lips move, a smirk, perhaps? “In that case, we better get used to each other because we have no other choice…”

She is fishing for an offer, of course. I am not human, so I must have arrived on the Observation Ship somehow. “How do you feel about living on the planet below? I know of a suitable chain of what I believe are uninhabited islands. Can you swim in salt water?”

She crosses well-toned arms, and the lab lighting shows off a dark green tint in her dark leathery skin—another surprise. Maybe our shared greenness makes them friendly?

“You guess correctly, we have amphibious ancestry, including a particular species most comfortable in freshwater yet adaptable enough to survive for days in salt water. So, a chain of islands would be most acceptable. If inhabited, we will take care of them as we fight for our very existence.”

What was I thinking? Greenness makes us friends? Unlikely. No, we all conclude the same thing. They cannot stay on the Observation Ship and can’t all fit in the Scout Ship. The planet is the only viable destination; therefore, we are acting at being polite because of mutual necessity. On the planet, they will be an aggressive competitor. I hope the GPA will notice this foreign species in the future and eliminate it as required by their rules. 

“Let me take care of these two.” I nod towards the two humans. “Then I will see what we can do for food and water. If you are too many and if we are lucky, the Observation Ship will have a second shuttle, and I can start transporting you and others to the surface.”

“Forget searching for food. As soon as you take care of them,” she flicks a hand of claws at the two humans. “I want as many as possible on the planet as soon as possible to assess your offer.”

No one trusts anyone anymore. Got it, not friends. Well, so be it, I guess. “Agreed. While you wait, pick your first twelve and if someone can keep their hands to themselves, possibly another.”

---

I force-feed Cassia my blood, and while her devotion isn’t as intense as Diasha’s, it is enough that she won’t try too often and too hard to escape the Lab. Koria and Luda can oversee the baking of Linmere. Diasha was helpful, providing her name. The passenger shuttle waited in a ready state. Three return journeys I made. They had saved at least thirty-nine lizardmen. The last flight included several females, warrior types, though. I descended well out to sea and then, skimming above the high cresting saltwater waves of the ocean, approached the biggest island in the chain. When I delivered the second lot of thirteen, the first had found fresh water, tracked several herds of game to hunt, and lumbered enough wood to build several shelters. Best of all, they reported no intelligent competition.

Linmere’s transfer was completed by then, and instead of playing with the instrumentation in the Lab, I took a harmless gamble and willed what I required. I forced Linmere to drink my blood while still recovering. I assumed she may not be pleased and was right. When the Captain came to collect Ed’s dust, her body, and Titus’, Koria needed to bind her. His explanation for Ed was that he took his experiment a dangerous step too far. Hopefully, they could still sample human DNA from his remains. Titus was, of course, slain unawares by some of the controlled crew in the assault.

The Chieftain, I guess I would call her, wasn’t happy when I said I would fly the rest down to the planet in the passenger shuttle and follow up with their incubated eggs in the cargo shuttle. Two more flights of females, and then she co-piloted the cargo shuttle with me, fully loaded four times. During this time, a second female hobgoblin flesh bag had grown, and I decided Cassia would be next to begin her new life in a new skin.

The first arrivals had cleared a landing near where they had built several shelters. This permitted the delivery of the incubated eggs as close as possible to their exact destination, avoiding the need to carry the incubators far. The She Slime didn’t make the incubators, but they allowed the eggs to mature in bulk while freeing the females for whatever else she wanted them to do. Fertilisation? Something convenient now as before my eyes, solar panels deployed, capable of following the sun across the sky. I assumed the panels would harvest enough energy to keep the incubator operational until dawn. Like most human technology, their design followed a standard plan of interlocking modules with options. These were configured to utilise a backup energy source. Did the GPA envision landing at some future stage? Why else would they have habitat modules?

I returned to the Observation Ship and released a finished and angry Cassia. Diasha, in direct contrast, paced about, almost eager to be next. She was giddy when I strapped her to a slab.

Linmere, hands and feet bound in metal cuffs and bright green, growls at me, “I rejected her offer. What would make you think I would be happy with yours?”

I flick her nose and chuckle as this sends her into a false flurry, attempting to break free. “I have transformed you to ask you one simple question.”

She nods, trying to urge me on. I amuse myself by waiting until she tries to roll about, and I grab her to position her back in place.

“Do you want to live?”

She quirks her head.

“Your human body was almost dead. You would have died. I took a chance to transfer you.”

“Fluck me,” she says. “You know the machine can squeeze out a human body as well as it can squeeze out a hobgoblin one, right?”

“You would have been dead before then.”

She grunts and rests her chin on her knees. “Grow a human body and transfer me again.”

“Will that work? Is there a limitation?”

She sniffles. “I don’t know. But look at me. You know what I am, don’t you or was?”

I shake my head.

“A Shifter, you moron. She, the high and mighty Tinuna, had this plan for me to be the saviour of the Shifter race. Magic? Pfft.”

“You know I did no programming, no manipulation of the settings in the Lab. I sent my will into the Lab, and I have you. Next, was a human transferred into hobgoblin flesh. I am certain she wasn’t a Shifter. My last, which I am now doing, is also a human to hobgoblin transfer.”

“What!” she shouts, then frowns. The look is cute on her. “Wipe the dopey look off your face. This is serious. GPAs, only GPAs are prepared, down to their gene level, for this transfer process. Their seeing-the-light knack is essential. The technology, in a controlled manner, makes the entire transfer possible. The GPA dies and is directly reborn into the new flesh. You may see and feel something different as a subject, but that is the scientific process with a dash of Shifter magic to ensure the GPA doesn’t mistake the invitation. So how does this work for two random humans?”

“How did it work for you?”

She grunts and returns her attention to me. “I am a Shifter, my magic…” she mutters. Is she trying to convince herself? “Fluck! I didn’t entirely believe her, but it must be true if you are or have transferred a human.”

“Yes,” I urge.

“Tinuna said she had total control of the Observation Ship. She also tricked the Scout Ship’s Captain to introduce her will into his ship. Even as we occupy this lab, I am certain she knows of our activities. She spoke of this planet. It was special.” Her face flushes green. “Your seed was the key. She insisted I lie with you and ask you to make me one of your wives…”

I cough. “I have become somewhat picky about who I take as a wife.” Her face draws a blank. She assumed I would be all over her or simply asking would be enough. “I will share my seed with you. That way, you can determine if it is as potent, magic-wise, as Tinuna said, and if so, that may be enough for you to accept your situation.”

She nods, “Alright.” She holds her ankles and wrists up towards me. I smile and roll her over to have a perfect view of her helpless and woefully skinny rear. I shrug. Even her tusks are toothpicks. My finger and thumb rub-down the bridge of my non-human nose. What am I thinking sexualising her? Am I going native?

Another thing for later…

You don’t come off the slab with any clothes on, so I have my way with her. She cursed me, of course, because she expected her freedom in exchange, but I didn’t trust her.

Linmere screams in delight at the floor as I finish for the third time inside her. While I would like to think this is because of my sexual prowess, I am confident there is another reason. My seed, of course, as predicted by Tinuna, is a key that has unlocked some magical epiphany within her.

My deliberations falter when I feel a pair of hands caress my shoulders and travel down my chest. A whispering hot breath brushes against my ear. “I beg for your seed, Master. Fill me as many times as you need to sate yourself. My lovely green body is now yours. My will is now your will. Please…”

I crafted each of the female hobgoblin flesh bags to meet my desire. They are not as blatant as Tinuna, but still an above-average attraction. The only exception was Linmere, given I needed to use what was there to save her life. Diasha, though, was exceptional in looks and subservience. Looking into her eyes, I discover deep devotion and take her gently for the first time. The next time, he returns, and I unleash him. I welcome him back. As I thought after exposure, he had diminished. The low fire that was him now roars, wild and triumphant. The word dust springs unbidden into my mind.

My nanorobots had recently converted the nanorobots that had consumed Ed, taken his life force slowly, one drop of water at a time, and somehow, this had rebuilt him, my inner Hob. The absorption of Ed added a methodical, conniving planning edge to his personality. He declared all the variables upfront. All the future actions he codes to unfold in a specific order. He exudes cruel domination, but he toys with his subject instead of random, wanton lust. The giving and taking of any hope of escape from his sexual teasing is blatant. The lifting of his subject to the edge of release and then disconnecting to saviour their desperate want, done time and time again. Only after she swears undying loyalty again and again did he allow her a needy overdue bliss. The lack of his rage filling my mind permits me an excellent recollection of his glorious deviant manipulations. He is truly the master.

He wants to begin again, but a clearing of a throat alerts me, and after some effort, I regain control. Diasha flops, spent, sprawling across the floor as I release her.

“Her body is still on the slab, and you are welcome,” I say. The effort to level my voice is a waste as I convince neither him nor I.

“Thank you. I think I am set. I notice no lizardmen, so you have shuttled them all to the planet now?”

“Unless one wants to stow away. My wives and I will be through before we leave.”

My Inner Hob whines while the Captain hefts the corpse of Diasha, the former Engineer and Navigation Officer of the Scout Ship, onto a gurney. In silence, he makes for the door. At the last moment, he looks over his shoulder.

“Good luck. I am certain I will enjoy my time as a hero. They have vastly improved communication in the past years, so I reported in. My superiors will welcome me back with open arms, pleased the unknown enemy is now revealed and equally impressed that I knew nothing about the Scout Ship crew or their mission except to say they tried to help me and died in the attempt.”

I am also confident, given what Linmere said, that any logs will report the planet searched and all anomalies dusted.

Diasha stirs, and I unshackle my Inner Hob. He pounces.

---

Releasing Diasha from a session of deep bloody kissing, I am sure of her absolute devotion. She will follow me in the cargo shuttle and stay on track. Diasha saunters off. I ask Koria and Luda if they would keep her company, and they grip me all the tighter. Through our bond, I sense their overriding judgment. They believe her crazy. Luda and Koria hasten to join Linmere and Cassia in the passenger shuttle while I slide into the pilot’s seat without a co-pilot. Diasha pre-programmed my flight, so in theory, I would just need to sit back and relax.

Taking both shuttles would ensure no one who visited the Observation Ship could take a quick trip to the planet’s surface. If a visiting spaceship were big enough, they would, of course, carry their own Shuttles, but a Scout Ship, for example, wouldn’t, which was helpful. I doubt the GPA would send any large ship now that they knew who their mysterious enemy was. In fact, I am sure they will be busy hunting xenophobes for the next five hundred years.

The Lizardmen island chain rising before me on the horizon signals the start of a steep climb into the clouds before landfall. I explained to Diasha that we needed to use cloud cover to sneak back into the valley of the hobgoblins. Like Tinuna, I told her and advised her to study Tinuna’s flight plan.

As the climb begins, the Shuttle continues, but instead of continuing higher, the Shuttle inverts, and now I am flying upside down and heading towards Diasha’s Shuttle. Why is this happening? Then, I grip the arms of the chair. She should veer away to avoid a collision…

Instead, an energy beam shoots towards me or over me. Behind the cockpit, I hear the tearing of metal and witness the side of the shuttle, a complete set of doors separate. Losing aerodynamics is the least of my concerns. In horror, I observe one small and three large bodies tumble free, falling towards the ocean far below me.

The Shuttle completes the overhead manoeuvre and levels out. The wind buffet shakes the shuttle, but otherwise, I am safe in the cockpit. My passengers and a cargo bay door are now well behind me, and Diasha’s shuttle is now leading. After a desperate search, I find the beam weapon controls and press. An alert sounds, and a voiceover follows, “Weapon system locked out.” I curse my impotence.

My Shuttle doesn’t climb into the clouds. A short while after, I realise my Shuttle is playing ‘follow the leader’ to Diasha’s Shuttle, and we are far from land but parallel. Well, north, she turns her shuttle landward, and mine obediently follows. We cross the coastline, and below us, the land is desolate. Land that suffers because of creeping frost during the colder months and then during the summer retreat, lifeless ground reveals itself. The permanent ice cap is still further north.

Onto this tundra, my shuttle lands when she lands. My seatbelt releases, and I punch the control to open the door separating me from the passenger compartment. The seating is still there, but four seatbelt ends are all free, flailing about. I dash through the open side of my shuttle and race towards the cargo shuttle.

She sits on the edge of the cargo bay, her swinging legs dangling over the edge with the broadest, happiest smile on her face. She leaps from her perch, skipping and jumping her way towards me.

“We are alone, Master. None can interrupt us while we enjoy each other. We can live in sweet eternal bliss!” she cries out joyfully.

As she leaps. She, of course, expects me to catch her. I don’t. My inner Hob and I agree on another course of action. My hands clamp onto either side of her still-smiling face. With a twist, my rage, the fuel, I hear her neck snap. Her body flops about, and I think the impossible. She survives. Then her body drops limp in my hands. I study her face for a time to make sure the crazy is dead and throw her carcass on the frozen ground. Once done, I only now realise how cold I am. The wind chill is fierce, and I leap into the cargo bay of the Cargo Shuttle and slap the control panel. The cargo bay doors close with a whoosh. Instantly, my nanorobots absorb the sleet on my flesh and defeat any lingering cold.

I enter the cockpit and strap myself in. As I reach for the controls and start pressing what I need to prepare the Shuttle for flight, a voiceover says, “Please enter the flight release code. To prevent premature departure, the assigned pilot has locked out the controls.” Worse, I recognise the voice, Diasha’s. She must have been an expert on shuttles to override the ship’s voice. I surmise she probably would have flown shuttles to earn enough to make a living between Scout Ship assignments. With a grimace, I recall checking with her several times to see if she felt capable of piloting a shuttle by herself. Reference Linmere’s flight path! Her overflowing eagerness is understandable now… as well as her multiple back and forth between both Shuttles in preparation, whereas I thought she needed the time to remind herself how. Diasha locking the flight controls also prevents me from doing an ocean search. I can only assume I have lost two wives and two consorts to the sea. The cost of my blind overconfidence…

As I am about to crumble, he roars to remind me. My wives will return. The other two were yet to be.

The wind carried sleet, and wave upon wave coats the cockpit windows. There isn’t enough food to remain here, so I search for another essential. A flight jumpsuit is under the pilot’s seat, and I find another under the co-pilot’s seat. There is a red axe in the cargo area. No other clothing. I climb into the larger of the two flight jumpsuits, the second I wear over the first, but only at the arms, making the second suit into an ad hoc cape or cloak, although I shorten both legs and tie the remains around my waists. The two offcuts I wrap around my feet like socks and then retie the leather throngs of my primitive boots. Next, I visit my shuttle, determined to cut off all the seatbelts and tie them into a makeshift rope. I end up tumbling backwards after ripping the first free, cursing as I do. On inspection, I discovered the perforation across each seat belt near the floor anchor end. The intent is clear; they look sound enough and would hold well enough to tolerate strapping in, but they would easily rip free under stress. Swearing at her scheming, I quickly end up with a rope of sorts instead of the struggle I expected and, with bitterness, judge this better than nothing.

With the remaining daylight, I demand my body keep an alternating pace of running and then jogging. Shortly after, my nanorobots sense my urgency. Balancing my energy levels reaches a satisfying equilibrium, and I know I make good time. The cold, biting wind is at my back, propelling me forward. My improvised coat keeps my core warm while my nanorobots distribute this warmth to my extremities. I continue running into the night. The devastated land holds little in the way of surprises for my footfalls, and my eyes utilise every glint of starlight to see in the night. The sleet that coats the back of my bald head provides my nanorobots with enough water to fuel my non-stop trek. My inner Hob, of course, seethes with rolling emotion. Her death was appropriate, yet too quick…

When I discover a stream or creek, I stop to drink. Sips only, so the freezing water doesn’t lower my core temperature before my nanorobots consume to refuel. My trek is continuous. I do briefly sleep, always in the middle of the day with sunshine on my head and behind a windbreak of some sort, a rare log, a depression, or a shallow gully, even the bank of a dry riverbed. My count of the days is vague, sixty days at least, probably more, before I reach a place of less wind and snow.

With the warm sun on my back and the chill now out of the air, I take the time to bury my flight jumpsuits in a deep hole, digging some more each time I think I am done. The discovery of them would be a shock, I believe, and possibly begin some awkward questioning. My axe strikes flint rock, and the sparks encourage the small twigs and stone-shaven bark to smoke until they take to flame. I place this nest of fire on the jumpsuits, and shortly after, they are aflame. I watch the fire dance and consume the material down to black embers.

The knock on the back of my head gives me pause. Try as I might to fight, the wave of unconsciousness sweeping over me succeeds. In my last moment of surrender, I ask my nanorobots how they could not prevent this.

---

Blinking awake, I try to wipe my eyes and realise my wrists are bound. Same for my ankles, yet I am upright? I feel a backboard against my shoulders. This is somewhat familiar, and with my jaw set, I glance down. A neat pile of evenly cut logs surrounds my perch. I growl through my teeth.

“It is good you have woken. Your blood smells and tastes of the evil Lord Klug. He and his worshippers ever a curse on the land, forcing good peoples into desperate exile to escape his madness.”

“Their journey was long and dark through the mountain,” chant a chorus of voices around me again and again.

Have I escaped one crazy to find another?

“Let the flame cleanse you of your evil. Let the pain you endure separate you from his bondage. We take no joy in this. This is our holy duty.”

The chant rises again. “Their journey was long and dark through the mountain.”

Throughout this ceremony, I twist and contort my wrists to draw blood. My nanorobots get busy weakening the cord binding my wrists. I test them every time she speaks until, finally, they rip. I bend over and yank at first one and then the rope around the other ankle.

She stops her sermon.

“Fire the wood, now, I say, quickly! The beast is trying to escape!”

As the first fire carrier approaches, I leap at him and smash his hobgoblin face with my fist. Joy fills my heart as I hear his bones crack. I catch the falling torch and charge the goblin crone. She screams, gathering her black robes to flee. I am over her and swing my flaming torch down on her head. The torch breaks. Such is the force behind my blow. Her dead body crumples and lies still. All around, goblins and hobgoblins flee. My inner Hob rejoices, anticipating an inevitable slaughter is about to begin.

All the campfires and torchlights in the village are out shortly after. While they may have panicked, they had enough sense to do this one thing. Rightly believing any attacker would only stumble in the dark while they, familiar with the layout of their village during the day, would allow them to reach safety during the night.

My eyes adjust to draw in and use starlight. Off in the distance, several hobgoblins dress in armour while goblins prepare bows and quivers on either side. I pick up a log and toss one at a goblin. With a squeak, he drops to the ground and doesn’t get up. The group pauses and looks about. A log hits a goblin on the other side of the group. I continue this until the remaining few are ready for battle. Painful groaning instead of a battle cry accompanies them as they advance towards me. How they know where I am is beyond me. I reposition behind the pyre, and they stop and peer into the night again. They can see in the dark, perhaps, but only over a short distance.

I test this by crouching down and creeping around the pyre, so I am closer, yet farther away than I was initially. Sure enough, they spot me and advance once again. I disappear again out of their range behind the pyre and, picking up a lump of wood in each hand, I charge them from the opposite side where they last sighted me. My surprise is complete, and I whack their heads until they fall to the ground. My Inner Hob is celebrating within me, and our lust for battle doesn’t end until a cacophony of groans and rolling bodies lies at my feet.

After one last check, I throw my logs back onto the pile around the pyre. “Come out now and prostrate before me, and I may spare your lives. If even one of you runs, I will slay five to sate my anger,” I growl.

They exit their huts in family groups, females and children. Goblins and hobgoblins. Only a few older males are with them. I assume some husbands and sons lay unconscious at the far end of the village because of my log throwing. Several torches are lit, and the central village clearing fills with light. Their whimpering in the dark continues with more ardour in the morning.

“Who is in charge here?” I ask.

They point to the dead crone and then quickly rethink and point to another. Another female goblin, her robes not as plentiful yet still black and with bent back, scuttles forward one haphazard step after another.

“Yes, evil one. What are your commands? We swear to serve you if you spare our lives.”

That is more like it, I say to myself. I know the ocean is on one side, and impenetrable mountains are on the other. Behind me is a cold waste, so only the south can be anything better, and my new followers will ease my passage or die trying. I decide on a demonstration of loyalty and, thinking back to the Observation Ship, command my nanorobots to instil loyalty.

“Come forth and receive my blood and swear your loyalty to me.”

Her hands cover her mouth, and she looks about for what? Help? Her fellow villagers look away. Some do so while crying. She edges forward.

Losing my patience, I advance on her and grab her by the throat. Her feet dangle free.

“Swear your oath to me?” I snarl.

“I swear I will serve you, Lord… erm.” Her eyes meet mine, questioning.

“I am Lord Klar.”

“Yes, Lord. I will serve Lord Klar until you have no use for me or until my death.”

“Good. I swear to protect you from all harm except my wroth if you disappoint me.” I drag my free wrist over one of my tusks and squeeze my hand, allowing a steady stream of my blood to drop into her mouth. Her face begins in disgust, and as I lower her to signal our oath binding is at an end, I notice her eyes narrow while she licks her lips.

I include every male, female, child goblin, and hobgoblin in the oath-binding ceremony. Towards the end, the villagers ferret out a few of their reluctant neighbours, and I am satisfied. My primary aim is to be confident enough of their loyalty that I can sleep without fear of being stabbed.

After several long nights of undisturbed sleep and the fawning attention of most in the village, I am awoken one morning to a committee of three led by the goblin crone.

P.S. If you are not reading this chapter for free on Royal Road or Scribble Hub, then the website you are on has stolen my story.