The forest stretched endlessly around Ernest, a cathedral of shadows and whispers. Moonlight bled through twisted branches, silvering the ground where his small boots pressed into damp soil. His torn sleeve still clung to his arm from the wolf fight, the faint sting of a shallow cut serving as a reminder: his body was fragile, but his will was not.
He had bled. He had killed.
And he wanted more.
The wolves had been beasts, bound by instinct, easy to break. Their wills were brittle. One word had bent them, another had shattered them. But already Ernest felt the Voice of God demanding more—more resistance, more challenge, more prey to prove itself against.
That was when he smelled the smoke.
He paused, head tilting slightly as his sharp eyes caught the faintest plume rising above the treetops. Not the smoke of hearths or chimneys, but thin, acrid smoke. Wild. Crude.
He moved silently through the underbrush, cloak of shadows trailing around him. Branches shifted. Leaves crunched faintly beneath his steps.
Soon he saw it.
A crude settlement nestled in a clearing: sharpened stakes forming a jagged perimeter, crooked huts of mud and hide clustered around a central firepit. The stench of rot and filth hung thick in the air. Shapes moved in the firelight—short, twisted forms with long arms and mottled green skin.
Goblins.
Ernest crouched in the shadows, watching with narrowed eyes.
They were ugly things. Misshapen. Pathetic. And yet… not beasts. Their eyes glittered with cruelty, their guttural laughter carrying across the camp as they tossed bones into the fire. They spoke in a foul tongue, crude but structured. Language. Thought.
This was different.
A wolf obeyed because instinct was weak. A goblin, however, had will. Flawed, twisted, but present. This would be the true test of his Voice.
Ernest's lips curved faintly.
Perfect.
He stepped from the treeline into the firelight.
The goblins saw him at once. A child—small, pale, dressed in fine if torn clothes—stepping boldly into their den. Confusion flickered across their grotesque faces, quickly replaced by hunger. They rose from their seats, yellow eyes gleaming, jagged weapons lifted.
Ernest's voice was calm. Cold.
"Die."
Mana surged, threads of power lashing outward. One goblin convulsed, claws digging into its own throat as it shrieked. Its body spasmed violently, then collapsed near the fire.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then the others roared.
Ten goblins rushed him, screeching curses, blades of rusted iron glinting red in the firelight.
Ernest's eyes narrowed.
"Stop."
Three froze mid-step, muscles locking. The rest charged through, unfazed. Ernest's small body twisted aside, barely dodging a crude spear. A club whistled past his head, close enough to ruffle his hair.
Too close.
Ernest's chest rose and fell sharply. His words carried infinite mana, but his control was ragged, spilling power wildly. He needed precision. Discipline.
He clenched his teeth.
"Kneel."
The nearest goblin collapsed, legs buckling beneath it. Another tripped over its body, sprawling face-first into the dirt. Ernest's gaze flicked to a third.
"Kill him."
The kneeling goblin rose instantly, dagger flashing. It plunged the blade into its comrade's neck. The victim shrieked, blood spraying.
Chaos erupted.
The goblins howled, frenzy overtaking them. Their shrieks rose in the night as they swarmed.
Ernest's blood sang. His heart hammered, not with fear, but exhilaration. This was battle. This was a symphony, and he was its conductor.
"Sleep."
One goblin collapsed mid-sprint.
"Break your arm."
Another shrieked, bones snapping under its own strength.
"Obey hunger. Feed on him."
Two goblins turned, snarling, and tore into each other with claws and teeth.
But it was not perfect. Every command drained him, every command tested the limits of his focus. His Voice lashed outward like a whip, striking targets, but with each lash, his chest tightened.
My control… still clumsy. Too much mana wasted.
And then the largest of them appeared.
A hobgoblin.
Nearly twice the height of the others, its muscles bulged beneath scarred skin, tusks jutting from its snarling mouth. Its crude armor of leather and bone clinked as it strode forward, dragging a jagged axe. The other goblins parted, bowing their heads.
A leader.
Ernest's gaze locked with its burning eyes. His lips curved faintly.
"Obey me."
The words thundered through the clearing. Mana flared, pouring out of him in waves. The hobgoblin froze, eyes rolling back, teeth grinding. It trembled violently, resisting, straining against his command.
Ernest's head throbbed. His vision swam.
Resisting… stronger than the wolves. More will. More focus required.
He poured more mana through his words, the Voice vibrating in the air like the peal of a bell.
"Obey me!"
The hobgoblin dropped to its knees. Its axe fell with a heavy thud.
Ernest swayed, pale, a sheen of sweat across his brow. His small body trembled from the effort. He steadied himself, forcing his breathing calm.
One word, absolute. That was the key. No waste. No hesitation.
The remaining goblins shrieked and charged.
Ernest straightened, his cold eyes gleaming in the firelight.
"Obey me!"
The Voice erupted, surging outward like a storm. The air itself seemed to tremble. Goblins faltered mid-charge. Half froze. Others dropped their weapons. Some turned on each other, howling in confusion.
A few resisted, rushing forward. Ernest's lips curved coldly.
"Die."
They collapsed instantly, blood spraying as they tore their own throats.
The clearing became carnage. Goblins butchered each other, shrieking, limbs flailing, firelight glinting off blood. The air filled with screams and the copper tang of death.
Ernest stood at the center, a small figure commanding slaughter with nothing but his words. His eyes were alight, his voice calm, each command a note in his symphony of carnage.
"Kill.""Feed.""Tear.""Obey."
The goblins danced to his Voice, their lives extinguished one after another until the clearing was painted in gore.
Silence fell at last.
The fire crackled. The corpses smoked.
Ernest staggered, his small chest heaving. His hands trembled faintly. Sweat dripped down his brow.
Around him, the goblin nest was ruin.
Dozens lay dead, bodies twisted and broken by their own hands. Blood stained the dirt black. The hobgoblin knelt in the center, motionless, obedient even in death.
Ernest stood among the carnage, drenched in gore, his pale face lit by firelight. His eyes gleamed with cold triumph.
This… this is power. Not the hollow victories of Earth. Not the meaningless grind of that empty life. This is real. This is mine.
But even as exhilaration coursed through him, something else stirred.
The fire guttered suddenly. The night grew still.
And Ernest felt it.
A weight.
It pressed down on him, vast and suffocating. His breath caught. His chest constricted. The world blurred, as if the sky itself had bent to stare at him.
Something was watching.
Not goblins. Not beasts. Not mortals.
Something higher.
His small body shook. Mana roiled violently in his veins. His lips parted, blood spilling.
A god's gaze.
For a heartbeat, it pierced through the veil, brushing against him. Infinite. Cold. Curious.
Ernest's heart thundered. His soul screamed.
Then—his Endless Veil surged. Like a cloak, it wrapped around him, pulling him back into shadow. The gaze slipped past, fading into the void.
Ernest collapsed to one knee, gasping. His hands shook. His eyes burned.
Terror. Excitement. Exhilaration.
They looked at me. The gods looked at me.
He clenched his fists, forcing his body still. His voice, ragged but steady, cut the silence.
"Not yet," he whispered, blood dripping from his lips. His eyes gleamed like cold steel in the firelight.
"You will not see me. Not until I am ready. And when I am…"
His lips curved into a cold, merciless smile.
"…you will obey."
The fire crackled. The corpses smoked. And Ernest Aldery, no more than a child, stood among the ruins of the goblin nest with blood on his hands and defiance burning in his eyes.