Chapter 16 The Eggs Cracked, Tiny Noises Filling the Hatchery, Signaling the Birth of New Life.

The process began slowly. I felt the first egg shift within me, a heavy, uncomfortable sensation that quickly turned to pain as it moved downwards. My body tensed, muscles straining as I tried to expel the egg. The pain was intense, a burning, tearing sensation that made me want to scream, but I bit down on my tiny fist.

I bore down, my entire body shaking with the effort. The egg moved painfully slowly, the hardened shell scraping against my insides. It felt as though I was being torn apart from the inside, each contraction sending waves of agony through my body. My vision blurred with tears, but I kept pushing, driven by the desperate need to get the egg out.

Finally, with a guttural cry, the first egg emerged. It slipped out of me with a wet, painful pop, landing on the ground with a dull thud. The relief was immediate but short-lived as I felt the next egg begin its journey. There was no time to rest, no time to recover. The process had to continue.

The next egg was just as painful, if not more so. My body felt like it was on fire, each contraction a new wave of torment. I could hear the other goblins around me, their cries of pain echoing my own. We were all going through the same pain, united in our suffering. Some of the goblins were louder than others, their screams piercing the air, while others were squealing like crazy, their faces contorted in agony.

The third egg was tough. My body was so weakened by the first two that I could barely muster the strength to push. The pain was excruciating, a searing, tearing sensation that made me feel like I was being ripped apart. I could taste blood in my mouth but I kept pushing, driven by sheer willpower.

One by one, the eggs were laid until I was empty, my stretched belly skin sagging like a fleshy bag. I managed to lay ten eggs. Despite the agony, I found a strange sense of fulfillment in the process. These eggs, these future hatchlings, were my legacy. I had survived the worst, and now I was bringing new life into the world.

When it was finally over, I lay there, utterly exhausted but with a small, triumphant smile on my face. The eggs were safely in their nests, each one a potential new life. I looked around at my fellow slaves, their faces reflecting the same mixture of pain and pride. We had endured, and we had brought new life into this cruel world.

Rakrak and his guards inspected the eggs, their faces showing a rare hint of satisfaction.

"Well done," Rakrak said, his voice dripping with condescension.

"You've proven yourselves useful once again. But there is no time to rest, your work is far from over. Gather the eggs and off to the hatchery! Quickly! Before the eggs get cold!"

We were exhausted and sore, our legs shaking and trembling like leaves in the wind. Our bodies, still reeling from the trauma of egg-laying, were barely able to move, but we sprang to our feet as ordered. Each step was a jolt of pain, but the fear of punishment drove us forward. We used our outstretched belly skin as makeshift baskets to carry the eggs and keep them wrapped in warmth while we rushed inside the hatchery.

As we opened the door, we were met with a hot, steaming gust of air and the unimaginable stench of goblin feces and piss. The rank odor assaulted our senses, making our eyes water and our stomachs churn. At the back wall was a big mound of soil mixed with goblin feces and urine, a special mixture designed to further nurture the eggs until they hatched.

Carefully, we placed the eggs on the mound of filth, tucking each one in to prevent it from rolling down and breaking. The heat in the room was suffocating, the air thick with humidity, just perfect for the eggs. Sweat poured down our faces, mingling with the grime that already coated our skin. The task seemed endless as we nestled more than a hundred eggs.

Once the eggs were secured, we dragged ourselves out of the hatchery, our bodies screaming in agony. We collapsed on the ground outside, too exhausted and broken to move. Our chests heaved with labored breaths, and our minds were numb with pain and despair.

The master goblin didn’t even turn our way. He didn’t care if we were dead or alive, as long as his new batch of precious slave eggs was safe. 

But there was no time to lay on the ground broken and miserable. The eggs would hatch in another seven days, and we had to look after them within this little time. I remembered Kaka's stories, how he spoke of the need to talk to the eggs so the hatchlings could absorb knowledge even before they hatched. This was crucial; it would give them a better chance at survival, hatching with some common sense and an understanding of their surroundings. Without this, their chances of survival would be slim.

I pushed myself off the ground, every muscle protesting in pain, and limped toward the master. My legs felt like they were filled with lead, each step a monumental effort. I dragged my feet, leaving a trail of dust and blood in my wake. With my heart pounding and desperation clear in my eyes, I approached Rakrak, hoping he would grant my request.

"Master Rakrak. May I speak?" I asked, humbly kneeling before him.

"Talk, slave!" He barked.

  "Please, master. Allow me to look after the eggs. I want to give them a better chance at life."

Rakrak turned to me, his eyes narrowing as he regarded my pitiful form. His lips curled into a sneer, and for a moment, I thought he would strike me down for my insolence. But then he laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"And why should I grant you this favor, slave? What makes you think you are worthy of such a task? Have you ever looked after the hatchery before? I don't need dead eggs! I need new slaves."

"I have not, Master," I replied, summoning every ounce of courage I had left, "But I know the stories. I know how to teach them, how to look after them, how to nurture them. They need to hear our voices, to learn before they hatch. It will make them stronger, and more capable. Please, give me the chance, give them a chance."

Rakrak's laughter stopped abruptly, and he stared at me for a long moment. Finally, he shrugged, as if my request was of little consequence.

"All right, you have my permission. Do as you please, as long as the slaves hatch in good health. But if you fail, slave. I will skin you and hang your skin on the wall. Remember that, now go."

Relief washed over me, mingled with a deep, aching sorrow. I limped back to the hatchery, where the eggs lay nestled in their mound of filth. The stench was overpowering, but I forced myself to ignore it. These innocent little goblins depended on me.

I sat down beside the eggs, my body screaming for rest, but I knew I couldn’t stop. I began to speak softly, telling them the stories Kaka had once told me. I spoke of survival, of the dangers of the world, and of the small joys that could be found even in the darkest of times. My voice wavered with exhaustion, but I kept going, knowing that every word could make a difference.

As the days passed, I barely left the hatchery. I whispered to the eggs, sang to them, and told them everything I could think of. The other goblin slaves occasionally brought me scraps of food and water, their eyes filled with sympathy and fear. They knew what I was trying to do, and in their way, they supported me.

Finally, the seventh day arrived. The eggs began to quiver and crack, tiny noises filling the hatchery, signaling the birth of new life. One by one, the eggs began to break open, small, scrawny limbs pushing through the hardened shells. The hatchlings blinked against the dim light, unaware of the horrors awaiting them. I watched with bated breath as the first hatchling broke free, its tiny, fragile body emerging from the shell. I continued to speak, my voice filled with encouragement and hope.

One by one, the hatchlings emerged, their eyes wide and curious. They looked at me, and I saw a glimmer of understanding in their gazes. They had heard my stories, my words of wisdom, and I knew they stood a better chance now.

But our ordeal was far from over. The master and his guards, their blackened hearts devoid of mercy, would soon come to inspect the hatchlings. I knew, deep in my soul, that they would not be gentle. My heart ached for these tiny, innocent creatures, born into a world of cruelty and brutality, destined for the same torment we endured. Their small, fragile lives hung in the balance, and there was nothing I could do to save them.

And then, the dreaded moment came. As the first hatchlings emerged, a few guards stepped into the hatchery, their faces twisted with sadistic glee. In their hands, they held crude, bloodstained buckets. They had no intention of showing kindness. They came for one reason: to inspect the hatchlings and determine which would live to serve and which would die before they even knew what life was.