Chapter 17 Desperate Prayer to the Forest Spirits and the Almighty Creator of all Things

I stood aside, powerless, my head bowed, hands clasped tightly together in a desperate prayer to the forest spirits and the almighty creator of all things. I prayed, not for myself, but for the helpless hatchlings. I begged for their survival and pleaded for the spirits to intervene and shield them from the cruel fate that awaited them. But in my heart, I knew the truth. There would be no divine intervention. This was a place of darkness, far from the reach of any benevolent force.

The selection was as brutal as it was swift. The guards stalked among the newborns, their greedy eyes scanning the fragile forms before them. If a goblin hatchling had ears that were too small or feeble, it was immediately seized by the nearest guard, who would lift it to his mouth without hesitation. The sound of bones crunching, the sickening squelch of flesh torn apart between their teeth, filled the room. The pathetic squeals of the hatchlings were short-lived, silenced almost instantly as they were devoured on the spot, their tiny lives extinguished before they even had a chance to begin.

Those that looked sickly or weak were given no better treatment. With a cold, callous indifference, the guards tossed them to the ground like discarded waste. There, they met a fate even crueler. One by one, they were stomped on, their fragile bodies crushed beneath the guards' heavy boots. Wet, nauseating sound of tiny bones splintering and guts exploding filled the air. I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to bear the sight, but each violent pop echoed in my ears, a horrifying reminder of the relentless cruelty happening before me.

I trembled, my body shaking with every sickening sound. Each hatchling's death felt like a blow to my soul, but I was powerless to stop it. The guards laughed and jeered as they went about their work, treating the slaughter like some grotesque game. For them, it was nothing more than a routine task, another day in the pitiless hierarchy of the goblin breeding farm.

The hatchlings deemed worthy were tossed into the buckets with no more care than one might give to scraps. Tiny creatures squirmed helplessly inside, crawling and wriggling over each other, fighting desperately for space, trying not to be crushed under the weight of their siblings. Their pathetic cries filled the air, but no one cared. The buckets, once filled, were nothing more than vessels of misery, overflowing with life that was destined only for suffering.

Luckily, the yield of hatchlings had been good, with over half of the hundred tiny lives spared from immediate death. The guards' faces set in cold satisfaction, carried their buckets of trembling, squirming hatchlings away. They turned to me, their eyes devoid of warmth, and sneered at my pitiful form.

"Well done, shitty slave," one of them barked, his voice dripping with scorn. 

"That was one of the better yields I have ever seen. Not bad for a shitty slave, you sure know how to grow trash like yourself. Here, I will give you your reward for good work. Step closer!" 

With a derisive chuckle, he delivered a brutal slap to my face, the force of it sending me crashing to the ground. The sting of his blow was sharp and relentless, but it was nothing compared to the searing emotional agony that followed.

My face burned, a swollen and raw reminder of the guard's cruel generous gesture, but my heart ached far deeper. As I lay on the cold, grimy floor of the hatchery, the sight around me was a grotesque sight of the brutality that had just unfolded. The floor was a massacre of blood-stained patches and mangled remains - tiny, innocent bodies crushed beyond recognition, their lives ended before they had truly begun. The stench of death and decay stank the air, a nauseating miasma that mingled with the earthy smell of the hatchery's filth. My heart felt like it had been torn from my body and trampled just like the hatchlings that lay in bloody heaps around the hatchery floor.

I lay there for what felt like hours, my face pressed against the cold, filthy ground. The stench of death and the iron tang of blood filled my nostrils as I sobbed, tears streaming down my face and mixing with the dirt. Around me, the mangled remains of those tiny, innocent creatures were scattered, their fragile bodies twisted and broken, tossed aside like garbage. It was a sight so grotesque, so soul-crushing, that I couldn’t look away, even though every fiber of my being screamed to close my eyes, to shut it all out.

I curled up into myself, folding my frail, trembling body into a miserable ball. I wrapped my oversized, meaty ears around me like a blanket, trying to block out the world, trying to find some small sliver of warmth or comfort. But there was none to be found. All I had was the memory of Kaka, my dear Kaka, who was taken from me. In moments like this, I longed for him the most - for his gentle arms around me, for his soft voice telling me that everything would be okay. But Kaka was gone, ripped from my life, just like these poor hatchlings.

I rocked back and forth on the floor, sucking my thumb like a helpless child, desperate for some sense of security that no longer existed. The pain inside me grew heavier, suffocating. My sobs turned into wretched, pitiful gasps as I cried, wishing I could disappear, wishing I could be anywhere but here, in this living nightmare.

But there was no escape. There was no comfort. Only the relentless misery that wrapped itself around me, tighter and tighter, until it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was just a slave - a tool to be used and discarded when my purpose was fulfilled. In this brutal, unforgiving world, even my tears felt useless.

The relentless cruelty of the world I lived in was unforgiving, even in my moments of despair. As I lay on the grimy floor of the hatchery, trying to find solace in my grief, the sudden intrusion of another guard shattered what little peace I had. His heavy boots stomped with a menacing rhythm, echoing through the cavernous space, and his eyes were filled with cold, sadistic glee.

"Move your damn feet, slave!" he roared his voice a thunderous crack that seemed to shake the very walls of the hatchery.

 "How dare you to sleep in the corner! Who gave you permission to rest? Get to work! Move those hands, or I’ll bite them off!"

Before I could even react, the guard's cruel whip lashed out, its sharp, stinging bite cutting into my already bruised and battered skin. The whip's cruel, leathered strands left angry welts that crisscrossed my body, each strike sending a jolt of excruciating pain through me. My body convulsed uncontrollably, arching and buckling in a desperate attempt to escape the searing torment.

"Squeal for me, you miserable worm! Squeal!" the guard taunted, his voice dripping with malicious delight as he relentlessly whipped me. The pain was unbearable, a relentless wave of agony that had me crying out in high-pitched, gut-wrenching squeals. My hands flew up instinctively, trying to shield myself, but each attempt only met with more harsh strikes. The guard’s laughter was a sickening soundtrack to my suffering, his amusement growing with each anguished cry.

Driven by sheer terror of his threats and unbearable sting of the whip, I jumped to my feet, my legs trembling beneath me. I scuttled away with frantic, erratic movements, my tiny feet pumping furiously against cold, unforgiving ground. My every step was an exercise in torment, each one making the pain of the whip’s previous lashes flare anew. The guard’s laughter followed me like a mocking shadow, he watched my desperate, pained escape with cruel amusement.

The hope that I clung to, the slim thread that had kept me moving through the relentless grind of despair, was the possibility of caring for the hatchlings. It was a hope that sustained me through the darkest hours, a hope that I would get the chance to shield them from the cruelty that had scarred me so deeply. I envisioned myself showering them with love and care that Kaka had once given me, nurturing them through their suffering, and standing by their side in a world so devoid of compassion. Giving them love.

For days, I scuttled around the breeding farm, engaged in menial tasks that, while keeping me occupied, failed to dispel the gnawing dread that had taken root in my heart. Each day, I watched with growing unease as other slaves were assigned the task of looking after the hatchlings. My hope began to waver, replaced by an ever-present fear that I would be denied this small solace. The thought that I might not get to be a caretaker filled me with paralyzing anxiety as if the very foundation of my hope was crumbling beneath me.

Driven by this fear, I approached Master Rakrak with a tremor in my voice and a submissive bow. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder of the fragile thread that held me together. I had to ask, had to know if I would be granted the role I so desperately wanted.

"Oh, great master," I said, as I groveled at his feet, "may I ask?"

Rakrak's eyes narrowed as he looked down at me with a mixture of disdain and scorn. His voice was a harsh growl, "What is it, slave? Speak!"

With a pitiful quiver, I managed to ask, "Master, I was wondering if I might be allowed to be a caretaker of the hatchlings. Please forgive my insolence for asking."