Nightfall in the Netherworld looked identical to day — suffocating darkness, rotting winds, the land itself whispering decay. No sun. No hope. Just eternal gloom.
Inside his crooked tent, Eryndor snored blissfully. A man ignorant to danger was a man who slept very well.
Elara lay inside her tent with calm elegance, not for a second worried about safety. A powerful demoness disguised as a healer had nothing to fear from the lowly creatures wandering these lands. If anything, the Netherworld should fear her.
Krog slept clutching his dagger with both hands.
Gronk curled around the cart, snoring thunderously.
Only one member stayed awake.
Little Lich Xaren.
He sat beside the dying fire — staff leaning on his shoulder — sockets glowing with cold blue flame.
Once, Xaren had been Eryndor's enemy. A powerful undead intellect with dreams of domination. But fate changed that. A slave contract now bound him completely to Eryndor's will.
He must serve.
He must protect.
Yet, there was more beneath that forced obedience…
Xaren wanted to prove his worth.
He would guard Master's sleep.
Even if the Netherworld itself tried to interrupt.
---
Some distance away…
The Hound Tribe scouts crept closer like disease-ridden shadows. Bone blades gleamed between yellow fangs. They had murdered travelers for sport — but this target seemed easy.
Captain Raxor sniffed.
Only one undead guarding the camp. A beginner skeleton. Low-grade trash.
He motioned his elite hunters forward — silent as death.
Morga the archer nocked an arrow. Thren's chain-spear rattled softly. Vull licked his daggers, eyes blood-mad.
Raxor smirked.
"We kill the skeleton first," he whispered. "Then silence the rest before they can squeal."
His tail flicked eagerly.
Soon… torture, loot, and glory.
---
They rushed out like rabid demons—
Xaren did not even turn.
He simply lifted one hand, the motion lazy… almost bored.
CRACK-FWOOM
The ground split open as colossal skeletal arms surged from the earth. Undead giants — towering eight meters tall — seized the would-be attackers mid-leap.
Raxor's eyes bulged.
Morga's bow clattered to the ground.
Vull's daggers dropped from shaking claws.
Thren simply… whimpered.
Finally, Xaren looked up.
"Hm? Oh. Trash mobs."
He gave another tiny gesture.
The punishment began.
Giants flipped them face-down. Tails raised. Furry butts exposed to the cold night air.
THWACK!
"YIPE!"
THWACK-THWACK!!
"STOP—AWOO—PLEASE—!"
Xaren clicked his teeth disapprovingly.
"Master is sleeping. Loud animals are a disturbance."
Another gesture.
THWACK-THWACK-THWACK-THWACK!!!
Their screams and howls echoed through the endless wasteland — a tragic symphony of dog butt percussion.
---
Eryndor stumbled out of his tent clutching his sword, hair like a bird's nest.
"W-what's happening!?" he yelped.
Elara stood behind him, hair impossibly flawless for someone who just woke up. Her crimson eyes narrowed at the sight.
The little lich stood proudly beside the spanking scene.
"They attempted to harm Master," he reported. "I issued corrective discipline."
Krog rubbed his eyes.
"Discipline looks like domestic violence…"
Gronk blinked at the chaos and gave a low, confused rumble.
Eryndor rubbed his temples slowly.
"Xaren… what exactly are they being punished for?"
"They barked," Xaren said solemnly.
Everyone stared.
He added:
"And thought bad thoughts."
"Oh," Eryndor replied. "Carry on then."
The giants accelerated into a synchronized spanking performance.
THWACK-THWACK-THWACK—
Raxor wailed like a tortured baby.
After awhile, Eryndor stepped forward, clearing his throat with as much authority as someone in slippers could muster.
"That's enough punishment for now. We need them conscious."
The giants gently — well, as gently as undead war titans could — set the Hounds upright. Their legs wobbled so hard it looked like they were performing a dance no one asked for.
Raxor glared, but it was hard to look intimidating when sitting on one cheek to avoid pain.
"You… human," he growled, voice cracking. "Finish us. Hound warriors do not—"
THWACK!
Xaren stared.
"That one was for interrupting Master."
Eryndor waved quickly, "Okay, okay, let's leave their butts alone for a minute!"
The Hounds whimpered in unified agreement.
---
Eryndor crouched in front of Raxor, frowning.
"I know who you are. Hound Tribe warriors. You've been raiding the cat tribes for years. Stealing their harvest, goods… but you rarely kill unless necessary."
Raxor's ears twitched, surprised he knew.
"But this season… you're trying to wipe them out entirely. Something's changed." Eryndor continued
Krog nodded from behind Eryndor, bravely as long as Gronk was shielding him.
Eryndor's tone grew serious "So what happened? Why go from robbery to extermination? What are you planning?"
Silence, Dead silence
"Speak" Eryndor ordered
"It's because the cats… they found something, a weapon."
Morga, still lying sideways to protect her sore behind, shuddered.
Thren muttered, voice shaking:
"They used it on one of our villages… and the entire place vanished."
Eryndor froze.
"Vanished…?"
Raxor nodded.
"Where our home once stood, there is now a giant crater — hundreds of meters deep. Black mist rises endlessly… the stench of death makes even us Hounds tremble."
Vull whispered:
"No bodies. No bones. Nothing. Everyone was… erased."
The wind seemed to gasp at the words.
Elara's eyes narrowed — disturbed, but intrigued.
Krog hugged his dagger closer.
Raxor continued:
"Our elders believe the weapon can only be fired once… and must take time to replenish power. Otherwise, the cats would have wiped out all Hound villages already."
His teeth clenched, rage and terror mixing in his voice.
"So we must destroy them first. Every tribe. Every hidden burrow.
Before they recharge that weapon and finish us."
The entire party absorbed the revelation.