Morrigan perches on a rock at the far end of the goblin cave, deliberately distant from the tribe members who eye her with naked fear. I can't really blame them—everything about her screams danger, from her hunched, feathered form to the collection of grisly fetishes hanging around her neck.

  "Fascinating," she croaks, her head tilting as she observes the connection between Nerk and his subordinate goblins. "Your power flows through the hobgoblin to his minions. Like water through channels into a field."

  I nod, focusing on that sense of connection. With Morrigan bonded to me now, I can feel the network expanding—a complex web of energy with me at its center, Nerk and Morrigan as primary nodes, and the goblins as smaller, secondary connections branching from Nerk.

  "How does it work, exactly?" I ask, sitting across from her. The goblin cave smells of smoke, unwashed bodies, and fermented fungus, but I'm starting to get used to it.

  "Tamer magic old magic," Morrigan explains, her talons absently sorting through a pile of bones and herbs she's collected. "You channel life force, reshape it, strengthen it. Most importantly, you accelerate growth." Her gleaming eyes fix on me. "Normal goblin take years to become stronger. Under your power, through hobgoblin, they grow in days, weeks."

  I look over at the goblins going about their daily tasks. Already I can see subtle changes—they stand a little straighter, move a little faster. Some have developed more pronounced muscles or sharper teeth.

  "So I make everyone stronger?" I clarify.

  "Yes, but with... limitations." Morrigan selects a strange purple mushroom from her collection and crushes it, inhaling its dust with a shudder of pleasure. "Subordinates cannot exceed master. Goblin minions never grow stronger than hobgoblin leader. Your direct bonds—me, the hobgoblin—we grow fastest, strongest. Those below us grow too, but slower, weaker."

  "And how do I get more slots? More direct bonds like you and Nerk?"

  Morrigan cackles, a sound like breaking glass. "Two ways. First: more subordinates. Power builds. Network grows. New slot opens." She holds up three taloned fingers. "Perhaps thirty, fourty goblins open next taming slot."

  Something within me resonates with what she says, and I instinctively know she’s right, but not fully.

  "Each new slot takes exponentially more resources to unlock," I explain, somehow knowing this with certainty. "Fourty goblins might open up a third slot, but the fourth might take a hundred or more."

  “More and more difficult, yes.” Morrigan nods in understanding.

  "You mentioned another way right?" I ask.

  "Combat. Conflict. Struggle." Her eyes gleam with excitement. "Power grows fastest through battle. Kill enemies, absorb essence, strengthen bonds. Ancient tamers became gods this way."

  "Gods?" I repeat skeptically.

  "Near enough," she shrugs, her tattered wings rustling. "Legends say greatest tamers commanded armies of evolved beasts. Thousands. Tens of thousands."

  Nerk approaches, having overheard our conversation. His transformed form moves with fluid grace despite its bulk.

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  "Master need more subordinates," he states plainly. "Small goblin tribe not enough for big power."

  "Great," I sigh. "So I need more cannon fodder."

  "Or better minions," Morrigan suggests, her beak clacking thoughtfully. "Quality over quantity, perhaps. Goblin tribe useful start, but weak base for power."

  "What would you suggest?" I ask her.

  "Mercenary work," she replies without hesitation. "Villages to north and east always have problems. Beast hunts. Bandit clearing. Protection from rivals." She gestures to Nerk. "Hobgoblin and goblins good muscle. Morrigan good magic. Master direct. We solve problems, get paid, build reputation."

  "And recruit more followers along the way," I finish, seeing where she's going with this.

  "Precisely," she nods. "Start small. Grow organically. Build monster mercenary band."

  Nerk pounds his chest in approval. "Good plan. Nerk warriors ready for real combat. Grow stronger faster."

  The idea has merit. Working as mercenaries would give us income, information about this world, and opportunities to expand our network. Plus, it seems like the kind of straightforward plan that could work while I figure out the bigger picture of what the fuck is going on and how I got here.

  "Where do we start?" I ask.

  "Village called Riverton two days east," Morrigan supplies. "Trading post. Many travelers. Many problems. Many opportunities."

  ---

  The next few days are spent preparing. I focus on enhancing both Nerk and Morrigan, channeling as much energy as I can spare into our bonds.

  Nerk's transformation continues—his skin toughens further, developing horny plates in key areas that serve as natural armor. His intelligence sharpens too, his speech becoming more fluid, his tactical thinking more sophisticated.

  Morrigan's changes are more subtle but no less significant. Her tattered wings grow, the feathers becoming sleeker, stronger. Her magical abilities intensify; I often find her in corners of the cave, practicing spells that bend light or summon small flames. The fetishes around her neck glow occasionally with inner power.

  Most fascinating is watching what happens to the goblins under Nerk's command. Though none transform as dramatically as he did, they all show marked improvement. Their scrawny bodies develop wiry muscle. Their reflexes quicken. Their eyes grow sharper. Where before they were a disorganized rabble, now they move with purpose, training daily with their crude weapons.

  "The bond strengthens them," Morrigan observes one evening as we watch Nerk drilling his troops. "Your power flows through the hierarchy. The more they accept their place in it, the stronger the effect."

  "So we need more followers," I muse. "But not just any followers, they need to acknowledge the hierarchy."

  "Yes. Forced servitude creates weaker bonds than willing submission." She preens her wing feathers thoughtfully. "This is why mercenary work perfect. Prove strength, earn respect, gain followers who choose to join."

  The day before we're set to leave for Riverton, I call Nerk and Morrigan to a private council in a side chamber of the cave.

  "I need to understand our capabilities," I tell them. "What can each of you do? What are your strengths? Weaknesses?"

  Nerk stands proudly. "Nerk strong fighter now. Lead tribe well. Can smash enemies, protect master." He pounds his chest. "Growing smarter too. Understand tactics, strategy better every day."

  Morrigan shifts on her perch. "Morrigan knows old magic. Curses, blessings, potions, poisons. Can speak with spirits, see hidden things." She flexes her growing wings. "Soon can fly. Scout. Attack from above."

  "Good," I nod. "We complement each other. Nerk handles direct combat and leadership of the troops. Morrigan provides magical support and intel. I'll coordinate and continue strengthening you both."

  They seem pleased with this arrangement. As they leave to make final preparations, I can't help but marvel at how quickly I've adapted to this insane situation. Just a week ago, I was a normal guy back on Earth. Now I'm planning mercenary operations with a hobgoblin warlord and a hagraven witch.

  As I drift off to sleep, I find myself wondering what kind of creature I'll bond with next. Something with even more potential than Nerk or Morrigan? The possibilities seem endless, and strangely exciting.