I stood in the middle of the corridor, staff in one hand and a wriggling kobold in the other. Its claws scrabbled at my arm bones, tail whipping against my ribs with the persistence of someone determined to overcome physics by sheer stubbornness.

  It belatedly occurred to me that I was holding him up far too easily. He wasn’t exactly heavy, but I’d been human once, and I was fairly sure my past self would’ve at least needed both hands to manage a flailing, furious kobold.

  Then again, my past self had also needed lungs and blood to function, and we’d clearly moved past that particular phase of existence. I decided to add ‘weirdly strong’ to the ever-growing list of things I’d deal with later.

  Grib stood beside me, spear clutched tight, vibrating with indignation. He glared at the kobold like it had just declared war on his favorite mud puddle.

  “So,” I said to the kobold, who dangled defiantly despite his position, “what exactly possessed you to jump on my back like that? Was it a dare? Some sort of cultural rite of passage?”

  It bared its teeth, hissing in a way that was probably meant to sound menacing but mostly sounded like an angry teakettle. “Skeleton trespasses on kobold territory. Big Chief says intruders must be dealt with!”

  “This not kobold territory!” Grib snapped, puffing up like a very small, very offended rooster. “This Bone King’s floor!”

  The kobold shifted his weight, spinning around to face him, yellow eyes narrowing. “Bone King? You mean skeleton?”

  “No!” Grib barked, jabbing his spear for emphasis. “Bone King is boss! Strongest! Smartest! Best!”

  The kobold snorted, the sound laced with condescension. “Big Chief says second floor belongs to kobolds. Always has.”

  Grib’s ears twitched, his indignation reaching critical levels. “Bone King rule whole dungeon!”

  “Do I, though?” I interjected, tilting my head toward Grib. “Because I’m fairly certain the system only made me boss of the first floor.”

  Grib froze, looking up at me like I’d just told him Santa didn’t exist. “But... Bone King strongest! Strongest means boss!”

  The kobold smirked. “Skeleton doesn’t even know his place. Big Chief knows. Big Chief stronger, smarter, better than skeleton.”

  Grib’s jaw dropped. “Wrong! Bone King better than Big Chief!”

  The kobold squirmed in my grip, pointing at Grib with his free claw. “Big Chief has big mace. Big Chief has tribe. What does skeleton have? Goblin with stick?”

  “Grib not just goblin with stick!” Grib shouted, brandishing his spear like it was a sacred relic. “Grib best goblin! Best goblin for best boss!”

  “Alright,” I interrupted, raising my voice over their escalating squabble. “Let’s all calm down before this becomes a full-blown marketing campaign for Overlord of the Year.”

  Both of them paused, blinking at me in confusion.

  “Thank you,” I said, giving the kobold a small shake for emphasis. “Let’s try this again. You said this is kobold territory?”

  “Yes,” the kobold said, straightening as much as his dangling position allowed. “Big Chief rules second floor. Kobolds keep it safe. Skeleton doesn’t belong here.”

  “Fair point,” I said, nodding. “Technically, I’m trespassing.”

  Grib gasped, staring at me in betrayal. “Boss! No say that! Kobold wrong!”

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  “Well, Grib, I am here without an invitation,” I replied, gesturing to the corridor around us. “And I don’t exactly see a ‘Welcome, Bone King’ banner anywhere.”

  The kobold smirked, looking far too pleased with himself. “Skeleton knows his place. Big Chief will crush skeleton. But soft crush. Pity crush.”

  Grib immediately recovered from his shock, brandishing his spear with renewed vigor. “No way! Bone King crush Big Chief!”

  “Big Chief smarter than Bone King.”

  “Bone King stronger than Big Chief!”

  “Big Chief has traps.”

  “Bone King has Grib!”

  I dragged a hand down my nonexistent face. “This is the dumbest argument I’ve ever witnessed, and I once watched a guy try to negotiate with a vending machine by threatening it with a sandwich.”

  That got me a blessed few seconds of silence.

  “Alright,” I said, shifting my grip on the squirming kobold. “Let’s start with a name.”

  The kobold lifted his chin, an impressive attempt at dignity for someone currently being held like an unruly housecat. “Krix. Fastest scout of kobold tribe. Big Chief trusts Krix.”

  “Well, Krix,” I sighed, “you’re going to take me to this Big Chief of yours. If he’s staking a claim on this floor, I’d like to have a conversation about zoning rights.”

  Grib practically vibrated beside me. “Boss going to fight Big Chief?!”

  “Hopefully not,” I muttered, though I tightened my grip on my staff just in case.

  Krix bared his teeth in a smirk. “Big Chief doesn’t talk. Big Chief crushes.”

  Grib gasped, scandalized. “No way! Bone King crushes Big Chief!”

  “Big Chief better than Bone King!”

  “Bone King better than Big Chief!”

  I let out a sigh so deep it might have altered the local climate. “This is already exhausting.”

  Krix’s tail flicked as his sharp yellow eyes scanned me, weighing his options. I could see the calculation happening in real time. The slow realization that, despite his bravado, he was very much still dangling.

  “Here’s the deal. I put you down, and you take me to your Big Chief.”

  Krix blinked, his bravado flickering slightly. “Skeleton will let Krix go? Just like that?”

  “Yes,” I replied, “because contrary to popular belief, I don’t enjoy carrying kobolds around like squirmy handbags.”

  Krix tilted his head, clearly weighing his options. “And if Krix runs?”

  I activated [Minor Poltergeist], and a nearby rock lifted off the ground. “Then I’ll pick you up again,” I said, watching as it started to spin lazily in the air. “But next time, I’ll make you spin.”

  The rock immediately kicked into a rapid, wobbling spiral before I flicked my fingers and sent it whistling down the hallway.

  I had no idea if the spell was strong enough to actually lift Krix—I’d only ever used it on a bucket and, well, this rock—but he didn’t know that. And judging by the way his pupils shrank to nervous slits, I wasn’t about to correct him.

  Grib grinned at this, clearly enjoying the mental image far too much.

  Krix let out a begrudging grunt, crossing his arms in an exaggerated huff. “Fine. Krix will lead skeleton to Big Chief. But Big Chief will kill skeleton and smelly goblin.”

  Grib stiffened, his ears twitching indignantly. “Grib not smelly!”

  Krix sniffed the air dramatically. “Kobold nose says goblin smells like wet dirt.”

  “Grib smells like warrior!”

  “Warrior smells worse than dirt,” Krix shot back.

  I sighed, cutting in before Grib could escalate. “For what it’s worth, Grib is technically undead now, so I’m not sure how much of that ‘smelly goblin’ thing still applies.”

  Krix froze mid-step, his pupils narrowing to sharp slits as he turned to stare at Grib. His eyes widened just slightly, but his expression quickly twisted into an exaggerated sneer. “Undead goblin? That disgusting.”

  Grib jabbed his spear at the air. “Grib best undead goblin! Grib loyal to Bone King!”

  Krix’s tail flicked nervously, though he quickly smothered the reaction with a scoff. “Big Chief will still crush you both. Undead or not.”

  Grib was silent for a moment. Then his ears twitched indignantly before drooping. He reached into his tunic, patting the slime as if for moral support.

  “Slime thinks Grib smells fine,” he muttered, glaring at Krix.

  “Alright,” I said, lowering Krix to the ground, “before this devolves into a discussion about the finer points of goblin hygiene and mortality, can we just go?”

  Krix huffed, brushing off his scales with an exaggerated flourish. “Follow Krix. Big Chief will crush skeleton soon enough.”