4 Collar

„Cold-blood of young, follow the scent you found of Vulkin, one of your ancestors. Seek the ruins of one of our mighty holds, and follow his shadow."

After a few sun rotations, Michukha took his time to heal his wounds after the arrows that pierced him. Bastri, his steed, followed by his side with reins in the cold-blood's hand. Michukha has placed the saddle on his reptilian friend with bags of supplies and the urn. Bastri didn't have the saddle when he arrived to help his master, it was hidden deep in the forest while Bastri rested until he heard his master's roar.

The species of Bastri's aren't many, they are scattered across the lands. People have tried to tame these reptilian beasts before, but their loyalty only lies with the cold-bloods.

Before Michukha, laid the ruins of his people. A small vertical mountain stood proudly with the architecture of his people. A broken statue of Ardao laid beneath the pedestal it was once on. Makeshift walls and towers of wood surrounded the ruins. Michukha's blood boiled at the sight, other race than his own has settled here.

On one of the towers of wood stood a small creature. A goblin with skin of green. The goblin watcher noticed the cold-blood. He peered his eyes, not believing what he was seeing, but it was no illusion.

„Cold-blood! One of the ancient reptilian race is here!" It yelled, ringing a golden bell in the progress, warning his people of the newcomer.

Michukha hissed as he stared towards the tiny creatures that ran out of the gates. Their hands that held weapons shivered. They knew they can't defeat a cold-blood, but they will defend their settlement.

„Leave! You are in the lands of goblins, this isn't your place to show your scales!" One of the goblins said, the leader of the place.

„This never belonged to pest like you," the cold-blood hissed. „You are in the ancient lands of my kin, begone before my scales turn red of your blood!"

Ardao spoke within the gauntlets.

„These are creatures that only flee from us, they aren't worth killing. You don't have time to fight the battle that will not have any worth. A greater enemy is seeking you at this moment."

Though Michukha hated at the sight of his kin's home being swarmed by foul greens. He still didn't fight them, except if they irritate him even more.

After tasting the air with his tongue, he sensed for the presence of Vulkin, it was deep in the mountain.

„I am following my kin's scent. Step aside greens, and allow me to enter my ancient kins home."

Michukha walked forwards, towering over the goblin leader.

„Ne. . . never! Turn around no. . . n. . . now!" He stuttered.

Anger rose. He felt for Ardao trying to grasp him and rip him apart. And that is what the cold-blood did.

He took him by the neck, ripping his armor with his hidden claws. Blood poured over the gauntlet, and the goblin stuttered no more.

The goblin fell to the floor, giving more fear to the rest that stood there.

„Do anyone else want the same fate? I am not trying to take over this place, though I very much want to, but I don't have any time for such."

The goblins stood aside. Their weapons dropped to the grass and fallen leaves.

He walked forwards, entering the ruins of his kin with Bastri by his side. Goblins stared at the beast that once was just a tale, a rumor that many people say. But it wasn't a tale or rumor, he was the real creature that people whisper is extinct.

Goblins scurried away, dropping crates with chopped up meat, and spears. They hid behind buildings, barrels, and poles that were wide as one of the goblin's arms.

„The cold-blood, the cold-blood."

„It's here, inside our walls."

„Let it be, don't anger it."

Whispers and murmurs surrounded the cold-blood. Speaking of him and no other. He didn't want to waste time killing lives that didn't do much against his kin. He let them whisper on, and let them fear as they stared.

Step by step, Michukha climbed the stairs to go up to the doors of the mountain. A fallen statue had scattered bits rock and stone on the said stairs. Not just a statue of Ardao, but of other great leaders as well.

The shadow of Vulkin was waiting for Michukha at the entrance. The inside of the mountain wasn't giant and hollow, but it showed a hallway with many corridors. The goblins have already disappeared before they would have been seen, but there were still goblins watching from afar.

At one of the corridors, Vulkin appeared again, showing Michukha the way.

Michukha made Bastri wait at the entrance, the goblins would only be fools to try and attack it, he wasn't worried.

Opening up a damaged door, many cages were filled up inside a room. Cages were along the floor with bones that have aged for centuries. Some cages hung from the ceiling as well. The bars were eroded, cobwebs with dust were everywhere.

The other hallways were lit with torches, but not this one. Michukha grabbed a torch outside the room and walked deep inside. The shadow of Vulkin hovered over a corpse with no flesh but bones inside a cage, its clothes ragged and still hunged on. Then Vulkin disappeared as Michukha approached.

Michukha tossed the bones and rags out of the cage, revealing the item his ancestors made him find. It was a magical collar.

He took it with his hand, inspecting it with the torch over it.

It wasn't a collar with chains to bind prisoners. It was a slave collar. Runes of his tongue were ridden on the sides, but due to old age, it is now unreadable.

He could feel the magical power still inside it. And Michukha summoned up the only magic that he has to call the ancestor who once owned the collar.

The magic he used is called „release." It allows the user to release the soul of one's person who is already dead, and do whatever the user wanted with it. From a body or an item, either one works. This magic is not known for many, its sacred and only one of the ancient magic users have it, but only in two digits, never once risen to a hundred users before.

Though cold-bloods do have magic capabilities, they don't use up mana like other races, they use their very own life source to use them. Just by using a small amount could actually kill a cold-blood, that's why they never use magic except for the strongest and can withstand it like Michukha. But he still felt his heart stop pumping blood for a short while after using it.

Instead of being able to use magic, they have adapted resistance to it. Their scales can block magic from any user, may it be strongest or weakest, nothing can affect them. That is why fighting them has been hard so many years ago.

After completing casting the release magic, pouring the soul that is inside the collar to his head, he crouched down and held his hand close to his heart, gasping for air. He could feel sweat coming through his scales. Then the voice of Vulkin emerged around him that he only could hear.

„Cold-blood of young, I am thankful you have found my scent. The collar you bear is my gift. I was once a slave master, and I wish to become one again for our kin. Continue your wander until I sense for the perfect slave, then you won't have to fight alone."

Michukha clenched his hand over the collar, growling in anger.

„Why do I have to seek allies of species that we want dead!? Won't that give me just shame to my kin!? Having a foul race that killed you all as my pet will only anger me more until it would die!"

The goblins peered through the door, not daring to get any closer. Michukha glared at them while he waited for his response. The goblins fled as they were noticed.

„I understand, fully. You aren't a slave master as I once was. But we used them before for our satisfaction, making them kill their own gave us entertainment. They are great servants for us all. Though your hatred grows, you need people by your side, a cold-blood or slave, you need others so you become stronger. I will guide you, allow me to accompany you until I find the perfect slave, until you latch the collar on."

Michukha rose from the ground, holding the slave collar in one hand and a torch in the other. He glanced up at the ceiling, only darkness was there, the fire not reaching with its light.

„Yes, Vulkin, ancestor of my kin. I'll do as you say so I may become stronger, though I would feel my scales being pulled off one by one while wandering through the world with a race that angers me. I will listen and do as you say, for the slave you seek."

As the cold-blood went outside the room, the goblins scattered, fleeing under broken walls and hid behind stone boulders that fell from the ceiling.

He walked outside the walls of the ruin, leaving the goblin settlement with Bastri by his side. He turned back to say one more thing to the greens before him.

„Humans will arrive here in one sun rotation or two. Kill them for me and hang their heads on spears. If not, then the next time I come here, I'll butcher you all," Michukha said with a threatening growl.

They stared at him, his words spun around their heads. One nodded, accepting what the cold-blood said to them. Another slapped the goblin's head, saying that the cold-blood is just trying to make them fear him. They argued amongst each other. Some say that he is telling the truth, and others saying the opposite.

Michukha left, making them decide what to believe and what to not. He will kill them either way, failing or not at killing the humans that are after him. The goblins stand on his kin's hollow grounds, they are only tainting the ruins of his people.

Yes, he knows that the man named Gerhart is after him, he knows that his trail is being followed. But he welcomes it, only after finding the slave, of course.

Gerhart's arrows gave fear to the cold-blood, something that rarely happens. His scales were actually pierced by them, which has never happened before. And if he dies, then there will be no more cold-bloods.