His One and Only Mate

PROLOGUE

Deep beneath the surface of the troll kingdom lies the endless caverns of old. Mazes still remain untouched for thousands of years, and yet, those who could find themselves so unlucky to venture into these tunnels would never be heard from again.

Even if one were able to navigate these passageways, the creatures that have long since lost a name would find them…. and destroy them.

When the world was new, and gods and creatures began to breed, nothing could stop the hunger of power. Everyone wanted more… so much so that no laws could stop one from stealing from the others, pillaging homes, murdering descendants…. ending bloodlines before they could even begin. A seed of darkness was planted, and their world was crumbling before their eyes.

The realm was breaking apart….

However, different emotions began to blossom from the new generations. They worked together, creating harmony within the lands, and presented order to the balance. They called themselves ‘the Enchanteds’. They didn’t take their gifts for granted, and, together, began to eradicate the hatred that poisoned the land, and pushed back those dangerous to the world that they’ve grown to love.

However, some enemies could never be fully defeated…. Only detained.

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The forgotten room began to tumble, wakening up his senses. He could feel the magics of dark and light colliding in a battle. The crystals embedded in the earth soak up every flare that’s being thrown and travels its way through the tunnels, wakening the creatures trapped within their prison, only to be reminded that they’re trapped, but…. luckily for this group…. the aftershocks feel the closest.

Their ancient bottles fall to the ground, causing several to break on impact, and a foggy mist flows out subtly, dancing with the dust, slowing freeing the prisoners. Dagon feels his body ripping from his confinement, something he hasn’t felt in so many millennia. The release of pressure is bittersweet agony on his fragile body, as he lies face down on the floor. He exhales a long croaky groan from gaining fresh air, which echoes off in this tiny, dark room. He grabs at his throat, one that has been denied the simple act of swallowing for so long, as his other hand stretches out into the dirt, not even noticing how his skin is flaking into dust along with the grains of sand and dirt.

His eyes are not how they once were, and it takes over a minute to even outline the shelves in the dark prison that has held him captive. He’s unaware of the time, the century, or even if anyone is around him, but one thing he does know of, something that he’s been building for as long as he has been in his tomb… is his rage.

His weak body still shakes from being fooled by the creatures of new! How dare they perceive him inferior?! In his eyes, he’s a god in which they should have all bowed down to!

A loud wail has him jerk his head. That familiar cry is joined by another. As he sees his brothers, crawling on their hands and knees, gathering up dirt, he uses any strength he has left to reach them. With three agonizing movements, his eyes fall down to the broken vessel surrounded by not dirt, but ashes, and his wail joins his brothers in the loss of their female.

Together, with their anger and loss of their main power source, they increase the volume of their screams, rattling the walls and shaking the entire ground. It’s only when the weakest barrier breaks, shifting the air quickly as new oxygen envelops the room, is when they finally stop.

“Where are the others?”, Ramiel hisses frantically, looking through the broke remains. Some vessels seemed to have died out ages ago, like their female, while theirs are the ones that have remained intact. Dagon, with his three brothers, continue a series of piecing cries and wails as they crawl around the room and finding one after another of their fallen- seeing their chances of survival looking more bleak.

Dagon crawls to the corner, his eyes somewhat adjusted to the faint crystal lighting and darkness, and sees shards of a broken mirror. He’s seen the corpselike appearance of his brothers, and he dreads that he’s just as worse. With a trembling hand he wipes off the dirt, then curses the Enchanteds to hell and back.

Pale graying skin hangs off his skeletal structure, with spots of decay weighing heavily on almost every surface. He grimaces as he summons the only strength he has to stand up. Naked, cold, and on the edge of a true death, he takes in his appearance, thinking back to how he once was….. and what he WILL become once again.

He can still feel the magic that woke him up pulsing through the walls. He reaches over and covers his hand over a crystal, closing his eyes and feeling the aftershocks of the magic. “Seems like the light magic has won,” he says to himself, but can feel his brothers coming to stand behind him.

“We can’t contain our magic without her,” Asmodeus states sadly, the fool most in love with our female, when all she lived for was to harness our powers. Ramiel walks through her ashes, causing Asmodeus to screeched once again, feeling the hatred he has for the world as well.

“I’m starving,” Baul says with a sneer gritting through his rotten pointy teeth. Always impatient, that one. How long has it been since a proper feeding? Dagon thinks to himself.

He looks into the mirror once again as he hears his brothers argue amongst each other over what to do. How long will it take to get his raven hair back, and to fill out his skin? His eyes used to be as black as the night sky with flickers of the galaxies far from here. Now they are dull, not even shining through the reflection.

A body hits his shoulder as his brothers continue with their assaults. “Enough!” he snarls out, coughing afterwards from the lack of use on his throat. The brothers growl at each other, but know not to speak until Dagon is finished with his words. He levels a glare on them, wishing he didn’t need any of them, or that blasted female, but he can’t change the genetic bylaws of his kind. “We need to get out of this blasted place before we use up our strength! Who knows how long we’ve been trapped underground,” he grits out.

All four brothers look past the broken wall, into the open cavern of blackness. “And then what?” Baul says.

“Once we’ve had a decent meal, then we can plan to get our next female host. I don’t know about you, brothers, but this time, I’m never going back into that vessel.”

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**Two years and some months later**

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An orphaned goblin rushes through the crowd, smiling as he accurately snatches a pocket watch off a well stationed man. He stops, only for a moment, seeing the direction of the most huddled up group, debating if he should try for some coins.

“Here ye, here ye, for all those who wish to hear the news!” states a peddler passing through town, who’s standing tall on top of a couple of wooden crates in the middle of the town square.

“Right-oh, man! Spit it out,” an impatient bystander chides, even though everyone in this small village knows he lives on the town gossip. While his back is turned, our young goblin snatches a paper from the peddler’s stack, thinking that Greta would like to read it, and hopefully give him a corner to sleep in tonight for his good deed.

“Great news from across the kingdoms! A princess has been born- the first in over two thousand years, I tell ya!” Most of what’s heard are groans, uninterested in the rankings of the royals, but there are still those eager to know the news. While our small character is bouncing from person to person, obtaining a piece of jewelry here or a silver coin there, he completely misses the news of the name day of the newest royal, who had been born prematurely, but with the strength of her father and mother combined, is destined for greatness.

He runs away from the town, on a dirt path that leads deep into the forest. Greta, like most older goblins, tend to prefer an isolated life, but she doesn’t mind helping out the orphan from time to time. He is, however, part of her community, even though she doesn’t make enough to take him in full time.

He finally comes to a point where he doesn’t have to look behind his back and walks casually to the older woman’s house. He’s hoping she made a big pot of fish soup, since he knows the creeks are plentiful this time of year.

The trees overcast a darkness, even though its midday, and a chill slightly rises on his leathery green skin. A twig snapping halts his footsteps, and he looks around him, noticing everything is brown and dry ahead of him. The grass has completely died out, and he takes a hesitant step back when looking around. Even the trees are rotted down to its roots.

Concern for Greta, he pushes forward, but stops right before the clearing that surrounds her home. He notices the smell of smoke before he sees it, barely showing up from the back part of the cabin. Taking a gulp of bravery, he tip toes around through the woods, hoping it’s only her burning her trash on a different day of the week, but on the inside, he feels something is terribly wrong.

His eyes grow huge, seeing the sweet old woman who has kept him warm many winter nights, frozen in place, surrounded by a circle of flames. Tears begin to leak out of his eyes as her face holds so much agony when the flames leap at her ankles, drawing smoke from her body. Her mouth opens as if screaming, but he can only hear the silent woods around him.

When three large hooded figures rise from behind Greta, the boy drops the paper and takes a step back. When they take off their masks, he throws a hand to cover a scream that threatens to leave him. He watches as they inhale together and a light blue smoke trail leaves from Greta to their mouths.

He views them repeat the same action several times until his senses come back. He has to tell someone! He has to get help!

He attempts to turn, but the boy goblin notices too late that he’s frozen to his spot, and everything has fallen deaf. He can’t even hear his own heart beat pulse in his chest. Fear, unlike anything he has ever had as a lad, crawls through his veins. Movement to his left startles him, and he opens his mouth to let out a scream, only, no sound comes out, and he urinates himself as he feels this is the end of him.

Behind him, Dagon adorns his mask, and smiles wickedly behind it. Through a small spark in his palm, he starts the ritual, forming a circle of flames around the young goblin…..