Buluk grunted as she knelt down in front of the large wooden lockbox, flinching as her pregnant belly brushed against the cold, wet, flagstone of the crypt. There was no clothing to block the sensation, the orc wore nothing except a hardened leather kilt around her loins for modesty and a similar strap across her chest to restrain her breasts. 

	This is elf’s work, she mumbled to herself as her thick fingers fumbled with the small lock. The things she did to earn a few coins! She quickly gave up and resorted to brute force, bringing her massive sledge axe down on the box and splintering it to bits. Gold glinted in the torchlight as coins scattered everywhere, and Buluk let out a hearty, triumphant laugh. Her and her unborn progeny would eat well tonight!

	A barbarian in the truest sense of the word, Buluk and her mother left the clan when she was born. Her mother said that she had a vision of a massive woolly rhinoceros, the clan’s totemic animal, goring and stomping young Buluk to death. The clan’s shamans interpreted it as a grave omen, that Buluk would somehow bring ruin to the clan. The shamans demanded that Buluk leave, but her mother refused to abandon her daughter. So they left together, eking out a meagre, solitary life.

	After her mother passed away, Buluk left to strike out on her own, wanting to be as far away from her old life as possible. She became nomadic, roaming from place to place, and she earned coin by hunting bounties or selling artifacts found in dark and dangerous places: ancient reliquaries, haunted cathedrals, and forgotten crypts like this one. She spent her nights sleeping in seedy taverns or under the stars when the weather was fair – or if she was particularly down on her luck. Occasionally she fell in with groups of other wanderers, often outcasts like herself, but those relationships were fleeting and empty. Until she met Gunog. An orc from the oxen clan, Gunog shared Buluk’s bed for one single, glorious night, and planted a virile seed in her belly which grew over the course of several moons into the little warrior inside her, nearly ready to be born.

	She rubbed her belly proudly and remained on her hands and knees to coins that spilled from the chest. She was up to fifty-six when she spotted the figurine. It was roughly six inches high, and looked like a stocky anthropomorphic mare with a lion’s head. Each hand held a snake with a head at both ends, coiled around her body. Before she could examine it further, a bright purple light leaped from the statue and struck her in the belly. She dropped the statue immediately and rolled onto her side, clutching her midsection. It felt like her guts were being twisted into a knot!

	“Wretched sorcery!” Buluk roared, rolling over as the pain receded slightly. She rubbed her belly, feeling a slight burning sensation where the light hit her. There were no marks on her, however, and a firm kick from the other side of her belly let her know that her baby was still alright. Magic was no match for an orc’s hardiness, she thought to herself, already proud of her child for shrugging off an insult before she was even born. She returned to scavenging the golden coins, stuffing each one into her bag and leering at the statue while she did so. “You have been bested,” she taunted, “Your magic is weak!” She kicked the statue deeper into the crypt and turned around to find the exit. This would be enough coin to last her at least until the orclet was born!

	Buluk’s midsection was still bothering her as she wandered down the dark hallway, a dull ache that throbbed deep inside. By the time she reached the end of it, she was actively cramping up. “Not now, little warrior,” she patted her belly firmly, “Not here.” She leaned against the wall to catch her breath. The pain was getting worse, the cramps getting stronger. Even after a short time she could tell that her little warrior was getting eager to meet her. It took all her strength to ignore it and keep going.

	Inside Buluk’s body, the statue’s dark magic was already having an effect. Her baby kicked again, writhing and twisting, pulled about by unseen currents in the womb. The magic was starting to change her tender unborn body, one piece at a time. Buluk groaned, swaying and nearly falling against the slippery wall as she vomited. Yellow bile and half-digested meat splattered against the ground, the sound echoing off the walls. The cavernous room spun around her, the corridor she entered from stretching into the distance as the walls closed in. She wasn’t going to make it out. She could hardly stand. Her baby flailed with such force that it threatened to knock her off balance again. 

	Buluk’s baby wasn’t faring much better. Foul magic flowed through her watery home, twisting her body into strange an unnatural shapes. Her extremities were the first to change. Round little toes fused into hard, calloused hooves that forked in the middle like those of a goat. Her slender fingers grew longer and sharper, fragile fingernails growing into wicked claws. Her spine lengthened and her tailbone pierced through her lower back, flesh stretching and straining to cover it as it lashed around, scratching the inside of the womb.

	“Have to . . .go . . .” Buluk mumbled to herself, leaning heavily against the wall and crab-walking towards the torchlight that marked the end of the hall. Once she was there, all she had to do was go up the stairs, through the antechamber and . . .

	Her stomach dropped as she rounded the corner. Voices echoed off the walls, and unfamiliar torchlight threw shadows skittering across the floor. She cursed to herself. Bandits! they’d likely already found her camp and looted everything of value. She couldn’t go back out. She had to go further in. But the little warrior inside her already had other ideas, and a brutal contraction pinned the orc’s feet to the floor before she summoned her last reserves of strength and put one foot in front of the other, headed back into the cold darkness. 

	“Already challenging my leadership,” she grinned, patting her belly as soon as the contraction passed, “Bold little warrior!”

	The ‘little warrior’ she was referring to was barely recognizable. She had a tail now, a long and slender appendage almost as long as her leg. Her spine continued to contort and grow, vertebrae growing sharp and piercing painfully through her back to create a row of spikes from her shoulders to the tip of her newly-formed tail. Instinctively, the little one swished its tail back and forth, stirring the amniotic fluid and bludgeoning the inside of the womb, to Buluk’s distress.

	The orc staggered deeper through the catacombs, relying on her keen orcish eyes to lead her down the dark hallways. It felt like a windstorm inside her gut as her newborn thrashed, and the contractions were getting worse with every step. She swayed heavily, leaning against the wall as her gut tied itself into a knot trying to expel this strange new creature inside of her, but she wasn’t going without a fight. Even her little face was beginning to change, her porcine snout extending outwards and her skull expanding to a more feral, canine appearance. That would have been painful enough for the little warrior, but as Buluk waddled down into the depths of the tomb, tiny little teeth began to tear through her gums.

	Finally, there came a point where Buluk could go no further. Even orcish endurance had its limits, and at last the mother-to-be relented and squatted down on the spot, gritting her teeth and letting out a guttural grunt as she felt the little warrior squirm into position. Fluid dripped between her legs, clinging to her inner thigh.

	“Stop moving!” Buluk commanded, taking several heavy breaths, pushing the heel of her hand into the side of her belly to stop her baby from doing what felt like somersaults inside her body. She didn’t mean it, of course – she wanted her little warrior to come into this world thrashing and screaming, but right now she felt that she was moving every which way except the way she wanted!

	A powerful contraction rocked the orc’s entire body, crashing over her like a wave. Her lower lips burned as the little warrior began stretching them from the inside and more fluid dribbled, the flow increasing to a steady stream before it was suddenly blocked off. 

	Inside, the little warrior was undergoing an equally painful transition. Her razor-like teeth continued to split her gums, staining the amniotic fluid pinkish. As if that weren’t enough, her very face began to change, her pig-like nose extending as the bones split and regrew into something more resembling a canine snout. The changed little warrior tried to cry out in pain, only to inhale a mouthful of befouled fluid. She began to choke, but some primal, feral instinct inside her drove her to keep fighting, to find a way out at any cost. She began to claw and kick, scraping against the walls of her little world.

	Buluk collapsed in agony. It felt like she was being ripped apart by the warrior – the monster inside her! She rolled onto her side, pulling one leg up and pushing with all her might, feeling the warm fluid pool under her thigh. She didn’t know whether it was more fluid or her own blood, but she didn’t care anymore – it was time to get this thing out of her before they both perished.

	As soon as she felt something solid between her legs, the orc reached down and grabbed it. It was slippery and she couldn’t see what it was, but it felt solid enough to be a head. Her hands slipped off, but she was persistent – she kept grabbing and pushing until at last she felt profound release and her hands found purchase around what she could only guess was her baby’s neck. Without waiting for another contraction she pulled with all her might, feeling the visceral stretching as one shoulder slowly emerged, followed by the other. Her baby’s hands sprang up and flailed, the chest quickly following and allowing the newborn to cough out a first wet breath. Buluk breathed a sigh of relief and sank onto her back. Her baby was alive, and that was all she cared about for now. The hips and legs of her progeny followed as she caught her breath, and the baby began to cry – but it was not the cry of the warrior she expected. It was an unearthly screech, far from the hearty wail of a normal orc. Buluk quickly rolled to look, and drew a sharp gasp.

	The wet, newborn creature between her legs was no orc. Its skin was charcoal, its eyes yellow and bright like candles. There was a slim tail that lashed about between its legs, and its head was fiendish, with sharp ears and sharper teeth. The new mother should have been horrified, but despite the newborn’s demonic appearance, all Buluk saw was her little warrior. 

	At last, everything began to make sense. The shamans’ omen, her exile from the tribe . . . all because there was a stronger, darker power watching over her; a power that her tribe feared. But staring down at her impish little warrior, Buluk did not share that fear. Instead, she was overwhelmed with maternal love. She would not abandon her daughter the way her mother abandoned her. Summoning the last reserves of her strength, she rolled forward and grabbed her little warrior – her daughter – and held her close to her chest. She instinctively reached to nurse, grinding into Buluk’s breast with her sharp little teeth. Buluk winced, but orc flesh was tough and resilient. 

	“Feast, little warrior,” she encouraged, rocking slowly back and forth.

	The hours wore on and Buluk finally passed the meaty placenta. She devoured it along with most of the umbilical cord, as was the custom in her tribe. The organ gave her strength, strength that was multiplied by her new faith in thand at last she rose to her feet and being the long walk out of the crypt. The bandits and looters had long since departed, having ransacked her camp and taking everything of value. But Buluk smiled, remembering the gold coins she scavenged from the chest earlier. With her daughter snuggled into her chest, the gold heavy in her pocket, and her newfound faith, she had everything they needed.