Mark stared at the creation pane of the bats. With clan Tinyfingers officially assimilating, there was no reason to create separate ranches. That said, it was inconvenient for the farmers to head all the way up to the city above to ranch, so a space was made in the quarters of the clan below to host the giant bats indigenous to the Hallow.

The bats had been relocated down below— with considerable effort. Catching one or two of the things was easy, until they all started fleeing. More than a few had gotten away before Mark had the Kobolds back off until he could make them nets. After that, it went well.

They were a good source of food and mostly ate insects themselves. But they had hardly any fat on them, their genetics making them stay lean. If they were lighter, it took less energy to fly. That left their meat stringy and gamey. Mark wanted to fix that.

Filling them with fat could take away their ability to fly… which, considering their current track record, could be a great thing. Following his experiments with rapid growth on Kobolds, Mark knew what was necessary to make the Bats follow suit.

First he worked on their body composition, making their body store fat. Then he worked to accelerate their growth and reproduction. With any luck, they would have a few dozen fat bats within a few weeks. Too bad they didn’t produce eggs, or Mark could make a few dozen of them like with the centipedes.

With that done he turned to the insects. An increased growth speed meant an increased metabolism. There were tons of interesting insects lurking about the Hallow— deep black beetles, pale white spiders and even some snails. Mark quickly worked to accelerate their growth as well, stopping for just a second to put in a genetic growth limit on the spiders. No giant spiders. They already had giant centipedes. He directed these insects to move towards and stay around the confines of the bat’s ranch.

“All done…” Mark spoke to himself. “I wonder how Mala is doing. I should help Alverost make new armor and weapons for the new recruits…” Mark pivoted away.

Mala sliced into a mushroom. The flesh was wet; juice spilled over his scaly fingers and joined the pile of mess on the table. He wasn’t alone. Around him, more than six Kobolds also worked on slicing gigantic mushrooms caps into manageable pieces. It had been a few days since the addition of the Bat Ranch and the assimilation of the Wartskin Kobolds, and he had been teaching his new workers well. They had made fine chefs as soon as the rotting skin stopped sloughing off of them. More than one had ruined a giant bowl of food that way.

Mala’s new kitchen was a building attached to the little fortress in the Hallow. Most of the Tinyfingers Kobolds still lived above. Mark had said he didn’t have time to build all the bedrooms, which lead to mana building rudimentary shacks out of fungiwood or scrap from above, a veritable slum appearing around their fortress. Mala had watched as the city of rotting boards slowly changed and shifted, repaired and rejuvenated. The city, close enough to see, had slowly become a shining white center of light. Light providing mushrooms had grown and spread throughout their territory in the Hallow, allowing them to move through their territory even by night.

Mala looked to his right, seeing one of his workers reaching into the gigantic cooking pot to lift a mushroom out. He grabbed his metal ladle, slapping the Kobold on the back of the head. “No! No food til dinner.”

The former Wartskin Kobold looked to him, an offended look in his eyes like a puppy dog.

“Fine. Just one.” Mala tossed a piece of the mushroom he was slicing, which the Kobold devoured in a single bite. He adjusted the hat on his head. Mark had called it a “chefs hat” and said that it was his equivalent to the majestic armor worn by the Kobolds who went off to war.

His fight wasn’t on the battlefields of the rot-city. His fight was here, his soldiers cooked mushrooms and bowls of soup, his enemy the clans ever growing hunger. He had, had to teach nearly a dozen Kobolds to cook to keep up with the ever increasing demand of more hungry mouths and stomachs. No more Kobolds had reached them from clan Wartskin yet. But the demand of Tinyfingers alone was more than enough to match the output of their kitchen.

Mala’s eyes swept the room. Huge boiling pots brewed soups, burning over fungiwood fires. Even the bowls had been upgraded to metal. Two out of three of them were full, preparing tonights soup. To the side, segments of Centipede bodies roasted, ready to be crunched into. The harsh chitin outside provided a fantastic texture to the chunky inside. It had taken Mala a few tries to get grilled centipede just right.

He eyed the sleds at the side of the room; the fungi-wood barrels atop them were empty.

“You and you! With me. We need more mushrooms for tonight. The rest of you keep slicing. And don’t burn the soup this time!” Mala instructed, leading Kobolds to grab the sleighs with empty barrels. He lead them downward, to a lift installed beside the spiral staircase, where they stacked the sleighs and barrels, and began lowering the lift to the ground floor by winch.

Mala charged ahead, down the stairs. Around and around and down, through hallways that were wide enough for two Kobolds to stand shoulder to shoulder in. He traced one hand along the complex engravings along the wall, intricate flowery patterns flowing down the stairs that could only been seen dimly in the mushroom light. His other hand held the chefs hat that bounced on his head as he flew down the stairs.

He reached the bottom in time to see a Kobold below opening the lift, sliding out the carts and barrels inside. Mala kept walking. The other Kobolds could be trusted to bring up mushrooms without them. He had a side project to check on, so he shot down the hall, through his old kitchen in the mess, and down to a storage area.

Here, light mushrooms grew upside down from the ceiling, their caps like chandeliers. Occasionally, waves of glowing spores would fall onto the potted mushrooms below them. They were bright white, but didn’t glow. Instead, bands of reflective red ran through them. Mark had called them ‘sugar caps’ and said that it took an intense amount of time to produce them. Mala wasn’t able to show them to any other Kobolds yet, and for good reason. They were too delicious, that they would all be destroyed instantly if anyone was to know of them. They tasted sweet beyond comparison. Mark said he was still working on spreading all of their spores so that they didn’t eat the supply for this project.

After taking a moment to inspect them, Mala harvested the sugar caps, mashing them down and adding them to a barrel. Mark would add water to it later. With any luck, these would be ready by the end of the battle with the Wartskin elders.

Mala walked to the bat ranch, giving respectful nods to the few deferent Kobolds he met in the hall, all busy with one task or another.

“How are they?” Mala asked as he swung into the ranch room.

Another Kobold looked up from where he was pouring water into a trough. “Fat. They don’t stop eating.”

Walking to where one of them pecked at bugs on the ground, Mala ran his hand through the Bats fur. It kept its wings tucked at its back, its body now too fat for it to fly, standing proudly on its two legs. It make a bawk noise at Mala’s touch, its head bobbing as it sniffed at Mala for any sign of treats. Finding none, it returned to searching the earth.

This one would be perfect for the feast tonight.

“Bring this up for the festivities.” Mala instructed.

The rancher-kobold grunted his assent.