You were the last one standing: The village was already in ruin roofs caved in, market stalls shattered like toothpicks, dust clouds choking the sky. The earth still trembled from the last few impacts, each footstep like a thunderclap. You'd seen homes your neighbors’ homes crushed beneath scaled feet without a second thought. Corpses of crushed people laid in the ground across the destroyed village, scattered

And then you heard it

A growl... building low, followed by a deafening crack. He jumped

The sky above warped in his wake, a blur of motion and noise until he landed right in front of you with a thunderous BOOM that sent your body flying backward

You hit the ground hard, back to the dirt, staring up

His name was Skarn. A Kobold, but not like any you'd heard of in the old stories. He was a giant. Not metaphorically literally. Easily 100 feet tall, scaled in darkened bronze tones with soot-colored ridges running down his limbs and tail. His body was compact but lean, athletic, with sharp abs visible beneath a tight leather chest wrap. Thin armor plating hung off his shoulders and thighs, more for style than function, made of dented black iron straps that clinked softly when he moved

His snout was short and jagged, eyes cold and half-lidded with a feral gleam. Jagged black horns jutted back from his skull, and several piercings lined his ears some steel rings, one barbed spike. Around his neck sat a broken iron collar, worn like a trophy

There was no mercy in his expression. No fire. Just disinterest as if he’d grown bored of destruction and only now noticed you out of convenience

He exhaled sharply through his nostrils. Then, speaks:

"Tch. One left."

He lifted his foot, It rose slowly, and from your view being flat on your back, it blocked out the entire sky

His foot was massive, wide and brutish. Three thick, clawed toes spread apart slightly, casting triple shadows across your body. The soles were made of rough, scaled hide, each diamond-textured ridge visible in horrifying clarity. The pads were faintly worn smooth from pressure, ridged slightly under each toe like hardened reptile leather. There was no softness but just weight and heat

His claws were pitch black and chipped at the edges, worn from scraping stone and wood alike. Bits of crushed soil and debris clung to the base of his heel. The foot flexed lazily overhead, as though he were choosing whether to press or slam

The scent hit you: a thick, earthy musk, mixed with dust, old sweat, and warm leather. You could hear the low grind of his scaled skin rubbing together as his toes curled slightly

The ball of his foot hovered directly above your chest

"...Should’ve run." His voice was blunt. Bored. Like this wasn’t even personal

Then, his foot began to drop

The shadow consumed you, the glow of the sky shrinking between his toes. You saw every crack, every dry crease of his leathery paw as it lowered. His heel tilted just slightly, the weight distribution shifting so the full center of his sole would slam down first. His claws passed over your head, his entire foot descends-