The ground trembled beneath Mark's feet, a low rumble vibrating through the safe zone. Buildings groaned in protest, their windows shattering. Then, with a sickening lurch, they began to sink. They didn't crumble – they dissolved, leaving fragments and piles of rubble as they disappeared into the warped reality. Could those be used for cover?

Panic erupted. People screamed, scrambling for shelter that no longer existed. Mark watched with mounting dread as the safe zone transformed into a wide-open battlefield. Outnumbered, with no place to hide... it was brutally unfair.

Suddenly, figures flickered into existence amidst the chaos. They were hunters, Mark realized – those who had ventured beyond the zone. Disoriented, they staggered, bearing frantic witness to the dissolving buildings and the chilling notifications that hung in the air.

Mark shoved his way towards Bolu, who stood stoic in the heart of the maelstrom. "Buildings are gone," he barked, his voice tight. "No more hiding!"

Bolu nodded, his face a mask of grim determination. "We need a plan, now."

Mark's gaze swept across the crowd. Fear was a palpable force, but so was a newfound desperation. This wasn't the same group that had arrived a day ago. Tested by hardship, they were beginning to adapt. Yet, how could they possibly survive this?

"Listen!" Mark's voice boomed over the din. "When the attack starts, I have an idea. The strongest among us – injure the goblins, don't kill them! Cripple them!" He saw confusion, then understanding dawn on their faces. "Buy time for the lower levels. They get some hits, level up. The more they fight, the better their chances

Bolu barked orders, relaying Mark's plan. Mark leaned close, lowering his voice. "Tell everyone to hang back. Explain mana manipulation, how to strengthen themselves, they should try to reach the first threshold with their stats as fast as possible. Anything helps. And skills... they have them, right?"

"They do," Bolu replied, "but it's not guaranteed. Skills have to be actively used, discovered."

Mark groaned. "Of course," he muttered. Still, it was a sliver of hope.

As they spoke, the distortion around the square shimmered, then faded. In its place, a pulsating portal pulsed – a swirling vortex of emerald and blood-red. A guttural growl echoed from its depths, followed by a chorus of raucous screeches. Any doubts about the impending onslaught were violently erased.

The first wave of goblins, a tide of green flesh and gnashing teeth, surged from the portal. The battle for survival had begun, and the odds could not have been more stacked against them.

A collective breath hitched in the throats of the gathered crowd as the first wave of goblins erupted from the portal. Their raucous cries were a bloodcurdling symphony against the stunned silence of the humans. Roughly 1400 goblins, a sea of green flesh and gleaming eyes, surged forward, their numbers alone a daunting spectacle.

Mark, however, felt a cold certainty wash over him. These first goblins, with their crude weaponry and undisciplined charges, were far below his level. A twisted grin touched his lips – this was his chance to create the ideal conditions for the others.

"Remember the plan!" Bolu's voice boomed over the square. "The strong cripple, the weak fight! Mark, lead the charge!"

Before anyone could react, Mark was already sprinting towards the horde, a blur of motion. Perfect Body flared to life, enhancing his speed and reflexes. The first goblin lunged, its rusted sword a pathetic attempt to intercept his advance.

Mark danced out of reach, delivering a thunderous kick to the creature's leg. A sickening snap echoed across the battlefield, and the goblin collapsed in a heap. He didn't stop. One, two, three – with each strike, he targeted knees, arms, ribs. Bone cracked with brutal efficiency. Injured, but not killed, the creatures crumpled in his wake.

He was a whirlwind, leaving chaos and confusion behind him. He felt the goblins' gazes turn from the human crowd towards him – a fleeting moment of respite for those he was protecting. The lower-leveled among the mob shrieked and scattered, instinctively recognizing a far superior threat.

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Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A slightly larger goblin, clutching a spear, was weaving through the melee, heading straight for the group of hunters. This one was different – its movements less clumsy, a spark of cunning in its glinting eyes.

Changing course, Mark intercepted the creature. It thrust its spear, but he sidestepped effortlessly. His fist lashed out, a phantom strike that connected with the goblin's temple. The beast reeled, its grip on the spear loosening.

That was his opportunity. Seizing the spear, he turned it into a weapon of his own. With a fluid motion, he swept the spear low, taking out the legs of two goblins that dared approach before vaulting over the bodies. Another kick snapped a goblin's forearm. Yet another strike shattered a creature's jaw.

All around him, chaos reigned. The air was thick with the guttural cries of goblins and the desperate shouts of humans. Bolu's leadership was evident; weaker members of the group were moving in calculated groups, surrounding the injured goblin's Mark left behind. Steel flashed – crude as their weapons were, they were finding their marks.

Then, he saw it – a flicker of experience amidst the chaos. A young man, sweat plastering his blond hair to his forehead, let out a triumphant roar. His rusted sword descended, and a hobbled goblin collapsed, the light fading from its eyes. The man's expression morphed from terror to a shaky grin. Level up.

One by one, others followed suit. Tentative strikes became purposeful. Screams turned to battle cries. Mark felt a jolt of hope pierce the grim reality. Bolu's plan was working. The humans were adapting, fighting back. Each level gained was a flicker of defiance against a brutal system.

The first wave was dwindling, and yet, Mark knew this was merely the beginning. The portal still throbbed, promising more waves, each stronger than the last.

Mark's whirlwind of destruction continued unabated. Each move was calculated, each blow a surgical strike. He was a symphony of brutality amidst the chaotic battlefield.. The first wave continued to crumble under his relentless assault. Each blow shattered bone, each kick dislocated joints. Yet, fatigue barely touched him – a testament to the stark difference in power.

A goblin, blinded by rage, charged with a chipped axe raised high. Mark dodged the clumsy swing and followed with a lightning-fast backhand strike that sent teeth flying. The creature stumbled, disoriented, and before it could recover, a woman with a fiery mane of hair materialized at his side. Her dagger flashed, slicing neatly through the goblin's exposed neck. She nodded grimly to Mark, eyes blazing with newfound confidence, and spun towards their next target.

Another hobbled creature, snarling in pain, limped towards them. But this time, Mark didn't intervene. A nervous-looking man, clutching a makeshift club, stepped in front of the goblin, his hands shaking. With a hoarse cry, he brought his weapon down in an ungainly blow. The goblin shrieked, its skull caving beneath the sheer force of desperate survival. The man sank to his knees, trembling, and then a whoop of triumph tore from his lips. Another level gained, another step forward.

Across the square, the battle raged. Bolu was a beacon of leadership, his booming commands guiding the less experienced. The air vibrated with the clashing of steel against crude weapons, with shouts of panic and victory intertwining.

Mark paused, breathing hard. His muscles burned from exertion, but he felt no pain, only an intense, focused energy. His gaze swept the battlefield. The square was littered with goblin corpses, but hundreds remained.

Across the chaotic scene, he caught flashes of defiance. Catherine, her once immaculate dress now torn and stained, was fending off a trio of goblins with surprising skill. She dodged a crude sword thrust and lashed out with a dagger, drawing blood. Her face held a savage determination Mark had never seen before.

Anya, a blur of green and red, wielded dual daggers. She moved with a dancer's grace and a predator's ferocity. A ring of dead goblins lay at her feet, a testament to her lethal efficiency. Nearby, Kai, his tank-like build incongruous with his surprising agility, was a bulwark against a group of snarling beasts. He swung a massive hammer, shattering shields and caving in chests of any goblin foolish enough to charge him.

Amidst them, the lower-level people fought with a tenacity Mark hadn't thought possible. Hesitation had been replaced by desperation. Each clumsy strike, each hesitant dodge, was a victory in itself.

By the time the last of the first wave fell, the tide had shifted subtly. The remaining humans, though bruised and bloodied, were no longer the cowering crowd. They had tasted battle, tasted blood, tasted leveling. They would push their limits.

But their respite was agonizingly brief. The portal pulsed with renewed malevolence, and Mark's heart sank as the second wave emerged. These goblins were different. Larger, better armed, they moved with a chilling coordination. Their roars resonated with a brutality that promised far greater danger.

Despite their superior strength, Mark was still a force of nature. He weaved through the second wave with the same ruthless efficiency, targeting limbs and joints with practiced ease. Still, the fight was less one-sided. A chipped axe slammed into his shield, sending shocks through his arm. A goblin's club grazed his cheek, drawing a line of blood that fueled his determination.

Yet even these better equipped goblins, fueled by some kind of bloodlust, were mere obstacles. He disarmed one with a swift kick, then twisted the weapon from its grasp, turning it against its owner. Two others charged in unison, but Perfect Body responded, his movements almost preternaturally fast. He ducked beneath their clumsy strikes, delivering crippling blows in the blink of an eye.

Around him, the battleground shifted once more. Bolu, utilizing his own newfound understanding of mana, was directing groups of those who had leveled up slightly during the first wave. They moved with more purpose now, their blows stronger, their defense more solid.

Mark was tireless. Each exertion, each strike reinforced his strength. Even as minutes passed – a precious resource he could ill afford to waste – a quick glance at the notification confirmed the second wave was only half over.

He desperately hoped the limited number of stats most people had would work in their favor. It should help them hit those first thresholds, become stronger, faster. Because, grimly, he knew they'd need every ounce of strength. He couldn't be sure anyone but himself would make a difference against the onslaught promised by the third and fourth waves.