A rustle. Then another.

The first creature burst from the underbrush with a shriek, a flash of mottled green and sharp teeth. It was the size of a child no older than ten, dressed in animal skins, with a face so hideous it made Damon remember one of his high school teachers. Its weapon—a crude, rusted dagger—caught the light of the dying fire as it lunged. You didn’t need to be a genius to name it—a goblin.

Damon moved before the others could react, his knife a blur in his hand. With a swift flick of his wrist, the blade flew through the air, embedding itself in the goblin’s eye. He was always good at darts. The creature crumpled to the ground, lifeless, but Damon didn’t stop to savor the kill. He was already moving forward, reaching down to rip his knife free from the corpse’s skull.

"Mike, left!" Damon barked, snapping his head toward his friend, who was fumbling with his shotgun.

The echo of the gun’s blast reverberated through the clearing as Mike fired, taking down another goblin. But there were more. Too many. They swarmed from the trees, their shrieks filling the night, small and wiry bodies moving with chaotic energy. Their crude weapons glinted in the firelight as they attacked with mindless rage.

Damon twisted his knife from the goblin’s skull, blood spraying as he yanked it free. With a quick motion, he pulled a second blade from his belt. He could feel the cold steel in both hands now—his comfort in chaos. The world narrowed to the movement of his blades and the rhythm of his breath. Each slash, each stab, was calculated. Lethal.

The goblins came fast, but Damon was faster. One swung a rusted axe at him—he dodged, stepping lightly to the side and driving his knife into its throat. Another charged, screeching, swinging wildly with a jagged spear. Damon caught the spear with one blade and plunged the other into its gut. The creature gurgled, its eyes wide with shock, as it crumpled to the dirt.

Behind him, chaos reigned. Mike fired his shotgun again, the sound deafening. The blast knocked another goblin back, its body slumping against a tree. But the shotgun clicked empty. Damon didn’t even have to look to know Mike was panicking. He could hear the frantic scrabble as his friend grabbed a fallen goblin’s wooden pike, swinging it wildly.

Lena was screaming, flailing with a stick she’d found, her movements frantic and useless. Ryan stood rooted in place, his back pressed to a tree, wide eyes tracking the carnage but making no move to join the fight. Sarah… she had moved. Damon caught the sight of her out of the corner of his eye—swinging a rock down with brutal force on a goblin’s skull, her face flushed, her breath ragged.

He didn’t have time to wonder at the shift in her demeanor. Another goblin leapt at him, and Damon parried its wild attack, slashing across its chest and dropping it in one fluid motion.

When the last of the creatures had fallen, Damon stood amidst the carnage, breathing evenly, his knives still gripped in blood-slick hands. The scent of copper filled the air, mingling with the earthy musk of the forest. He blinked, a strange chime sounding in the back of his mind.

You have earned 9% XP. You have earned 3 System Points.

The words hovered at the edge of his vision, ghostly and unreal. Now that he thought about it, he had heard a similar chime every time he killed a goblin. Damon frowned, wiping the blood from his knives on his sleeve. It was strange, the way the notification lingered there like some video game message. But there was no time to process that now.

His friends, on the other hand, weren’t handling it as well. Mike stood hunched over, panting, his hands shaking as he clutched the pike. Lena had collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her face. Sarah stood a few feet away, staring at the blood on her hands, her face flushed and her breath erratic. She wasn’t in shock, he realized. No, this was something different. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. And Ryan—well, Ryan hadn’t moved, still pinned to that damn tree, his face pale as he stared at the carnage.

"Pull yourselves together," Damon snapped, his tone as sharp as the knives in his hands. He didn’t have time to babysit them. Definitely not Ryan, who wasn't his real friend like Sarah or Mike. In fact, if his suspicions proved to be true... then Ryan being killed by the goblins would be a form of mercy.

Sarah looked up at Damon, her face flushed, her eyes bright. He mistook her trembling for fear, and for a brief moment, disappointment flickered through him. He had thought better of her. But now, looking at her shaking form, the warmth he’d once felt began to cool. She wouldn’t survive this changed world. Not if she couldn’t handle this. Those thoughts made his chest tighten.

Damon was counting the dead bodies when something caught his eye—a slight twitch among the bodies strewn across the ground. One of the twelve goblins, a wretched thing with a jagged wound across its chest, was still alive. It let out a weak, ragged breath, its clawed hand twitching feebly in the dirt. The others hadn’t noticed, still too shaken by the battle to see the threat lingering at their feet.

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But Damon noticed. And it gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.

Without a word, he strode toward the goblin, his knife already raised. The creature’s eyes widened in fear as it struggled to move, but Damon was faster. He crouched low, his expression cold, and drove the blade into the goblin’s throat, twisting it with precision. The creature gurgled, blood spilling from its mouth in thick, dark streams. It spasmed once, then lay still, its life snuffed out as easily as a candle’s flame.

Damon stood, wiping his blade on the goblin’s ragged tunic. He felt nothing. No remorse, no hesitation. Just the cold satisfaction of knowing that the job was done. He glanced back at Sarah, whose bright eyes had followed every move.

"That’s how you survive," Damon said, his voice low, more to himself than to her.

Another chime echoed in his mind.

Congratulations! You have reached Level 1.

A strange satisfaction coursed through him at the message. He didn’t understand how it worked, but it was clear enough—kill monsters, grow stronger. That was all that mattered. Damon shared his experience with others, just to make sure he wasn't going crazy.

"I-I received a notification about gaining XP and System points," said Sarah as she recovered from her strange state, if barely. "After I... murdered that ugly creature."

"I think I only got those after killing those in close combat... not those I shot dead," Mike added with a frown.

Ryan finally peeled himself away from the tree, stumbling forward. "This… this is like a game," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "We’re leveling up."

Damon glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Explain," he demanded, his tone clipped.

Ryan swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he gestured to the translucent screen still hovering above them. "The system… it’s like a game. We just killed monsters, and now we’re getting experience points. If we level up, we’ll get stronger. It’s how this works. Damn, I should've killed at least one of them! What if I can become a wizard?!"

Damon stared at him for a moment, processing the words. A game. It made sense in a twisted way. The system, the levels… It was designed to force them to adapt. The weak would fall, and the strong would rise.

Before Ryan could continue his explanation, the forest erupted again. More goblins, this time with archers among them. Damon’s eyes narrowed as he spotted an arrow speeding toward him.

"Mike, keep them off!" Damon commanded, his voice sharp as a blade. "Ryan, take one of the weapons and fight! Girls, protect yourself!"

There was no hesitation, no doubt. His focus narrowed to the threat ahead—another wave of goblins, not just archers, but a chaotic mix of snarling, mindless creatures. They charged through the trees, their jagged weapons gleaming in the moonlight, their eyes glowing with savage hunger.

Damon surged forward, weaving between the towering pines as arrows hissed past him. His heart beat steady, each thump measured. Instinct took over, a cold, calculated rhythm guiding his every move. An arrow came at him from the left—he sidestepped, the feathered shaft missing him by a breath. Another goblin, armed with a rusted sword, leapt from the underbrush, swinging wildly. Damon deflected the blow with a flick of his wrist, his knife catching the goblin's primitive sword before driving his other blade deep into its throat. Hot blood sprayed across his hand as the goblin gurgled, collapsing at his feet.

There was no time to pause. Another goblin came barreling toward him, its face twisted in fury, clutching a crude spiked club. Damon ducked low, the club swinging harmlessly over his head, and he lashed out, his knife slicing through the goblin’s exposed thigh. It howled in pain, stumbling back. Damon followed through with a quick stab to its gut, ending its misery.

Above him, the archers were regrouping. Damon’s eyes locked on them. The archers were always more dangerous—silent killers, hidden in the shadows. He spotted one drawing back its bow, the string tight, ready to release. With a burst of speed, Damon darted toward a nearby tree, using the trunk as cover just as the arrow thudded into the bark where his chest had been moments before.

He moved again, circling wide, his knives glinting in the sparse light. Another goblin charged at him, this one wielding a rusted spear. Damon twisted away from the clumsy thrust, his movements fluid as water. Before the goblin could recover, he drove his knife upward, catching it under the chin. The goblin’s head snapped back, eyes rolling, and it collapsed with a sickening thud.

Damon didn’t stop. He couldn’t. More goblins poured from the trees, snarling and screeching. One after another, they came, but Damon was relentless. He ducked, weaved, and slashed, moving through them like a predator cutting down prey. Each step, each strike was precise, lethal. Blood sprayed the forest floor, a macabre dance of death that left a trail of bodies in his wake.

Finally, he reached the archers. The first was readying another shot, but Damon was already there. With a sharp upward slice, he cut through its bowstring before slashing across its throat in one seamless motion. The goblin crumpled, clutching at its neck as it bled out.

The second archer scrambled back, panic in its wide, beady eyes. It fumbled with another arrow, but Damon moved too fast. His knife found its mark, sinking deep into the goblin’s chest. The creature’s breath hitched, eyes bulging as it fell to its knees, gasping for air that would never come.

Damon stood over the fallen, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Around him, the forest had gone quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the faint gurgle of dying goblins. He wiped the blood from his blades, his heart as calm as if he had done nothing more than stroll through the woods.

A familiar chime echoed in his mind, a cold reminder of the new reality.

Congratulations! You have reached Level 2.

The notification hovered in his vision, but Damon barely acknowledged it. The rush of combat was fading, leaving only the stillness of the aftermath. His eyes scanned the treeline for any remaining threats, but there were none. The fight was over. For now.

Behind him, the others were catching their breath, still reeling from the carnage. But Damon?

He was hoping for another wave of goblins.