I tightened my grip on the chair leg as Claire and I backed out of the breakroom, our eyes glued to the shimmering portal. The shadows within writhed like something alive, promising an encore far worse than the glowing bug we’d already faced. My System’s cold, humorless warning echoed in my head, a grim reminder that survival wasn’t a guarantee.
“Claire,” I whispered, not daring to take my eyes off the portal. “We should go. Like, right now.”
She nodded, her usual calm slipping as she glanced between me and the swirling abyss. “Let’s regroup with the others.”
We didn’t run—running would have required confidence in our balance. Instead, we settled for the world’s most awkward, brisk power-walk, reaching the main office area in record time. Gerald, predictably, was still planted in the center of the room, arms crossed in a pose that screamed “competence cosplay.” A few of our coworkers hovered nearby, their faces pale and tight with barely-contained fear.
Trevor was crouched near one of the desks, rummaging through drawers with calm efficiency. “You two look like you’ve seen something nasty,” he said, glancing up with his trademark easy grin. “Want a protein bar? Might help with the end-of-the-world jitters.”
“Where have you been?” Gerald snapped before I could answer, his voice sharp and authoritative, though it cracked slightly at the end. “We need to stay together!”
I dropped the chair leg onto a nearby desk with a clatter, wiping my forehead with my sleeve. “Oh, you know. Just out squashing apocalypse bugs. No big deal.”
Claire didn’t miss a beat. “There’s a portal in the breakroom,” she said, her voice as sharp as the edge of a freshly-honed blade. “And more are coming. The System—whatever it is—warned us.”
“The System?” Nervous Guy asked, his voice shaking as much as his tapping foot. “You mean the creepy floating notifications? Because mine’s been pinging me all kinds of cryptic nonsense.”
“Warned you about what?” Gerald cut in, his tone dripping with dismissal. “This is chaos, that’s all. Emergency services will kick in any minute. We just need to stay put.”
Trevor stood, a protein bar in one hand and a flashlight in the other. “Pretty sure firefighters don’t get trained on bug-filled interdimensional portals. Just a hunch.” His grin softened the jab, but his point landed squarely.
I snorted, gesturing toward the still-flickering auroras outside. “Yeah, sure. Because the cops definitely have a contingency plan for sky lasers and murder beetles.”
Claire stepped forward, her expression hardening into something almost unbreakable. “It didn’t sound like we’re getting rescued anytime soon. It sounded more like... we’re on our own.”
Her words hung in the air, heavier than the atmosphere pressing down on us. Gerald’s mouth opened to argue, but even he faltered, his gaze flicking toward the distorted light outside.
“Okay,” I said, clapping my hands together. “If we’re stuck here waiting for our inevitable doom, might as well do it with snacks. I vote we raid the pantry.”
A few of our coworkers stared at me like I’d just sprouted a second head. The woman with the braid—who had been scribbling notes earlier—looked up sharply, her pen frozen mid-sentence. Gerald pinched the bridge of his nose like he was personally bearing the weight of everyone else’s idiocy.
“Ethan, this isn’t a joke,” Gerald snapped.
“No, it’s an apocalypse,” I shot back, leaning against the desk. “But if I’m going out, I’d rather do it with a Twinkie in my hand than sitting here pretending rescue is coming.”
“Ethan,” Claire said, her voice softer now, “he’s right about one thing. We need to do something.”
I spread my arms. “See? The voice of reason agrees with me. Besides, if that portal spits out more of those beetles—or worse—we’re gonna need supplies. And maybe a flamethrower.”
“I hate to say it,” Bald Guy muttered, leaning against a nearby chair, “but he’s got a point. We don’t even know what’s happening yet.”
Gerald’s jaw tightened, but for once, he didn’t have a snarky comeback. Meanwhile, Trevor tossed me a protein bar with an easy flick of his wrist. I caught it, more out of reflex than anything else.
“Eat up,” he said with a wink. “Can’t face the apocalypse on an empty stomach.”
---
The auroras outside shifted again, their vibrant greens and purples twisting violently as new portals shimmered into existence along the horizon. Faint, inhuman sounds drifted in from somewhere below us—low groans and sharp, uneven scrapes that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. Whatever was down there, I could already tell it wasn’t a friendly “Welcome to the Apocalypse” committee.
“Did anyone else hear that?” Claire asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The room froze, everyone straining to listen. The sound came again, louder this time—a deep rumble followed by a series of sharp crashes. It was coming from the floors below.
“Okay,” I said, swallowing hard. “Who votes we barricade the stairs?”
Trevor, crouched by a desk with his ever-present calm, gave me a sidelong glance. “You’ve got my vote. And I’ve got duct tape. Not that it’ll help much if... whatever that is has claws.”
The rumble grew sharper, punctuated by another crash. Dust shook loose from the ceiling, and the sounds of something large—and getting closer—sent a jolt of adrenaline through the group. I tightened my grip on the chair leg, my earlier bravado shrinking with every step of the unseen menace below.
__This is not going to end well,__ I thought grimly.
The crashes morphed into a rhythmic pounding, the floor beneath us trembling with each impact. Every vibration echoed up through my legs, threatening to shake the flimsy confidence I’d managed to scrape together.
Claire gripped the edge of the desk beside me, her knuckles white against the dark wood. Across the room, Gerald stood frozen, his complexion shifting from “office-drone pale” to “about-to-pass-out gray.” Bald Guy muttered something under his breath—probably a prayer to whatever office gods governed staplers and fluorescent lights. Nervous Guy, meanwhile, couldn’t stop tapping his foot, even as his wide eyes darted to every corner of the room like the menace might already be here.
Trevor, of course, was still absurdly calm. “Anyone else feel like this building isn’t exactly quake-proof?” he asked, standing and dusting off his pants. “Not that I’m an engineer, but, uh... not feeling great about the structural integrity right now.”
“Shut up, Trevor,” Claire hissed, though her glare lacked heat.
“Trevor’s right,” I said, forcing a grin because _someone_ had to lighten the mood. “Fun fact: I don’t think this building was designed with ‘end-of-days insurance’ in mind.”
Claire’s sharp glare found me next, more intense now. “Shut up, Ethan.”
The growling started low, reverberating through the air like a distant storm clawing its way toward us. It wasn’t just coming from the stairwell—it was digging into my chest, every rumble timed with the frantic beat of my heart.
“Anyone else hear that?” I asked, my voice higher-pitched than I cared to admit. “Or am I just experiencing really dramatic tinnitus?”
The stairwell door groaned as something heavy hit it from the other side. Gerald’s eyes snapped toward it, his lips moving silently. For once, the man was too spooked to bark orders. If small victories counted in apocalypses, I was officially on a roll.
The System pinged, its tone dripping with sarcastic indifference.
**[You’ve unlocked a new achievement: Goblin Buffet. Guess who’s on the menu?]**
“Fantastic,” I muttered, gripping the chair leg tighter. “Love being the main course.”
The growling deepened, sharpening into the nerve-grating sound of claws on metal. The scraping built to a crescendo, like nails on a chalkboard designed by a sadist. Then came the bang.
And another.
The stairwell door groaned again, each impact rattling the hinges. Across the room, the woman with the braid clutched a stapler like her life depended on it, her wide eyes darting between the door and Nervous Guy’s increasingly frantic tapping.
“Ethan…” Claire’s voice was barely audible, her wide-eyed stare fixed on the door.
The final bang sent the door flying open. It slammed against the wall with a metallic crash that stole the air from the room. For one agonizing moment, the world held its breath.
Then they poured in.
About a dozen goblins swarmed into the room, their snarls a chorus of hatred. Each stood about four feet tall, hunched and wiry, their jagged weapons as crude as their faces. Yellowed eyes glinted with manic glee, and their teeth—sharp and stained—chattered like they were salivating for chaos.
The System pinged again, colder now, as if it had decided this was no time for jokes.
**[Enemy: Goblin Horde (Level 2, Common)]**
**HP:** 10/10 (per goblin)
**Threat Level:** Moderate
**Description:** Swarm-based enemies.
“Oh, come on,” I groaned, stepping back as the goblins advanced. “Moderate? There’s like ten of them! What’s high? An actual apocalypse dragon?”
“Focus, Ethan!” Claire snapped, grabbing my arm and yanking me further into the room.
“Totally focused!” I lied, the chair leg trembling in my hands. My brain, meanwhile, was in full-blown panic mode, screaming something like, __We’re gonna die. We’re so gonna die.__
The goblins didn’t hesitate. They surged forward with unsettling speed, a chaotic wave of snarls and swinging weapons. Gerald stumbled back, his usual bravado replaced with wide-eyed terror as one goblin raised a jagged axe, its chipped blade glinting in the flickering light.
“Gerald!” Claire shouted, her voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos.
Before she could move, another System ping cut through the room, this time urgent enough to make my blood run cold.
**[Enemy: Goblin Shaman (Level 3, Rare)]**
**HP:** 30/30
**Threat Level:** High
**Description:** Spellcasting leader.
The Shaman emerged from the stairwell, taller than the others, its hunched frame draped in tattered robes that shimmered faintly with what could only be described as “evil magic vibes.” Glowing red eyes locked onto me, unblinking and cold.
And then it started to chant.
The Shaman’s guttural voice rose, resonating through the room like an ancient curse. As it chanted, the goblins surged forward, their movements sharper, faster, more coordinated. My grip on the chair leg tightened, knuckles white as I stared at the Shaman’s glowing eyes drilling into my soul.
The System pinged one last time, abandoning its usual sarcasm for something much worse—clinical detachment.
**[Survival Odds: Dwindling.]**
My throat tightened. *Thanks, System. Really comforting.*
“Ethan,” Claire hissed, her voice trembling but determined. “We need a plan.”
“A plan?” I managed, stepping back as the goblins advanced. “Here’s one: don’t die. Simple. Elegant.”
“Not helpful!” she snapped, raising a broken chair leg of her own.
The Shaman’s chant intensified, and so did the goblins’ frenzy. This wasn’t a fight. It was a massacre waiting to happen.
The goblins didn’t wait for the Shaman’s chant to reach its ominous crescendo. No, that would’ve been polite, and goblins apparently break out in hives at the mere suggestion of etiquette. Instead, they surged forward like a murder-happy tidal wave, their snarls and jagged weapons turning the office into an even bigger nightmare than Gerald’s motivational speeches.
I gripped the chair leg tighter, its weight suddenly feeling inadequate against the sharp, rusted blades glinting under the flickering lights. A goblin lunged at me, its face twisted into a caricature of rage and way too many teeth. My brain screamed, _Move, idiot!_
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Instinct took over—or maybe sheer panic. Honestly, what’s the difference? My feet pushed off, and suddenly I was mid-air, vaulting over a desk. Not gracefully, mind you. My knee clipped the edge, and I landed in a graceless heap on the other side. My pride had filed a formal complaint, but at least I wasn’t skewered.
“Couldn’t this skill come with an instruction manual?” I muttered, scrambling to my feet. The goblin snarled from the other side of the desk, clawing at the surface like it could rage itself through solid wood.
Claire was on the other side of the room, swinging her chair leg like it was a katana forged by a drunk blacksmith. Her movements were hesitant but purposeful, like someone trying to follow dance instructions in a language they didn’t speak. “Ethan, focus!” she yelled, her voice barely cutting through the chaos.
“I _am_ focusing!” I shot back, ducking as another goblin hurled a jagged dagger. It embedded itself into the wall inches from my head, a clear indication that this goblin had been practicing its aim since the fourth grade. “I’m focusing on not dying, which, by the way, is a full-time job right now!”
The Shaman’s chant grew louder, resonating in my chest like a bad bass drop at a club nobody invited me to. The goblins’ movements changed, their chaotic frenzy shifting into something coordinated. They flowed like a single entity, snarls harmonizing in a way that made my skin crawl.
Trevor, standing a few feet away, shouted, “They’re working together now! It’s like... goblin jazz or something!”
“Trevor, not helping!” Claire snapped, though there was no bite to it. Trevor, ever unflappable, took a swing at a goblin coming his way, knocking it back with a grunt. “Still counts as an assist!” he called out, flashing her a grin that made me want to smack him—and maybe high-five him at the same time.
“Stick together! Defensive positions, now!” Claire barked, dragging the rest of us back into the moment. Her voice cut through the chaos with the kind of authority that made people listen.
I glanced at Gerald, who was supposed to be our bastion of authority. Instead, he stood frozen, gripping his weapon—a metal desk leg—like it was a lifeline. A goblin charged at him, its axe raised high, and he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there like he could out-stubborn the apocalypse.
“Gerald, move!” I shouted, but it was Claire who saved him. She stepped in, bashing the goblin away before it could cleave him in two. The effort knocked her off-balance, and I surged forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her back before another goblin could capitalize on the opening.
The System chimed in, as helpful as ever.
**[Enemy Buff: Goblin Swarm Mechanics. Effect: +1 STR/DEX per 3 goblins in range. Coordination increased. Goblin team-building retreats must be terrifying.]**
“Swarm mechanics?!” I shouted, swinging my chair leg at a goblin lunging my way. It dodged with unsettling grace, its yellowed eyes gleaming with an intelligence that didn’t belong to something that smelled like an open sewer.
“Focus!” Claire yelled back, jabbing her chair leg into another goblin’s midsection. “Stop reading notifications and fight!”
Trevor, ever the optimist, cracked a grin as he swung at another goblin. “Don’t worry, Ethan. I’m here to boost morale! You’re doing great, buddy.”
“Boost morale?!” I ducked another goblin’s swing, the blade missing my ear by a whisper. “Try boosting _efficiency_!”
“Why not both?” he shot back, his grin widening. His swing missed its mark, but his confidence didn’t falter, and somehow that made me feel just a little less doomed.
Across the room, Nervous Guy let out a startled yelp as a goblin lunged at him. He swung wildly with a desk lamp, the makeshift weapon bouncing off the goblin’s shoulder like a child’s toy. Bald Guy stepped in, using the distraction to slam his metal rod into the goblin’s back with a satisfying _thud_. “That’s teamwork!” Bald Guy barked, his furrowed brow deepening as he stepped between Nervous Guy and another advancing goblin.
Claire’s voice rang out again, cutting through the chaos. “Ethan, Trevor—help me hold the left side!”
“On it!” Trevor called, jogging over with a speed that somehow didn’t feel panicked. He swung his chair leg with surprising precision, knocking a goblin off-balance just as I slammed mine into its midsection. The goblin crumpled to the ground with a snarl, and for the first time in this entire nightmare, I felt like we weren’t completely doomed.
The Shaman’s chant hit a new crescendo, the guttural syllables vibrating in the air like a curse. The goblins’ movements sharpened, their snarls turning into something almost rhythmic.
The System chimed again, this time colder, more clinical.
**[Survival Odds: Dwindling even more.]**
My throat tightened. _Thanks, System. Really helpful._
“Ethan,” Claire hissed, her voice trembling but resolute. “We need a plan.”
“A plan?” I managed, parrying another goblin’s blade. “Here’s one: don’t die. Simple. Elegant.”
“Not helpful!” she snapped, driving her chair leg into a goblin’s head with a sickening _crack._
Trevor, positioned just a few feet away, grinned at me even as his makeshift weapon smashed into a goblin’s torso. “Don’t worry, Ethan. I’ve got your back.”
“Great,” I muttered, ducking another swing. “Because if this gets any worse, I’m going to need a therapist.”
Behind Trevor, Bald Guy was shouting instructions while trying to fend off two goblins with his metal rod. Nervous Ned clutched a fire extinguisher like it might explode if he squeezed too hard. Trevor, as usual, somehow kept his humor intact.
“Don’t let up!” Claire barked, her voice rising above the chaos. “Hold them off while we regroup!”
I could feel the tide turning against us, the Shaman’s chant hitting a crescendo that made the air vibrate with unnatural energy. My grip on the chair leg tightened as I stepped closer to Trevor. He turned and gave me a quick nod.
“Let’s buy them some time,” he said, his voice unusually steady.
The Shaman’s guttural chant surged again, and the goblins’ eyes glowed brighter. Trevor’s grin faltered but didn’t disappear entirely. He stepped forward, swinging his chair leg with everything he had, creating a small opening for Claire and the others to regroup.
“Trevor!” Claire shouted, her voice edged with panic. “Fall back now!”
“No can do, boss!” he called back, smashing another goblin with a wild swing. “Someone’s gotta play goalie.”
It hit me then—he wasn’t just holding the line. He was making a choice.
I turned in time to see Trevor shove Bald Guy and Nervous Ned toward the others. “Go! Don’t look back!” he barked, his voice more commanding than I’d ever heard. The two hesitated for a moment before obeying, retreating with hurried steps toward Claire.
Trevor spun back to face the goblins, his chair leg raised like a knight’s sword. “Alright, you ugly little nightmares. Let’s dance.”
Time slowed as Trevor charged into the fray, swinging with reckless precision. Each blow landed with a brutal crack, holding back the goblins with sheer force of will. My feet stayed rooted, refusing to obey, not out of fear but the gut-wrenching realization that this was his choice.
The Shaman’s chant reached a piercing crescendo, and the goblins surged forward. Trevor roared—a sound that somehow managed to be defiant and victorious—as he swung one last time, sending a goblin sprawling into its snarling kin. But it wasn’t enough. A smaller goblin slipped through his guard, its jagged blade striking deep.
“Trevor!” I shouted, my voice cracking. He staggered but didn’t fall, his chair leg slamming down on the goblin that had landed the blow. Blood seeped through his shirt, but he turned to us, grinning through gritted teeth.
“Keep going!” he roared, his voice carrying over the chaos. “Make it count, Ethan!”
The goblins swarmed him then, a writhing mass of limbs and snarls that swallowed him whole. I could do nothing but watch, helpless, as Trevor disappeared beneath their frenzy. My weapon hung uselessly in my grip, my mind screaming to intervene even as the pit in my stomach said it was too late.
The System chimed, its tone cold and detached.
**[System Note: Survivor Lost. Survival rate now at 81%. Cause: Heroic stand.]**
I clenched my jaw, grief and fury tangling in my chest until they were inseparable. _This isn’t a game, you useless piece of code._ But the words stayed locked in my throat. Instead, I turned my anger on the nearest goblin, swinging the chair leg with every ounce of strength I could muster. The crack of impact felt hollow, but it was all I had.
“Move!” Claire’s voice snapped me back to reality. Her hand gripped my arm, her eyes burning with urgency. “We can’t let him die for nothing!”
We stumbled back, retreating toward the others as the Shaman’s chant shifted. The goblins froze for a brief moment, their eyes glowing brighter as if drawing power from Trevor’s sacrifice. The silence that followed was deafening.
**[Spell Activation: Empower Horde. Effect: +10% attack speed for all goblins. Duration: 30 seconds. Faster, scarier, and still ugly. Great.]**
The horde exploded into motion, faster than anything I’d seen. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the chair leg. Trevor’s last words echoed in my head. _Make it count, Ethan.__
“Claire,” I said, my voice trembling but low, “you wouldn’t happen to have a miracle in your back pocket, would you?”
“Not unless you count blind hope,” she shot back, adjusting her grip on her chair leg as her eyes scanned for the next attack. She didn’t flinch, even as the goblins surged closer.
“Fantastic,” I muttered. “Hope’s my favorite kind of miracle.”
The first goblin lunged, its speed unnatural, almost mechanical. My swing was pure instinct, driven more by terror than precision. The jagged edge of the chair leg connected with its head, sending it stumbling back with a wet crunch.
**[Skill Progression: Improvised Weapon Handling. Comprehension: 1%. Effect: Basic proficiency with makeshift weapons. Chair legs: turning office workers into warriors since now.]**
“Oh, wonderful,” I grumbled as the goblin staggered upright, anger blazing in its eyes. “Basic proficiency. How about an upgrade to ‘actually good,’ System?”
The goblin hissed and charged again. This time, I swung deliberately, knocking its weapon arm off course. It crashed into a desk with a strangled growl, and I didn’t give it a chance to recover. The chair leg came down hard, smashing into its head with the satisfying crunch of cheap office furniture doing its job.
A high-pitched shout broke through the chaos. I turned to see Nervous Ned holding a fire extinguisher like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He’d managed to spray a goblin directly in the face, the thick foam blinding it and sending it clawing at the air in frantic frustration.
“Did I get it? Did I do it?” Ned stammered, his hands trembling as he held the extinguisher in a death grip.
“Yeah, you blinded it,” I called out, dodging a goblin’s swipe. “Now maybe hit it before it remembers it has friends!”
Claire darted in, her movements sharper now, and delivered a precise swing to the blinded goblin’s kneecap. It howled and crumpled, and she finished it with a second blow to its head. Her breath came in sharp gasps, but her eyes were focused, her confidence growing with every attack.
The System chimed again, this time with a hint of exasperation.
**[Environmental Attack: Improvised. Goblin temporarily blinded. If office supplies win the day, I’m uninstalling myself.]**
“Nice work,” Claire said, nodding at Ned. “Keep using that. Blind as many as you can.”
Ned nodded furiously, his hands still shaking but his determination solidifying. Around us, the group began to rally, following Claire’s lead. Desk legs and broken chair parts were raised, and desperation turned into grim resolve.
Not everyone was handling things so well. Gerald stood paralyzed against the far wall, his pristine desk leg dangling uselessly at his side. A goblin locked onto him, its glowing red eyes narrowing as it charged. Gerald didn’t move, didn’t flinch—just stared at his incoming death like he could wish it away.
“Gerald!” Claire screamed, surging forward with a desperate swing of her chair leg. The impact was enough to deflect the goblin’s jagged blade, but it sent her stumbling off balance. The goblin hissed, raising its weapon again.
Then the scream pierced the air.
It wasn’t Gerald—it was her. The rookie. The young woman with the loose braid who’d been scrambling to impress everyone just hours ago now clutched her side, blood staining her shirt as a goblin’s blade struck deep. She dropped to her knees, gasping in pain as her hands instinctively pressed against the wound.
“Help her!” Claire yelled, her voice breaking as she fought off another goblin. But Gerald didn’t move. He stood frozen, his knuckles white around the metal desk leg as if willing it to fight on its own.
Fury burned through me, a hot, blinding surge that shoved everything else aside. “Great leadership, Gerald!” I snarled, swinging my chair leg at the nearest goblin. The crude weapon cracked against its skull with a sickening thud. “Really inspiring!”
I reached the rookie as the goblin advanced on her again. She looked up at me, her face pale but her eyes still defiant. “I… I can still fight,” she gasped, one hand fumbling for her fallen weapon even as blood seeped through her fingers.
“No, you can’t,” I snapped, slamming the goblin away with all the force I could muster. Its body hit the floor with a crunch, and I turned back to her. “Not like this.”
Her lips twitched—a half-smile, half-grimace—as she weakly gripped my arm. “You’re… bossy.”
“Yeah, well, you’re terrible at following orders,” I shot back, lifting her to her feet. She swayed but managed to lean against me, her weight awkward but manageable. “Let’s work on that after we don’t die.”
Claire’s chair leg smashed into another goblin as she cleared a path, her voice sharp and unyielding. “Keep moving! We can’t lose anyone else!”
The goblins pressed in, their snarls a discordant chorus against the Shaman’s relentless chanting. Around us, survivors scrambled to fight back, but it was chaos—a storm of fear, desperation, and noise. The ground trembled again, the vibrations rattling through my legs and nearly throwing me off balance.
We needed a plan. We needed a miracle.
“Ethan, keep her steady!” Claire barked, her voice cutting through the cacophony. She crouched low, jabbing her makeshift weapon at an advancing goblin without missing a beat. “I’ll cover you!”
“Steady?” I grunted, shifting Braid Girl—rookie extraordinaire—to keep her upright. Her face was pale, her breaths shallow. “I’d call this ‘barely upright,’ but sure, let’s shoot for steady.”
The rookie winced, her hand pressed firmly against her side where blood seeped between her fingers. “I’m… fine,” she managed weakly, trying to grip the chair leg she’d dropped earlier.
“Sure,” I said, gritting my teeth as I yanked her out of a goblin’s path. “Just fine. You’re only bleeding all over me. Totally fine.”
Claire wasn’t waiting for my commentary. She surged forward, intercepting another goblin with a vicious swing that knocked it off balance. “Get her out of here!” she snapped, her tone brokered no argument.
Behind me, the System chimed in with its usual unhelpful wisdom.
**[Team Efficiency: Suboptimal. Suggestion: Fewer frozen leaders, more decisive ones.]**
“I don’t see you grabbing a chair leg, System,” I muttered, dragging the rookie toward the nearest barricade as Gerald continued to hover uselessly in the background. “Maybe you can mock Gerald instead?”
The Shaman’s chant surged, the guttural syllables vibrating through the air like the world’s worst motivational speech. The goblins moved faster now, their attacks synchronized and deliberate. We were getting boxed in.
“Focus on the ones closest to the Shaman!” Claire’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. “Disrupt them!”
“Easy for you to say!” I shot back, shoving a desk into an oncoming goblin with all the grace of a bulldozer. It stumbled, snarling, as I swung the chair leg down on its head. “These guys aren’t exactly pausing for instructions!”
“Ethan, use the desks!” Claire pointed toward the cluster of overturned furniture near the room’s center. “Block their reinforcements!”
For once, I didn’t argue. Grabbing the edge of a nearby desk, I heaved it upright, shoving it into place alongside the makeshift barricade. The goblins hesitated, their snarls turning frustrated as their path narrowed. It wasn’t much, but it gave us a few precious seconds to regroup.
Claire was already moving, directing the remaining survivors like a seasoned general. “Push the furniture! Create choke points! Hold them here!”
Gerald, predictably, remained plastered against the far wall, his weapon hanging limply at his side like a prop he didn’t know how to use. His eyes darted to the ceiling as a low rumble shook the room.
I followed his gaze. A long crack splintered across the ceiling, bits of plaster crumbling and falling like ominous snowflakes. The portal’s glow intensified, its edges warping violently as the temperature plummeted. My teeth ached from the high-pitched hum that now filled the air.
“Uh, Claire?” I said, backing toward the barricade as the room groaned under the strain. “We might have a ceiling problem.”
The System chimed in again, this time shedding its usual sarcasm for grim urgency.
**[Environmental Effect: Structural Instability. Cause: Mana Surges. Mitigation: Evacuate. Debris isn’t your friend.]**
“Great. Love the advice,” I muttered. “Too bad there’s no exit button.”
The ceiling groaned louder, and a chunk collapsed with a deafening crash, pulverizing a row of desks into splinters. Dust clouded the air, choking and blinding us momentarily. When it cleared, the scene was somehow worse. The portal pulsed violently, its hum warping into a piercing whine.
“Fall back!” Claire yelled, her voice cutting through the haze. “Everyone, fall back!”
I dragged the rookie closer to the barricade as the goblins surged forward, faster and deadlier than before. She tried to push me off, her hand weakly gripping her weapon. “I can… fight,” she gasped, determination flickering in her eyes.
“You can’t even stand!” I snapped, positioning her against the barricade as I swatted away another goblin with my chair leg. “Let someone else do the heroic stuff for once.”