The brave rookie’s lips quirked, a fleeting smirk that flickered like a dying flame, defiant even as her strength failed. She crumpled against the furniture, head lolling forward, and for one heart-stopping moment, she was too still. Claire surged past us, a whirlwind of motion and purpose, her expression a storm that promised fury for whatever came next.
The goblins weren’t slowing, their frenzied movements filling every gap we tried to create. A scream cut through the chaos—a survivor further down the line, overwhelmed by three goblins at once. Gerald froze, his weapon still dangling uselessly at his side as the room spiraled further into madness.
“Gerald, move!” Claire shouted, intercepting a goblin’s blade before it could strike him. The force of the impact sent her stumbling, but she recovered quickly, shoving the creature back with a powerful swing.
Another scream tore through the air, this time from a younger survivor closer to us. I turned in time to see her crumple to the floor, blood seeping through her fingers as she clutched her side. It was Braid Girl—rookie extraordinaire—trying and failing to hold her weapon against an advancing goblin.
“Help her!” Claire yelled, her voice raw. But Gerald didn’t move. He stood frozen, a useless statue as chaos raged around him.
“Unbelievable,” I growled, my fury boiling over. My chair leg smashed into another goblin, clearing my path to her. I crouched by her side, gripping her shoulder. “Hey, stay with me. We’ve got this.”
She blinked up at me, her face pale but defiant. “Don’t… let them win.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I muttered, hauling her to her feet with more force than finesse. “I’m stubborn like that.”
Claire cleared a path ahead, her swings more precise with each strike. “Move, Ethan! We can’t hold them here!”
The rookie sagged against me, her weight dragging us both down as the ceiling groaned ominously again. She clutched at her side, her breaths shallow but stubbornly even. Blood seeped through her fingers, painting her determination in stark red streaks.
“Don’t… stop,” she rasped, trying to push herself upright. “I can walk.”
“You can barely bleed and talk at the same time,” I shot back, adjusting my grip on her. “Let someone else handle the heroics for once.”
The building wasn’t going to hold much longer, and neither were we. The cracks in the ceiling widened with each groan, sending more plaster raining down like a deadly snowstorm.
“Everyone, to the hallway!” Claire commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. She gestured furiously at the survivors, her tone brokering no argument.
I tightened my grip on Braid Girl, my jaw setting as I helped her limp toward safety. _We’re not losing anyone else. Not today._
The rookie’s weight pressed heavier against me as her strength flagged. Behind us, the snarls of goblins and the guttural chant of the Shaman echoed louder. It felt like the walls themselves were closing in, forcing us forward with the promise of imminent collapse.
Claire’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile as she caught my eye. “Ethan, scout ahead. We need to know if the hallway’s even clearable.”
“Right. Because walking into a debris field with goblins at my back sounds _so safe,_” I said, hefting my chair leg. “Fine. Just don’t die while I’m gone. I hate being the responsible one.”
“Noted,” she replied dryly, turning back to guide the survivors into forming a defensive line.
The hallway was worse than I expected—crumbling plaster, overturned furniture, and jagged debris strewn everywhere like some kind of apocalyptic obstacle course. I kicked at a chunk of drywall, watching it crumble into dust that filled the air and burned my throat.
“Well, this is terrible,” I muttered, waving the dust away and stepping over a broken office chair. “But hey, it’s on brand for the rest of today.”
I picked my way carefully through the wreckage, scanning for any sign of goblins—or worse. The walls groaned under the strain of the mana surges, ripples of distortion twisting the flickering lights overhead. It was enough to make my palms sweat. This hallway wasn’t going to hold for long.
With a resigned sigh, I turned back and jogged to the group, where Claire was helping a survivor wedge another desk into the barricade. Gerald, as usual, was lurking near the rear, his pristine desk leg dangling uselessly at his side.
“Good news and bad news,” I said, brushing plaster dust off my sleeve. “Good news: the hallway’s still there. Bad news: so is half the building.”
Claire wiped sweat from her brow and straightened, her expression taut. “Can we clear it?”
“With a little elbow grease and a miracle, sure,” I said, gesturing to the barricade. “Unless you’d rather play goblin tower defense until the ceiling finishes us off.”
“Staying put is safer,” Gerald said, stepping forward. His expression was pinched, his voice tight. “If we clear the hallway, we’ll leave ourselves exposed. We should fortify this position instead.”
“Yeah, because waiting for the building to crush us is _so_ much better,” I shot back. My tone was light, but the glare I shot him wasn’t.
“You don’t understand—”
“Enough!” Claire’s voice rang out, sharper and more commanding than I’d ever heard it. Her eyes blazed as she turned to address the group. “We’re clearing the hallway. Everyone grabs what they can move. We don’t have time to argue.”
The rookie stirred weakly against my side, her voice barely audible. “She’s… right.”
I glanced down at her, surprised she was still coherent. “You’re supposed to be unconscious and proving me right.”
Her lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Guess I’m not good… at following orders.”
“Yeah, I’m noticing that,” I muttered, shifting my grip on her. “All right, Claire. What’s the play?”
Claire pointed toward the hallway, her tone brooking no room for argument. “Ethan, take her and anyone who can move fast. Start clearing the way. We’ll hold the line until you give us the signal.”
“You’re trusting me with this?” I said, cocking an eyebrow.
“Do you want to argue?” Claire shot back, her smirk barely visible under the grime and sweat.
“Nope. Arguing’s your thing,” I replied, adjusting my grip on Braid Girl. She was practically dead weight now, each step dragging me closer to the ground. “Let’s move before this place decides to finish the job.”
As we staggered toward the debris-filled hallway, the cacophony of snarls, shouts, and crashing furniture raged behind us. Claire’s voice cut through it all—sharp, unyielding, and impossible to ignore. She commanded the survivors like she was born to do it. For the first time, I realized just how much they relied on her—and how much I did too.
Behind me, Nervous Ned held the fire extinguisher like it was both his weapon and his emotional support. Bald Barry, on the other hand, looked like he’d been forced into gym class against his will, dragging debris into a barricade with a grimace.
Gerald? He was exactly where I expected—standing near the back, pretending to strategize while clearly doing nothing.
The System chimed in, smug as always.
**[Environmental Alert: Time-sensitive hazards detected. Staying equals dying. Moving equals… less dying.]**
“Well, there you have it,” I said, gesturing at the air as we trudged into the hallway. “The disembodied voice of sarcasm agrees with Claire. Let’s hustle, people.”
The survivors surged forward with a renewed sense of urgency. It wasn’t pretty, but they shoved debris aside, slowly clearing a path. Claire’s voice carried through the chaos, issuing sharp commands that somehow made the disorganized frenzy feel purposeful.
“Keep the heavier debris to the sides! We need a clear path for everyone to get through!” she called, her tone steady even as she and Bald Barry dragged Braid Girl along. Blood streaked the floor behind them, a grim reminder of just how close we were to losing her.
I took to the opposite end of the hallway, ducking and weaving as goblins tried to push past the barricade. Another swing of my chair leg sent one of them tumbling, its snarling companions momentarily slowed. My movements felt sharper now—not exactly graceful, but less flailing and more... deliberate.
The System chimed, as smug as ever.
**[Skill Progression: Parkour Basics. Comprehension: 25%. Effect: Reduced stamina costs for evasive actions. Agility increased. Congrats, your flailing now qualifies as an art form.]**
“Oh, good,” I muttered, dodging a swipe from a goblin’s jagged blade. “Finally, some recognition for my ability to not die.”
Ned, meanwhile, let out a panicked yelp as a goblin lunged at him. He sprayed the fire extinguisher wildly, coating the creature in foam and sending it stumbling into a desk. “Did I get it?” he stammered, his hands trembling.
“Yeah, you blinded it,” I called, stepping in to smash the goblin with my chair leg. “Now maybe try aiming next time?”
The group had almost cleared the hallway when the portal’s hum turned into a sharp, piercing whine. My stomach sank. This wasn’t over.
**[Spell Activation: Call Reinforcements. Effect: Portal activity intensifying. Duration: 10 seconds. Oh good, reinforcements! Because you were totally winning this fight.]**
The portal pulsed, its edges warping like some low-budget CGI effect. A new wave of goblins spilled forth, their glowing red eyes and jagged weapons making it painfully clear these weren’t the same disorganized grunts we’d been fighting. These goblins were bigger, faster, and looked like they’d skipped the teamwork seminar in favor of Advanced Murder 101.
“Claire!” I shouted, backing toward the group. “We’ve got company. And they’re not here to negotiate.”
Her head snapped toward the portal, her jaw tightening as she assessed the new threat. “Keep clearing the hallway!” she barked. “Ethan, slow them down!”
“Slow them down?” I stared at her, incredulous. “With what? My charm? A witty monologue?”
“Improvise!” she snapped, swinging her weapon to intercept a goblin that had broken through the barricade.
The portal’s hum grew louder, pulsating like a heartbeat, but the sound was anything but alive. Every step forward felt like a battle—not just against the goblins, but against the oppressive weight of the air itself. It clung to us, thick and stifling, as if the world itself wanted us dead.
The new goblins surged forward, their movements sharper and more deliberate than the horde we’d been fighting. But something was... off. They didn’t lunge for the survivors struggling to clear the hallway. Instead, they turned on their smaller counterparts—the old goblins—with an unsettling ferocity.
“Claire!” I shouted, sidestepping a crumbling chunk of ceiling. “Why aren’t they going for us?”
She didn’t answer immediately, too busy hacking at a goblin trying to claw its way over the barricade. “Does it matter? Use the opening!”
Bald Barry, dragging Braid Girl alongside Claire, glanced at me. “Maybe they don’t like competition?”
The System chimed, offering its own unwelcome take.
**[Observation: New goblins are hierarchically superior. Old goblins identified as ‘expendable.’ Suggestion: Keep clearing the hallway. Let them thin their own numbers.]**
“Oh, fantastic,” I muttered, swinging at another goblin and knocking it back. “We’re in the middle of a goblin civil war. Should we send flowers or just stay out of it?”
The new goblins tore into their predecessors with ruthless efficiency, their snarls filling the air as weapons clashed and claws tore. It was chaos, but it gave us a chance. Claire didn’t waste it.
“Everyone, keep moving!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the cacophony. “We need to clear that hallway before they decide we’re next!”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The survivors rallied, dragging debris aside with frantic energy. The rookie groaned as Claire and Barry hauled her forward, her blood leaving a grim trail across the cracked floor. Even Nervous Ned managed to steady himself, using the extinguisher to keep a stray goblin at bay.
The ceiling groaned ominously, sending another shower of plaster raining down. I tightened my grip on the chair leg and turned to Claire. “This plan is terrible, by the way.”
She shot me a glare, sweat streaking her dirt-smeared face. “Then make it work, Ethan.”
And somehow, I did.
The new goblins tore into their predecessors with ruthless efficiency, their snarls filling the air with a chaotic rhythm of clashing weapons and tearing claws. It was brutal, but it was the opportunity we needed. Claire wasted no time seizing it.
“Everyone, keep moving!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. “We need to clear that hallway before they decide we’re next!”
The survivors rallied, dragging debris aside in bursts of panicked energy. The rookie, Braid Girl, groaned weakly as Claire and Bald Barry hauled her forward. Her blood painted a jagged trail across the floor, each drop a reminder of just how close we were to losing her. Even Nervous Ned managed to stay steady, wielding the fire extinguisher like an unorthodox scepter of survival.
Gerald, meanwhile, was as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane—standing frozen near the rear of the group, gripping a desk leg he clearly had no intention of using.
The ceiling above groaned ominously, shedding another layer of plaster. A jagged crack raced along the surface, dust raining down with every shudder of the portal’s unstable energy. My knuckles whitened around the chair leg as I glanced at Claire. “This plan is officially terrible, by the way.”
She shot me a glare, her dirt-streaked face carved with determination. “Then make it work, Ethan.”
I swallowed my retort, nodding as I turned toward the hallway. _Making it work_ wasn’t exactly my specialty, but if Claire could keep moving, so could I.
The goblins' infighting was almost over. The new arrivals, faster and stronger, ripped through their expendable predecessors like a cleanup crew with machetes. Only the Shaman remained, towering at the portal’s edge, its glowing red eyes fixated on us even as the last of its horde fell. It didn’t flinch. It didn’t move. It just chanted, its guttural voice reverberating through the room like a death knell.
The System chimed in, its tone as detached as ever.
**[Observation: Goblin hierarchy reestablished. Remaining hostiles are coordinated and lethal. Suggestion: Exit the area before coordination turns to dismemberment.]**
“Great,” I muttered, shoving another piece of debris aside. “Thanks for the inspiring pep talk.”
We pushed forward, the hallway ahead still blocked but clearer than it had been minutes ago. Every step felt like trudging through wet cement. My legs burned, my chest heaved, and my hands ached from gripping the chair leg like it was the only thing standing between me and a very gruesome death—which, technically, it was.
It wasn’t just me. Everyone looked like they were ready to drop. Claire was practically carrying Braid Girl now, her face a grim mask of focus. Bald Barry stuck close, muttering what sounded like complaints but was probably just his own twisted version of encouragement. Behind us, Nervous Ned yelped every few seconds, swinging the fire extinguisher with all the finesse of a toddler with a toy bat.
“Claire,” I said, lowering my voice as I matched her pace. “If she doesn’t make it…”
“She will,” she snapped, cutting me off before I could finish. Her jaw was tight, her eyes locked on the hallway ahead. “We all will.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Every glance back at the rookie’s pale face made my stomach twist. Her breaths were shallow, her head lolling with every step. If she pulled through, it would be nothing short of a miracle. Hell, if any of us did, it would be one.
The System chimed again, because apparently, I didn’t have enough to worry about.
**[System Note: Survival instincts improving. Emotional processing: suboptimal. Suggestion: stop brooding, start running.]**
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, let me just suppress all human emotions while I’m at it.”
Ahead of us, the portal’s hum reached an ear-splitting crescendo, the oppressive noise wrapping around my skull like a vise. I froze, my stomach twisting as the temperature in the room plummeted. The edges of reality bent and shimmered like a warped funhouse mirror, and the flickering shadows on the walls twisted into clawed, inhuman shapes.
“Uh, Claire?” I called, my voice shaky. “We’ve got another problem.”
The portal pulsed violently, sending a wave of mana through the room that knocked debris into the air. A mana-fueled gust slammed into me, nearly toppling me as the already unstable ceiling groaned again.
The System chimed, its tone grim.
**[Environmental Warning: Dimensional Instability increasing. Evacuation recommended. Proceed quickly. Or don’t. I don’t care.]**
“Move!” Claire barked, dragging Braid Girl forward with a renewed burst of strength. “Ethan, clear the path!”
I didn’t hesitate this time, throwing my weight against an overturned cabinet. It screeched across the floor, scraping away just enough debris to widen the passage. The whispers near the portal grew louder, closer, layering over each other until they sounded like a dozen voices speaking in unison.
Another chunk of the ceiling collapsed behind us, smashing into the ground with a deafening crash. Dust filled the air, stinging my eyes and clogging my throat. I didn’t need the System to tell me this was going from bad to worse.
“Keep moving!” Claire shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. Her gaze flicked toward me for a brief moment, fierce and unyielding. “We’re almost there!”
I nodded, turning back to the remaining debris. My hands burned as I shoved another piece aside, clearing just enough space for the survivors to squeeze through. Barry and Ned followed suit, their movements frantic but determined. Even Gerald managed to pitch in—barely—pushing a loose chair out of the way before retreating to the back of the group.
The portal pulsed one last time, its edges warping like static as another blast of mana tore through the room. I turned just in time to see the Shaman step forward, its crimson eyes locking onto us.
“Claire!” I shouted, panic creeping into my voice. “We’ve got a serious Shaman problem!”
“We’ve had a serious Shaman problem!” she snapped back, her tone sharp despite the strain in her movements. “Focus on clearing the hallway!”
I gritted my teeth, shoving another piece of debris to the side. The whispers clawed at the edges of my sanity, louder now, as if the shadows themselves were pressing closer. The air felt heavy, charged with a malevolent energy that made my every move sluggish. But somehow, we kept moving. Somehow, we survived.
For now.
Behind us, the new goblins finished their bloody work, leaving only the Shaman standing near the portal. The low, guttural chant that emanated from its twisted form grew louder, each syllable resonating in my chest like a drumbeat of doom. The new goblins—sleek and unnervingly coordinated—turned their glowing red eyes toward us.
The System chimed in, its tone clinical and unbothered.
**[Enemy Analysis: Goblin Reinforcements (Level 2, Uncommon). Enhanced speed, intelligence, and teamwork detected. Suggestion: Avoid prolonged engagements unless you enjoy being outnumbered and outmatched.]**
“Fantastic,” I muttered. “Love how every suggestion boils down to ‘run faster.’”
The goblins snarled as they advanced, their movements faster, more fluid. They didn’t break into a full charge, though—yet another sign of their newfound intelligence. Instead, they moved with calculated menace, their focus still split between us and the Shaman’s command. If they were waiting for a signal, I didn’t want to be here when it came.
The whispers from the portal surged again, layering over the goblins’ snarls like a discordant symphony. My grip on the chair leg tightened, my palms slick with sweat. Every movement felt heavier, slower, as though the air itself wanted us dead.
“Ethan!” Claire’s voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. “We need to hold them off! Just a little longer!”
“Hold them off?” I barked, swinging my chair leg at an advancing goblin. “Sure, let me just tap into my inner superhero real quick!”
The goblin ducked, its glowing eyes narrowing as it lunged. I swung again, and this time the chair leg connected with a sickening crack, sending the creature staggering back.
**[Critical Hit! Damage: -3 HP. Goblin HP: 12/15. Great swing! Too bad you’re still outnumbered.]**
“Yeah, thanks for that, System,” I muttered, barely ducking another goblin’s swipe. My arms burned, every swing costing me more energy than I had left to give.
Across the hallway, Claire was a blur of motion, her swings precise as she alternated between fending off goblins and keeping Braid Girl upright. Bald Barry stuck close, his usually sarcastic muttering replaced by grim determination as he swung a desk leg like a seasoned warrior. Nervous Ned sprayed a goblin with his extinguisher, sending it flailing blindly into the debris.
And Gerald? Gerald stood frozen near the back, gripping his pristine desk leg like it might bite him if he used it.
“Gerald!” I snapped, narrowly dodging another jagged blade. “Anytime you want to stop being a statue, feel free!”
His face turned pale, but he still didn’t move. Of course, he didn’t.
One goblin broke past the barricade, making a beeline for Claire and Braid Girl. Claire swung her chair leg, connecting with the goblin’s side, but the force threw her off-balance. The goblin recovered quickly, its blade poised to strike.
I didn’t think. I just moved.
Vaulting over a piece of rubble, I brought the chair leg down with all the force I could muster. The goblin’s head snapped to the side, and it crumpled to the floor. Claire looked up, her expression a mix of relief and exhaustion.
“Thanks,” she said, steadying herself as she adjusted her grip on the rookie.
“Don’t mention it.” I wiped sweat from my brow, my gaze snapping back to Gerald. “But seriously, can we talk about the dead weight?”
Gerald bristled, his jaw tightening. “I’m ensuring the group stays organized.”
“Organized?” I barked a laugh, gesturing to the chaos around us. “Yeah, because we’re _so_ organized right now. Claire’s doing all the work, Barry’s pulling his weight, and even Ned is putting goblins on ice. What’s your excuse?”
His gaze flickered to the injured woman, then back to me. “We’re not all fighters, Ethan. Some of us—”
“Some of us are liabilities,” I interrupted, throwing my arms wide. “Guess which category you’re in.”
“Enough!” Claire’s voice cracked like a whip, silencing us both. “Gerald, either help or stay out of the way. Ethan, focus on the goblins.”
I opened my mouth to argue but caught the look in her eyes. Fine. She was right. Again.
The portal’s hum rose to a deafening crescendo, drowning out the sounds of battle. The air shimmered like a mirage, and shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, twisting into distorted, claw-like shapes.
“Move!” Claire shouted, her voice barely audible over the cacophony. She turned to Barry and Ned. “Help me with her!”
Barry and Ned sprang into action, each grabbing an arm of the injured woman as Claire led the charge. The hallway was in sight—so close it almost felt mocking.
And then the portal pulsed.
A wave of energy rippled outward, slamming into the barricade and sending debris flying. The force knocked me off my feet, my head snapping back as I hit the ground. My ears rang, the world reduced to a high-pitched whine.
The System chimed, its tone cold and clinical.
**[Environmental Effect: Dimensional Instability escalating. Cause: Mana Surge. New hazard detected: Manifestation pending. Advice: Survive, if convenient.]**
I pushed myself up, blinking through the haze as the portal’s glow intensified. The shadows around it solidified, shifting from ethereal to unnervingly real.
“Claire…” I whispered, my throat dry. “I think our problems just got bigger.”
The shadows coalesced, one of the shapes stepping forward into the flickering light. It wasn’t just humanoid—it was wrong. Its elongated limbs moved with unsettling fluidity, bending at angles that made my stomach churn. Its glowing eyes, two burning orbs of unnatural light, scanned the room with a predator’s precision.
When it opened its mouth, the whispers turned into a deafening roar, reverberating through the air like the sound of tearing metal. The noise froze every goblin in its tracks, their snarls dying as they turned to face this new, more terrifying threat.
Claire spun, her face pale but her voice sharp. “Run!” she commanded, the word cutting through the cacophony. “Everyone, run!”
And so we ran.
Behind us, the creature moved. Its steps were unnervingly slow, deliberate, yet every movement radiated menace. The goblins hesitated, their glowing eyes darting between the monster and the portal. The Shaman’s chant faltered, its voice losing rhythm as even it seemed to register the shift in power.
“What is it waiting for?” I muttered under my breath, glancing back as we reached the hallway.
Claire didn’t answer. She was too busy guiding Bald Barry and Nervous Ned as they hauled the injured rookie forward, the bloodied braid girl barely conscious. Gerald lagged behind, his white-knuckled grip on his desk leg doing absolutely nothing to help.
Then the creature tilted its head toward the goblins, slowly, almost curiously.
And it attacked.
The monster’s movements were pure nightmare—fluid, predatory, and disturbingly efficient. Its clawed hand lashed out, impaling a goblin through the chest with a wet crunch. The goblin shrieked, its cry cut short as the creature flung it aside like trash. The remaining goblins snarled, their earlier confidence dissolving into frantic chaos.
The System chimed in, its tone clinical and detached.
**[Enemy: Void Stalker (Level 6, Rare)]**
**HP:** **200/200**
**Threat Level:** **Extreme**
**Description:** **Predator of mana-rich environments. Prioritizes lower-tier creatures. Avoid direct engagement.**
“Oh, fantastic,” I muttered as the Void Stalker continued its massacre. “It’s a goblin exterminator. Guess we’re the dessert course.”
The goblins rallied, turning on the Void Stalker in a snarling wave of desperation. Blades clanged against its shadow-like limbs, some landing glancing blows that oozed a black mist instead of blood. The Void Stalker didn’t flinch. It retaliated with ruthless precision, its claws decapitating one goblin in a single swipe.
“What the hell is it doing?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the carnage.
“It’s feeding,” Claire said grimly, her eyes locked on the scene. “We need to move. Now.”
The Void Stalker’s massacre escalated, each kill smoother and more terrifying than the last. The goblins’ shrieks filled the air as the hallway’s exit finally came into view. But the Void Stalker wasn’t just clearing the field—it was reveling in it. The Shaman, still chanting near the portal, locked eyes with the creature.
And then it ran.
“Is that… a tactical retreat?” I asked, disbelief lacing my tone.
Claire shot me a withering glare. “Focus on surviving, Ethan.”
The survivors pressed forward, the hallway nearly clear but still cluttered with debris. I swung my chair leg at another piece, grunting as I shoved it aside. Every muscle in my body ached, but adrenaline kept me moving.
Behind us, the Void Stalker wasn’t pursuing. Not yet. The System’s earlier description echoed in my mind—_prioritizes lower-tier creatures._ As long as the goblins were still alive, we had a chance.
Barry grunted as he adjusted his grip on the rookie. “You think that thing’s just gonna let us go?”
“No,” Claire said, her voice steady despite the chaos. “It’s giving us time. Let’s not waste it.”
Braid Girl groaned, her head lolling against Barry’s shoulder. “You’re doing great,” I lied, glancing at her pale, sweat-slicked face. “Just hang on a little longer.”
Barry muttered under his breath, something about his shoulders not being a stretcher, but he didn’t stop. Ned, on the other hand, was visibly shaking as he clutched the fire extinguisher. His breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, but he didn’t bolt.
“You good, Ned?” I asked, knocking a piece of plaster aside with my foot.
He nodded jerkily, spraying a burst of foam at a nearby goblin that had slipped past the Void Stalker. The goblin screeched, its face covered in foam, and stumbled blindly into a jagged chunk of debris. “I’m fine,” he stammered. “Totally fine.”
The portal’s hum grew louder, its edges warping violently. Another wave of mana pulsed through the air, sending shivers down my spine. I didn’t need the System to tell me this wasn’t sustainable.
**[Environmental Effect: Dimensional Instability. Exit required. Remaining here equals certain death. Proceed cautiously—or recklessly. Your call.]**
“Oh, thanks for the advice,” I muttered, throwing my weight against a desk blocking the exit. “I was totally going to set up a picnic.”
The Void Stalker let out another deafening roar, its attention snapping back toward the portal as the Shaman’s chanting grew frantic. The remaining goblins swarmed the creature again, buying us precious seconds. Seconds we couldn’t waste.
“Move!” Claire barked, her voice cutting through the chaos. “We’re almost there!”
I shoved the last piece of debris aside, the hallway finally clear enough for us to squeeze through. Barry and Nervous Ned pushed forward, practically dragging the rookie, her bloodied braid leaving streaks on the floor. Claire followed, her eyes scanning for stragglers.
I hesitated, my eyes locking onto the Void Stalker one last time.
Its glowing gaze met mine across the battlefield. For a second, its shadowy face shifted—twisting into something almost resembling a smile. Slow. Deliberate. Malicious.
“Yeah, nope,” I muttered, turning and sprinting after the others. “Not staying for that.”
We stumbled into the hallway, the exit tantalizingly close. Behind us, the portal pulsed one final time, the Void Stalker’s guttural roar echoing as the room descended further into chaos.
The roar reverberated down the hallway, sending shivers through my already frayed nerves. And then we heard it: the unmistakable sound of steel slicing through flesh, followed by a goblin’s gurgling death cry.
It didn’t come from the Void Stalker.
I stopped, glancing back. Beyond the writhing mass of goblins, two figures emerged from the shadows, moving with chilling precision.