A massacre can be a beautiful thing.

They powered into the center of the building. It was a giant stone womb. Walls curved up to form a precarious dome overhead, roughly built, looking on the verge of falling in. Broken columns rose up like rotting teeth, but enough reached the roof to keep it stable.

An altar dominated the center of the wide-open chamber. Atop it stood what had to be the goblin boss. He was large, twice the size of a regular goblin, his body festooned with bones and oddments of armor. A giant serrated scimitar lay athwart his green shoulders. He was barking commands in goblinoid, his voice booming over the chaos.

A sea of goblins lay between the crew and the boss. The second row wielded their javelins like spears, forming a rough phalanx, while the first brandished their short blades. They were terrified, fangs bared, hissing and spitting and screaming out curses.

The crew crashed into them without regard.

Harald, exhilarated, exalted, unleashed the full power of his Aura of the Aching Depths. It fell upon the goblins like a malediction, causing those before him to cower, their eyes rolling like terrified dogs. His blade ran jet black as Abyssal Attunement swept down its length, and when he summoned Dark Vigor he practically wanted to laugh.

At long last they closed with their tricksy foes.

Multiple auras overlapped. Vic’s Aura of Cruelty, Sam and Nessa’s boosting auras. Kársek began detonating the ground beneath the second row, causing fragments of rock to blast out and shred the wiry bodies.

And then the lines met. Javelins and swords clanged against Harald’s shield, which he kept raised, only to sweep it aside and thrust his arming sword into the maelstrom of bodies and limbs before him.

It was like fighting a wave of hatred. He caught flashes of faces, weapons, limbs, burning eyes. Then he’d raise his shield, block blows, only to sweep a great overhead chop down onto the enemies, his strength such that he severed limbs or shattered the cheap swords.

A white flash blasted out as Nessa’s Echoing Shot leaped from goblin to goblin. Vic was singing something operatic, his virtuoso skill with the arming sword evident as he parried and disarmed foes with abandon, never leaving Harald’s left flank. On his right stood Nessa, grim and ferocious. Beyond her, Sam.

They waded into the goblins, who screeched and gave way.

Then the boss leaped from the altar and strode into the front ranks to confront Nessa.

Harald resisted the urge to jockey for position so as to fight the brute. The boss was powerfully built for a goblin, but his defenses were poor. His blade swept down, nearly decapitating the closest goblin, and Nessa shrank behind her kite shield whose upper half was lopped off.

But the boss over-extended, his huge sword swinging wide, and it was child’s play for Nessa to thrust her blade into his side—only for a goblin to leap into the way, taking the mortal wound and dragging Nessa’s sword down.

The boss laughed, a gargling, horrific sound, and reversed his blow even as Nessa wrenched at her trapped sword.

Almost Harald broke formation. Almost he left Vic to lunge at the boss, to distract, deflect the blow.

But Nessa had drilled one thing and one thing over all others into their minds: never break formation unless called for.

So he restrained himself just as Nessa cried out, “Kársek! North Two!”

The ground beneath the boss hollowed out and became a trench.

The boss’s laugh became a cough of surprise; he staggered back, his swing losing all power, just as Nessa tore her blade free. Sam’s Shield of Valor floated right into the boss’s face, driving him farther back.

“Harry! Eyes on the prize!” barked Vic.

Harald renewed his assault on the thinning ranks before him. It was the oddest thing. He took blows on the shield, then gave them. Chops and thrusts. The arming sword had reach on the goblin blades, but occasionally a javelin jabbed at him from around the side, seeking his shins, his shoulder.

But Aura of the Aching Depths oppressed the goblins so that they were haphazard in their attacks, irresolute; they melted away before him, before the black fire that raged across his skin and gave him indefatigable power.

Then he was through. The goblins parted and the way opened to the altar.

Instinct bade him run forward, to wheel and flank the boss.

But Vic was still fighting four goblins. Harald gritted his teeth and instead set to aiding him, slashing and stabbing till the wiry monsters screamed, broke, and fled.

“Roll the flank!” sang Vic as if it were a lyric in his opera.

Moving quickly, they swung around to press the remaining goblins. Sam had entangled many on her end, thorn vines wrapping around some four or five, even as the Shield of Valor swung to and fro, foiling their attempts to hurl javelins.

The boss had retreated to the altar and was barking furious commands.

But there weren’t enough goblins left to execute them.

With a shout of fury, he waded forward again.

“Kársek, North Three!”

The ground beneath the boss detonated, badly wounding the inside of its knees. The boss howled, hobbled forward, and this time Nessa executed a perfect lunge, sliding the tip of her arming sword into its left eye.

The goblin boss croaked, dropped his huge scimitar, then collapsed.

The last of the fight went out of the goblins. They streamed out of the building like rats, dropping into the mist below through cracks or right through the walls.

A moment later their crew stood alone, panting for breath and grinning at each other.

“Well all right!” said Sam, beaming. “That was… that was great!”

“A poet you are not,” grinned Vic. “But a beautiful raider? Sure.”

“Well done, everyone.” Nessa drew her blade free of the boss’s head. “And… well.” She smiled a new kind of smile, private and pleased.

“Darling?” Vic raised an eyebrow. “Do confess.”

“You’re looking at a Bladeweaver Level 5,” beamed Nessa, unable to restrain her emotion. “By the Fallen Angel it’s been a long time coming.”

“Wonderful!” Vic stepped in to hug her, only to pull back at the last second. “Oh. You’re covered in goblin blood.”

Nessa laughed. “Take care of the chest. I’ve some notifications to read.”

Kársek was moving grimly from goblin to goblin, rapping each one with deliberate force in the face with his hammer. Harald was going to question this when one goblin leaped up, wounded in the arm but otherwise hale, and tried to dart off.

Kársek raised a wall before it, then stepped in and pasted the back of its head into its front.

“Smart,” said Harald.

“My kind has fought goblins and worse in the depths for many, many centuries.” Kársek resumed his double checking. “Even though I’ve never taken part, I grew up on the tales. Never trust a dead goblin till you can see the color of its brains.”

“Ew,” said Sam. Then: “Silver Starbursts!”

They’d started appearing over the corpses. A couple of scales at most, but there had to be some thirty dead. She and Harald made quick work collecting them, and it felt like the sweetest reward, to just stride back and forth harvesting Starbursts from the air. They collected the sixty or so scales, poured them into Sam’s pouch, and then grinned at each other.

“Children,” called Vic. “Don’t dally. You’ll miss the best part.”

He was up behind the altar, and when they reached him they saw the chest. Iron bound, it was latched but not locked.

“Should we be watching our backs?” asked Sam, turning warily to watch the walls.

“Nah,” said Vic. He grinned up at her, a stray lock of golden hair falling over one eye. “This level respects a win. Or perhaps it is the goblins that have a modicum of gentility to their sordid souls? Upon killing a boss you’re left well alone for a spell. We can relax.”

Harald found it hard to do so, but Vic’s opening of the chest caught his attention.

With a grand gesture the Rapier Regent flung the lid open, and revealed a flickering, mercurial cloud within.

“Come on,” said Vic, rubbing his hands together. “I need something good for the ladies at the Kitty Kat Club.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

The cloud revolved, sparkling and alive, only to coalesce and form a dagger that remained suspended in the air.

“Artifact!” crowed Vic. He plucked it from the air, read the invisible description, then shrugged. “Not bad. Not bad.”

Sam took it next, then handed it to Harald, who eagerly read the description.

Artifact Acquired: Ratcatcher

Quality: Common

Special Ability: Just One More

Activation: There’s always one more foe. Whenever the Ratcatcher is thrown at an enemy, it shall return to its owner’s hand immediately thereafter.

+1 to Dexterity while held

Limitation: Should the Ratcatcher be seized by another’s hand, it shall lose its returning ability till dropped.

“Common,” said Vic, rising to his feet. “It might fetch a thousand scales or so at auction. Not bad!”

“Useful against all these goblins,” agreed Sam, handing it over to the Rapier Regent. “We’re sorely lacking in ranged attacks.”

“True,” allowed Vic, “but to what end? There are a hundred more to take any slain goblin’s place, and most of them are too far off for us to collect the scales. Best to simply move quickly toward our destination. Now! Let’s see what Nessa’s earned.”

They rounded the altar to where Nessa stood. At their approach, she blinked and focused on them, that private smile still lingering on her lips.

“Well?” Vic grinned. “Don’t make me beg, Nessa. It’s undignified.”

“New Active, new Passive,” she said, voice thrumming with satisfaction. “The Active is… well, suffice to say that I like it very much.”

“Just read the damn thing,” said Vic. “You know I’ll get it out of you sooner or later.”

Nessa pretended to frown but tossed her braid behind her shoulder instead and recited: “Active Ability Unlocked: Crescent Arc. Crescent Arc slashes through your foes, forming a sweeping energy blade that damages and slows all within its path, mastering the battlefield’s flow with precision and power.”

“Area control,” said Vic, approving. “A very nice upgrade to your repertoire.”

Nessa executed a mock-curtsy, then resumed reading. “Passive Ability Unlocked: Mystic Bind. Each parry steals your enemy’s vigor, subtly sapping their strength while boosting your own, weaving their dwindled power into your escalating dominance.”

“Nessa doesn’t do much parrying,” objected Sam. “She tends to just kill her foes.”

“That’s because we’re farting around on the 13th floor, dear.” Vic shook his head. “Nessa should be in the low to mid-20’s, where she’s far more likely to run into enemies that can duel her for an extended period of time. This power seems a not unsubtle nudge that she should hie her pert rear to where she belongs.”

“It’s a good Passive,” agreed Nessa. “The more powerful my foe, the more I’ll wear them down as I steal their strength.” Her smile was predatory. “I’ll take them both.”

Kársek joined them, his hammer dripping gore. “And this floor is rich in Earthblood. I’ve already channeled more down here than I have in years combined.”

Harald couldn’t help but feel a thrill. “What do you think, Nessa? How did we do?”

“We’re not done yet.” She drew a cloth from her belt and wiped her sword clean. “But overall, thus far?” She pretended to consider. “Not too bad.”

“Not too bad,” mocked Sam.

“And we’ve scored ourselves a Common Artifact,” crowed Vic, tossing the Ratcatcher up and so that it spun. “That’s an Aurora Veil right there, making this a most delightfully lucrative expedition already.”

“What’s the call?” Kársek glanced from Harald to Nessa. “Do we press on?”

“I believe so.” Nessa looked over the crew. “Anybody take any serious wounds?”

It turned out that only Kársek and Harald had all taken direct hits from javelins at some point, though those had all been healed away. With nobody sporting worse than scrapes or cuts, Nessa inclined her head. “Another goblin boss at the very least. Now. A word of caution. Don’t get cocky. We did well in here, but that’s because we held formation. Well done, Sam and Harald.”

Harald felt a wave of warmth pass through him at her praise. Which was so odd: it truly felt like the Delve Captain were recognizing his discipline, not the wild and destructive Nessa.

“But success breeds contempt for our foes. Don’t fall for that trap. All it takes is one javelin in the eye and you’re dead. Keep your shields at the ready, stay in formation, and we’ll have a repeat of this battle in due time. Clear?”

Everyone nodded their assent.

“Good. In that case, let’s move on.”

Harald cast one last look around the cavernous chamber. The number of dead goblins was at once appalling and incredible. This hadn’t been a duel, or a skirmish. This had been a proper battle, some thirty against five. No contest, really, but still: they’d fought well together, maintained their discipline, and because of that, they’d won without any losses.

Harald felt grimly excited at the prospect of another battle just like it.

Nessa moved to a western exit, leaned against the frame, and peered outside into the haze. “Each subsequent boss encounter gets tougher. More goblins. I’ve heard that if crews insist for too long, you can start to get multiple goblin bosses at once.”

“Won’t be a problem for us,” said Sam, moving up alongside her, blade in hand.

“No,” smiled Nessa. “It won’t. Form up. We’re going to move fast.”

They assumed positions, shields raised. Nessa glanced back, made sure they were ready, then strode through the archway and outside.

The assault began immediately.

The goblins looked pissed. This time round they popped up in small groups to hurl their javelins only to immediately hop out to drop into the mist and disappear. Solo fighters ran along retaining walls on far plazas to hurl their weapons at opportune times, while others retreated before Nessa, gibbering and gesticulating and urging her to come at them.

The pressure was intense. Javelins rained down upon them regularly, and Harald’s kite shield thrummed and jolted in his grip. The skin between his shoulder blades itched; the greatest danger came from javelins thrown high to drop past Sam’s defenses and hit him in the rear.

But success had built even more faith in their strategy, so he held firm, hustling across the ruined squares, hurrying up weathered flights of steps, squeezing in against Kársek when the walkways and freestanding passages between plazas grew too narrow.

His shield was starting to look busted, great cracks running vertically down its inside, and more and more of the javelins were lodging into its face before he could shake them off or sweep his blade down its outside to knock them off.

“Getting feisty!” called Vic. “I’ve a naughty looking bunch gathering to the south! Maybe ten!”

“Kársek, South One, South Two.”

Kársek grunted in the affirmative and got to work.

A hangman’s tree appeared in the mist, its branches draped with hoary old nooses, goblins gathered in its canopy like a flock of ribald crows. A good eight or nine of them, and a leader with a red headband called out a count, waving his arm with each number, and then dropped his arm.

“Incoming!” barked Harald, guts clenching as the hail of javelins came slicing toward him. “Eight!”

His momentary panic was washed away by Sam’s Beacon of Hope. It filled with calm certainty, assured him that he wasn’t alone, that this might look bad but was entirely manageable.

Gritting his teeth, Harald raised his shield and hunkered behind it, resisting the urge to put his shoulder to the wood. It’d take just one javelin punching through if he did to slam into him as well.

Then Sam’s Shield of Valor was there, sliding in horizontally and at an angle, protecting the space above his head.

The javelins hit with a thunderous clatter, bounced off, but one slid past his shield to hit Nessa in the side, a second sliding in neatly between his kite and Sam’s Shield to punch into Kársek behind him.

Nessa stumbled, releasing her shield so that it hung from the harness as she tore the javelin out. Kársek came to a stop, falling to one knee as he gasped in pain.

Harald fought the urge to help. His responsibility was to hold the flank, and sure enough, goblins came boiling up over the walkway’s retaining wall right before him, having timed their assault come right after the volley of javelins.

He tapped the Aching Depths, and the dark, frigid abyss fell upon the goblins, robbing them of their frenzied initiative. Then he activated Dark Vigor, and what fear, what doubt he’d felt was burned away by a frenzy of might and raw energy. Blade burning black, he pressed forward a step to catch the goblins atop the knee-high wall, and swept his arming sword laterally across their front.

Goblins ducked, others leaped back in surprise, while one sought to parry. Its curved blade was insufficient to the task; Harald swept his sword across its neck even as he backed a second with his kite shield to knock it off its perch into the mist below.

Sam yelled something, but it sounded more affirmative than panicked.

A goblin stabbed feebly at Harald, but the Aching Depths made it tentative; Harald blocked, momentarily feeling the bind, then knocked the sword aside to thrust his own into the goblin’s chest. It sank deep, lodged. A goblin leaped high into view, somehow springing right over the retaining wall, and Harald raised his kite to intercept even as he booted the slain goblin the chest to tear free his blade.

It was close bloody work for a few moments longer, but with Dark Vigor and both Thrones empowering the Depths, the goblins just didn’t have the heart to go toe-to-toe. Two more died before the rest cried out in anger and fear and leaped back down into the mist.

Panting for breath, a single gash opened across his thigh, Harald glanced behind. Kársek was rising to his feet, and Nessa had already hurled her javelin at the retreating goblins before her.

Both were healed.

“Press north!” Nessa shouted, “don’t get bogged down!”

Harald snatched up what floating Silver Starbursts he could as they resumed hustling along the walkway.

They crossed three more squares, but the goblins didn’t mount such a concentrated assault again. Instead they screeched their hatred, taunted and insulted their crew, hurled javelins, but otherwise hung back, overwhelmed by their party’s lethality.

A new goblin building hove into view, emerging from the cancerous haze to loom massively at the end of a spindly wooden bridge. Domed like the first, it appeared if anything more massive, built of cyclopean blocks and covered in orange lichen.

“Here we go,” called Nessa, leading them to the base of the bridge. It was narrow, just barely wide enough for one of them to cross at a time. “I’ll take point, then Sam, Kársek, Harald, Vic. Now!”

Harald couldn’t help but admire her decisiveness. No doubt, no biting her nail as she considered what to do next. Quick as a flash Nessa ran out over the haphazard bridge, kite shield raised, arming sword held in the Ox guard, racing for the distant entrance.

Sam ran after her, then Kársek took a deep breath, wiped blood from his brow, and pounded after, heavy hammer held across his chest with both hands.

“For love and glory,” winked Vic, giving Harald a shove. “Have at it, Harry-boy!”

Harald ran after. The mist boiled on both sides but parted occasionally to reveal the ground level; it was packed dirt, and here and there darted a shadowy goblin, running to some war post.

Nessa ran right through the archway. No goblins had been posted outside on guard; for a moment Harald thought she was going to charge right into the central chamber by herself, but then she stopped a few paces in, half-turning to stretch out her arm and arrest Sam’s sprint.

“Easy,” said Nessa, shoulders rising and falling. “No guards means they’ve most likely prepared a surprise for us.”

“Aye,” said Kársek, catching his breath. “Trap, most like. Perhaps a wire to collapse the entrance. I’ll go first, I’m good at spotting those.”

Vic jogged up, his air casual. “A small army is coming up behind us. Perhaps twenty, thirty? I didn’t stop to count.”

“Hammer and anvil,” said Nessa. “Kársek, advance.”

“Hammer and anvil?” asked Sam, catching her breath. Her Shield of Valor had disappeared, but the Thornguard hung on her arm.

“Goblins are canny,” said Nessa. “They adapt. So they’re bringing resources against us in the hopes of overwhelming us. Anvil up ahead. The small army behind us is the hammer.”

Kársek moved forward, all but sniffing the air as he examined the stonework on both sides. He needed no lantern, so that for a moment he looked lost, an old man trying to find his way through a darkened hallway at night.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Vic. “They’re just goblins. The way to deal with a hammer and anvil is laughably simple.”

“Crush the anvil, then turn and destroy the hammer,” agreed Nessa, sighting out over the spindly bridge. “They picked their terrain well. We can’t return to fight the hammer with that bridge in place. They’d hold the far end and take us one at a time as we came at them.”

Harald nodded swiftly, trying to remain abreast of all that was being discussed. “So into the chamber?”

“Into the chamber,” agreed Nessa, raising her shield and setting out after Kársek. “Let’s see what manner of anvil they’ve set up for us.”

“I hope it’s a good one,” grinned Vic. “The bigger the anvil, the better the chest.”

Harald flashed a smile, but his heart was pounding. This was all happening so fast. But he set off after Nessa, the light of his lantern causing the shadows to warp and stretch across the rough stones of the passage.

But there was no denying the excitement he felt.

An even bigger battle awaited them ahead.

There was nowhere else he’d rather be.