It rapidly became evident why the goblin bosses had chosen this chamber for a last stand.

As before, it was a single grand room, the ceiling domed overhead. There were no light sources, but the raiders’ scale-lanterns picked out the small army of goblins awaiting them, along with two goblin bosses standing shoulder to shoulder on the main altar.

But the lower half of the walls were pocked with alcoves, and in each stood a goblin, a bundle of javelins by their side.

There was no time for second guessing. Nessa led their small crew into the battle without hesitation.

Beacon of Hope and Harmonic Resonance suffused them with steadfast confidence. From Sam Harald derived a sense of unwavering spirit, her presence inspiring courage and determination. From Nessa came a more martial sort of inspiration, a sense that with her at the helm they couldn’t fail, that under her guidance they could and would fight to their utmost.

Buoyed by both auras, Harald let out a wordless war cry, kite shield held high, as he in turn unleashed Aura of the Aching Depths. His twin Thrones roared as the Fallen Angel empowered his Passive, and cold despair fell upon the goblins before him.

Vic in turn weaponized his Aura of Cruelty, so that even Harald, who wasn’t its target, felt the Rapier Regent exude a menacing aura that verged on the monstrous.

The goblins before them both wilted back, eyes wide in fear.

Javelins began pouring in from above.

The goblin bosses roared their commands and leaped into the fray.

The urge to run amok was overwhelming. To just abandon formation and do whatever needed doing.

But Harald hewed to his instructions. He kept his shield up, his black abyssal blade at the ready, fell power from Dark Vigor washing over him.

Their lines clashed. The goblin before him croaked in horror, sword clutched in both hands, its eyes wide. Harald slew it, parried a sword thrust from the side, then chopped at another goblin.

Vic, blade dancing in his hand, reached up to cut a javelin from the air, neatly slicing it in half so that it fell about Harald harmlessly.

And again. Somehow Vic was both fighting the foes before him and slashing the falling javelins, providing Harald with cover.

The goblins in the raised alcoves were a problem. Nessa hadn’t commanded it, but Harald took the initiative. He summoned his Shadow Mastiff.

Black shadows writhed just behind him, and he sensed more than saw the dire hound appear, its snarl rising as it apprehended the situation.

“The alcoves!” barked Harald, not daring to take his gaze away from the goblins before him. “Clear the alcoves!”

With a great bark the Mastiff bounded away to the side, and out of the corner of his eye Harald saw it charge the goblin flank. At the last second it bayed, that echoing, terrifying sound, and the goblins scattered before it, dropping their weapons in their haste.

The Mastiff ran across the chamber and leaped into the first alcove. The goblin in it screamed in horror, then fell silent as huge jaws snapped shut.

Good.

Then the goblin before Harald dove aside, and a boss stepped into his place. Harald grinned, his heart pounding, his blood lust up. The goblin boss had a swollen stomach, a truly prodigious paunch that it had daubed with white and black paint. He wore iron paldrons over his skinny shoulders, and wielded a great spike-headed mace. The boss bellowed, sending ropes of spit flying, and brought his mace crashing down.

Vic moved with impossible grace, sliding forward and behind the boss, his blade flickering out to caress the goblin’s side.

The boss, distracted, half-turned, and much of the lethality of his blow was lost. Harald took the blow upon his raised shield, which crunched and shattered, but of course he felt no pain. Instead he stabbed his black blade into the boss’s chest, only for the foe to somehow grab another goblin and wrest it before his attack.

The goblin died, the boss leaped back as Vic stabbed, but Harald was forced to turn and deal with the flank that closed in on him now that Vic was gone. He doubled down on the Whisper, willing the enervating aura to act like a wall, to block the rush, and then an actual wall rose up, rising abruptly into place so that half the goblins crashed into it, and toppled over the top, screaming and cursing in dismay.

Harald stepped forward and set to killing.

Dark Vigor made him feel invincible. His kite shield was all but ruined, his left arm mangled, but he felt nothing but killing desire. Three, four blows from his blade and as many goblins fell, then the rest broke and scattered before him, their wills undone by the Whisper and the black flames leaping over his body.

Gasping for breath, Harald turned in time to see Vic slay the boss. The Mastiff was leaping from alcove to alcove, terrifying the javelin-throwers who abandoned their perches. Nessa and Sam had finished their half, and even as Harald watched Nessa swept her arming sword about in a great swing that unleashed a crescent-shaped blast of white energy that sliced through the backs of the fleeing goblins, dropping another half dozen of them.

“Behind!” yelled Kársek. “The hammer!”

Goblins were pouring in through the archway, screaming their own battle cries, but as the crew turned to face them and as they ran into the overlapping auras they lost all momentum and staggered to a halt.

Harald didn’t blame them. Their dead were piled knee high.

“Kársek, South Three!”

The center of their mass detonated from below, rock fragments blasting up and sending them staggering. “South attack!”

Their crew wheeled and charged even as more goblins came pouring into the room. Some hurled javelins, and Harald saw one come flying for his face, almost as if underwater, everything seeming to slow down, and then Nessa leaned out wide to cut it down mid-air much as Vic had done.

Everything snapped back into overwhelming volume and speed.

Harald rushed into the goblin phalanx, beating aside blades and ducking javelin thrusts as they fought. Kársek unleashed detonation after detonation, and Nessa’s new Crescent Arc attack utterly destroyed them.

A few moments later the last of the goblins were fleeing, and the chamber was theirs.

Harald drew back, breathing hard. The fight had been intense, and for a moment all had been snarls and stabs, lurid wounds and the clash of weapons.

But now the dead and dying lay tossed upon the floor, the stones slick with blood, the smell of copper heavy in the air.

Everybody checked in on everyone else. Vic was at the back by the altar, standing over the corpse of the second goblin boss. The alcoves were clear of javelin hurlers, and the Shadow Mastiff came loping up to Harald, crimson tongue lolling out the side of its brutal jaws, clearly pleased with himself.

“Good job,” said Harald, daring to pet the monstrous hound. He sank his fingers into its thick ebon pelt and roughly scritched it behind the ears. It raised its huge head, eyes closing, and panted happily.

“Don’t recall asking you to summon that,” said Nessa, tone hard.

“There were dozens of goblins up in the alcoves,” said Harald, enjoying being allowed to pet the Mastiff more than he could say. “It seemed the right move.”

“It was the right move,” said Vic, checking his blade as he ambled over. “Those javelins are a pain. I for one didn’t mind having them cleared in the least.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Kársek was studying the giant Mastiff with something akin to fascinated horror.

“Yes, I suppose.” Nessa all but sniffed. “Fine. Well done.”

“She’s just so effusive with her praise,” grinned Vic. “Another battle won! If it were against something other than goblins, I’d feel almost proud.”

“It was a real battle,” protested Sam, checking her chainmail where she’d taken a blow. “What do you mean, almost proud?”

“Darling, goblins?” Vic raised a brow. “This has all the trappings of a real fight but for the lack of real fighters.”

“It’s excellent practice,” said Nessa. “But the 13th Level is hardly a real challenge. We might sustain a few wounds, but nothing here can stand against us.”

“Especially that Crescent attack of yours,” grinned Harald. “Devastating.”

“Yes,” said Nessa, desperately trying not to look pleased. “Not bad.”

“Not bad, she says.” Vic sighed mockingly. “Well, I think after this run we’ve no need to return. What do you think, Nessa? Level 14 next?”

“What’s on Level 14?” asked Kársek, beginning to move from goblin to goblin again.

“More goblins,” replied Nessa, drawing out her towel to clean her sword. “Though these are led by hobgoblins.”

Harald dimly remembered reading about those once. “They’re the bigger, more dangerous kind?”

“Yes,” agreed Nessa. “The goblins fear them enough to enter hand-to-hand battle when commanded. The 14th only features small squads of the hobs, but they’re much more of a handful. We can tackle them tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” asked Sam, delighted. “So soon?”

Nessa snorted. “This is excellent training. And the 14th is hardly all that dangerous. So why not?”

“Chest!” Vic’s eyes opened wide. “Why by the angels are we standing around chatting when there’s a chest to be opened? Have we gone mad?” And he darted off around the back of the altar. “Chest!” He pointed at the hidden object. “Found it!”

Nessa smiled and shook her head.

Harald hurried over, just as eager, and saw Vic flip the latch and swing open the lid. A cloud of coruscating silver hovered within, flashing and scintillating, only for it to coalesce and form three Golden Dawns.

“Aw,” sighed Vic, expression dropping. “That’s it? Three Golden Dawns?”

Sam reached down and scooped them up. “Everything counts.”

“I suppose.” Vic shook his head dolorously. “I hate chests.”

They spent some time tending to their gear. Harald and Nessa’s shields were demolished, Sam had taken a nasty stab to the ribs that she’d absorbed an Aurora Dawn to heal, and Vic wouldn’t stop complaining about the blood splashed across his clothing.

“I think we’re good for today,” said Nessa when they finally gathered round. “No sense in continuing without shields.”

“I need a bath,” said Vic urgently.

Harald looked to Sam. “How did we do?”

“Pretty well.” She bounced her heavy pouch in her palm. “Sixty-three Silvers from the first battle, eighty-seven from this one. Plus a Golden Dawn for each boss slain, and three more from the chest. Add in the value of the Ratcatcher, and we’re looking at a haul of about 3,000 Copper Moons.

“Not bad,” agreed Harald with a smile.

“Doesn’t cover our expenses,” said Nessa. “Especially seeing as I’m Level 5 now.”

“We’re getting closer to breaking even,” protested Harald. “Definitely moving in the right direction. And how about just one more goblin boss base?”

“Hmm,” said Vic, looking over to Nessa. “He’s eager.”

“Too eager. He doesn’t even have a shield.” She stared at him. “No, Harald. We’re heading back. This was our first outing, and it went well. No need to push it.”

Harald bit back his retort. There was a need to push it. They had plenty of scales for healing, he could fashion a shield out of something, or perhaps Sam could position her Shield of Valor beside him.

But Nessa was the Delve Captain, and her expression was set.

“Fine,” he said.

“Exiting a level is far easier than making our way deeper,” said Nessa, leading the way back to the entrance archway over the fallen bodies. “If we move quickly, the goblins should be content to let us go. Everyone ready?”

“Yes,” said Kársek.

Harald gave the Mastiff one final scritch then dismissed it back to his Cosmos. He pulled the leather harness of his shoulder, considered tossing it away, then let it fall back in place. They could use it for his next shield.

The ground rumbled.

“What was that?” asked Sam, eyes flaring wide.

Kársek gripped his hammer tightly. “The Earthblood just spiked. Like a leyline rising.”

Vic and Nessa were staring at each other, eyes wide.

“We move,” whispered Nessa. “Fast.”

Harald had never heard that kind of urgency from her.

“What is it?” he called as she took off down the tunnel.

The ground trembled again, shivers running up through Harald’s legs. The rocks above creaked and groaned as they settled against each other.

“Out,” barked Vic, pushing at Sam, who needed no urging.

They all raced out of the boss building and back into the noxious haze of the 13th Level. Nessa didn’t slow down.

“Forget formations!” she cried. “Run for the portal!”

“What the hell is going on?” shouted Harald, pounding after her.

“A Shuddering!” she called back, and fear sluiced into Harald’s soul.

A Shuddering.

Unheard of only a half century ago, they’d become increasingly frequent. The Dungeon Portal would begin to act crazed, ignoring all attempts to control or open a way into the dungeon proper, spinning ever faster as it blurred and jerked about—until one of the portals yawned open wide, unbidden, and began to vomit the monsters of that level into the plaza.

And if you happened to be on that level when it was disgorged? Nobody knew what would happen, because there had never been any survivors. Only corpses found spat out onto the plaza’s cobblestones.

They raced across the torturous walkways, down rotten steps, across the collapsing plazas. Endless wizened trees and banks of mist. Goblins hooted and screamed their derision at the raiders as they ran by, but none of them threw javelins.

“There!” shouted Nessa in the lead. Up ahead was a familiar plaza, the same they’d arrived in, and in its center stood the portal.

Nessa dug out the requisite scale as she sprinted up to it, everyone crowding in behind, and when she raised the Crescent Moon the stone archway came to life, black fire and magic filling the space.

But where before the black fire had filled the archway and remained constrained by it, now it flared right past. It was like some huge malefic bonfire on a windy mountain top, its flames set to streaming before cruel winds.

“What the fuck…” said Sam, reaching out to grab Harald’s arm.

Nessa grimaced, cast around, then raised her shield and sword. “We go through! We’ve no choice! After me!”

Harald had to give it to Nessa. Whatever else she had going in her life, whatever forces were tearing her apart, dragging her down, making her self-destruct, she didn’t lack for raw courage.

Their Delve Captain ran forward and plunged into the flames.

Sam went next, then Kársek.

Vic clapped Harald on the shoulder. “Go!”

Harald needed no second bidding. He plunged into the portal. The abyss welcomed him, but his refined sense, his affinity for that utter lack, told him that everything was in chaotic flux, made even him feel stretched and pulled in every direction, till he staggered out into the Dungeon Plaza before the morning sun.

Screams.

Urgent shouts.

The guards were backing away hurriedly from the platforms, faces upturned to the polyhedron, expressions panicked. Those who’d been in line, raiders all, had drawn weapons and adopted fighting stances.

The crowd that filled the plaza, from the vendors to the hawkers to the Humble Petitioners, were streaming away, into alleys, clogging the avenues, pushing and shoving.

The polyhedron was going mad.

It always span and blurred, but now it practically throbbed, swelling and shrinking, its facets burning bright as different ones darkened and then lit up. The air was filled with an insidious humming sound that Harald felt more in his teeth and the hollow of his chest than heard, and the air tasted of white-hot metal. Birds were flying away, crying in raucous panic, and a darkness akin to that cast by his own Aching Depths was stealing across the sky, covering the huge plaza like some smoky glass dome.

“Form up!” barked Nessa, the first to gather her wits.

Harald blinked, rubbed at his face with his bicep, and then sheathed his arming sword so that he could summon the Dawnblade. Vic had his rapier in hand, Nessa her longsword.

They clustered close. A good thirty raiders had been in line, most teams before the Copper Gate, one before the Silver. He saw House Emberfell colors, a motley collection of Nihtscua fighters, and the Silver-ranked team was House Drakenhart, all clad in crimson and steel gray.

Biting his lower lip, he glanced to the edge of the plaza. Guards were swarming around the massive scale-golems, those huge investments on the part of the city that were meant to be their best line of defense against dungeon Shudderings. There were some twenty of them in a great ring against the outer buildings, huge and monolithic, each holding a huge and unique weapon. They weren’t kept with scales inside them, however; the scales were of such high value, that doing so would require keeping guards on the golems at all times to prevent their being robbed on the sly.

The guards sure as hell were loading them up now, unlocking the scale-boxes in which the valuable power sources were kept.

“Might be low,” said Vic, licking his lower lip as he watched the spinning polyhedron. “Maybe Level 1? Just a mass of dire rats for us to stomp.”

Nobody responded.

Round and round the Dungeon Portal spun.

The raiders who’d been lined up at the gate were all backing away. The Silver-ranked Drakenhart group broke away to circle the polyhedron, providing defense where the Humble Petitioners were bolting.

Harald felt his heart thudding.

With a flexion of his will he reached for the Shadow Mastiff. It coalesced by his side, momentarily confused as it sniffed, turning its huge snout from side to side as it sought their prey. Then, some fell instinct guiding it, the Mastiff stared at the huge Portal and began to growl.

“Yeah,” whispered Harald. “That’s about the right of it.”

Whatever was about to burst through was not going to be pretty.

Which meant it was time for his heaviest hitters. With relief Harald summoned the Goldchops.

They appeared beside him, one floating alongside each shoulder, heavy and glossy and wickedly powerful. Immediately he felt fresh Strength flood his body, along with a sensation of precision and lightness.

Strength and Dexterity +2.

The Mastiff’s hackles were spiked up, wisps of shadow boiling off its pelt. Harald raised the Dawnblade to the Ox, the abyssal point of his sword aimed directly at the portal.

Shouts and the sound of people running across the plaza reached him from a distance. But everything seemed to fade away as the moment grew still and calm and silent.

It felt like just him and the Portal.

Just him and whatever was about to spill forth.

“Strength,” he whispered. “So that one day, when I’m needed, I’m ready.”

This was to be his first test.

He was just Level 2.

But it was better than nothing.

Abruptly the polyhedron ceased spinning, going rigidly still, and one of its triangular portals went pitch black.

“Oh fuck,” Harald heard Vic whisper. “Of fuck.”