Alan couldn't help but marvel at what had just happened. The massive wound on his back had been healing at an incredible rate, thanks to the potion William had poured on him.
It was almost surreal, the pain that had once felt like it would consume him slowly fading away as if time itself were working in reverse.
To be honest, Alan didn't just feel relief — he felt a strange exhilaration, a rush of sensation as the wound closed and his body repaired itself.
It wasn't something he could fully understand, but the feeling was addictive.
Still, there was no time for wonder. The dungeon was full of dangers, and they had to stay alert.
Even now, as the adrenaline rushed through him, he knew that the true challenge was just beginning.
The goblins, once little more than annoying pests in the dungeon, were now surrounding them. But these weren't ordinary goblins. The crimson energy that seemed to suffuse the dungeon had transformed them.
The creatures, once small and weak, had grown in size, their bodies now towering over the tamers and their beasts.
They wielded sturdier weapons — crudely crafted, but undeniably dangerous — and their eyes burned with a strange, malevolence that made the tamers shudder.
Alan's breath hitched as he took in the scene. There were too many of them. These goblins weren't like anything he had faced before, and he couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his gut.
Even if by some miracle they managed to win, he knew it wouldn't be without sacrifice.
He had the lowest survival rate out of everyone in the group, and it wasn't lost on him how quickly things could go wrong.
His hand instinctively moved to his pocket. The Tamer Academy had given them Escape Crystals before they left. A token of hope, a guarantee that they could escape any dungeon, no matter how dire the situation.
Alan's fingers fumbled for the crystal, but when they touched the smooth surface of what was supposed to be his key to safety, he felt nothing but broken shards.
The crystal had shattered, and all that remained was a pile of useless fragments.
A cold wave of dread washed over him.
'I'm dead,' Alan thought, the words repeating in his mind like a mantra.
He didn't even have the luxury of denial. His options were slim, and the odds of survival were even slimmer.
Before he could process the panic rising in his chest, one of the goblins lunged at him.
Its baton swung toward him with alarming speed, the weapon crackling with the energy that now coursed through its body. Alan's body went on autopilot, but in his mind, time seemed to slow.
He braced for impact, but a strong arm shoved him aside, sending him crashing to the ground. His head spun, and for a moment, the world tilted.
He looked up to see William leap into the air, narrowly avoiding the goblin's strike.
Lightning arced around William's body as he steadied himself mid-air, his expression one of fierce determination.
"Keep your head in the game!" William called out, his voice sharp and commanding, the crackling energy around him intensifying. "Unless you're about to waste the potion I just gave you!"
Alan struggled to his feet, his heart racing, blood still pumping from the shock of nearly being struck.
He wiped the dirt from his hands and quickly glanced over to the goblin. It was circling them now, its beady eyes never leaving Alan.
It was faster, stronger, and far more dangerous than any goblin they'd faced before.
Alan could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, suffocating him.
The goblin was closing in, and he had no plan. No escape. No way out. He had to focus — if he didn't, they were done for.
Deep breaths. Steady breaths.
Alan's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. It was an instinctual move, one that came from training, but even then, his palms were slick with sweat.
The weight of the blade felt reassuring in his hands, though, a constant reminder that he had been chosen for this role.
"Stay focused," he whispered to himself, his voice low, just above a murmur. It was as much a reminder as it was a plea.
The Nighthound at his side, its glowing yellow eyes locked on the goblins, growled low in its throat.
The creature's sleek black fur seemed to ripple with an aura of darkness, and for a moment, Alan felt the weight of that power. It was raw, untamed, and it responded to Alan's will with perfect harmony.
The bond they shared was one of mutual trust, but even so, he couldn't afford to lose his nerve now.
"Let's do this," Alan muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Beside him, William and his beast, the Thunderfury, surged forward. The large, wolf-like creature crackled with lightning as it darted into battle, its massive claws swiping at the air with incredible force.
William followed close behind, his every movement precise, like a well-oiled machine in sync with his beast.
Alan wasn't sure if he could match that level of coordination, but he didn't have a choice.
With a deep breath, he surged forward too, his sword raised and ready. The Nighthound moved beside him, its fangs bared, and an aura of shadows began to swirl around them both, cloaking them in darkness.
The goblin charged.
Alan's heart pounded in his chest, and for a split second, he thought he might freeze.
But his body moved before his mind could catch up. He sidestepped the goblin's baton, his sword flashing as he slashed out, the tip grazing the goblin's side.
The creature let out a roar, but it didn't fall. It swung its baton again, aiming for Alan's head.
But Alan was ready this time. He ducked and rolled, coming up behind the goblin and driving his sword deep into its back, at least he tried to, the goblin's skin was thick… even with the aura surging to life around him, he wasn't strong enough to pierce the goblin's back.