Silas sat back on his heels, his staff resting across his lap as his breath began to steady. His eyes followed the wheel as it spun, his curiosity outweighing his frustration for the moment. "Goblins?" he muttered, raising an eyebrow. The single one he'd fought earlier had been fast but brittle—easy to handle. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief. "If it's more of them, maybe this round will actually be quick."
The wheel slowed, the symbols blurring before it clicked to a stop. A ripple passed through the floor, and Silas felt the air shift. He stood quickly, staff in hand, as the room filled with the now-familiar screeches of goblins. His initial relief evaporated as more and more of them materialized—five, ten, twenty—and then stopped at twenty-five.
Silas froze, his breath catching as twenty-five goblins materialized in the chamber. Their gangly frames bristled with energy, each armed with crude weapons—spears, jagged blades, and clubs. Their wild screeches echoed off the bare stone walls, filling the empty space with a deafening cacophony.
"What the—" Silas started, his voice barely audible over the noise. Then the entire horde charged.
His grip tightened on his staff as he took a single step back, but reality hit fast. Twenty-five. Too many. His instincts roared to life. "Nope!" he barked, spinning on his heel and bolting toward the far end of the chamber.
The goblins swarmed after him in a chaotic, disorganized mass, their screeches and footfalls a thundering wave of sound. Silas's bare feet slapped against the warm stone as he sprinted, his heart hammering in his chest. "What the hell is this!?" he yelled over his shoulder.
They were fast, faster than he'd anticipated, and though their lack of coordination meant they didn't cut him off, their sheer numbers were suffocating. A quick glance back sent a jolt through him—the horde was closing in, weapons gleaming. "Too many," he muttered, breathless. "Way too fucking many."
The first goblin lunged, breaking from the pack with its jagged spear aimed at his back. Silas spun mid-run, his staff whipping through the air with a sharp crack. The blow caught the goblin across the chest, sending it sprawling as its brittle frame dissolved into the floor. He didn't stop moving, his feet sliding slightly on the smooth stone as he turned and ran again.
The horde surged closer, relentless. A goblin lunged from the side, its club swinging wildly. Silas ducked low, the weapon narrowly missing his head, and drove the end of his staff into its ribs. The sharp crunch of the strike sent the goblin crumpling to the ground before it dissolved, but three more were already upon him.
Silas twisted sharply to avoid a spear thrust, the jagged point skimming his side. Pain flared as another goblin's blade nicked his arm, leaving a shallow but burning wound. Gritting his teeth, he swept his staff in a wide arc, catching two goblins in one motion. Their brittle forms shattered under the force, but he didn't have time to savor the victory.
Another wave closed in, their gangly limbs flailing as they leapt and lunged. Silas darted to the side, his movements quick and deliberate, but the constant attacks were wearing him down. His staff connected again and again—smashing a goblin's head, sweeping another's legs, deflecting a blade that came too close. Each strike was precise, brutal, and necessary, but the horde pressed on, undeterred.
His breath came in gasps as he sprinted across the empty chamber, the goblins giving chase. One lunged, its spear stabbing toward his legs. Silas leapt into the air, spinning mid-flight to bring his staff crashing down on the puppet's skull. The satisfying crack of the blow was brief relief, but as the goblin dissolved, three more took its place.
"This is insane!" he snarled, pivoting sharply as another blade swung toward him. His staff met it mid-strike, deflecting the blow with a loud clang before he countered with a crushing jab to the goblin's chest. The brittle frame gave way, collapsing under the force, but the next puppet was already closing in. Silas ducked, feeling the rush of air as a club missed his head by inches. He swung upward in a desperate arc, his staff splintering the goblin's weapon and sending it sprawling.
The chamber felt endless, its wide, featureless expanse offering no cover, no reprieve. Every step Silas took was calculated, every dodge precise, but the relentless horde tested his limits. He struck down another goblin, then turned to trip the next, sweeping its legs out from under it before driving his staff into its torso. The sharp crunch echoed in his ears as the puppet dissolved.
Minutes passed in a blur of motion. Silas ran, struck, dodged, and struck again, his body moving on instinct. His arms ached from the constant swings of his staff, his legs burned with the effort of staying ahead of the mob, and his breath came in sharp, shallow bursts. Goblins lunged and fell, their bodies dissolving into nothing, but their numbers seemed endless.
The last goblin came at him with a screech, its jagged blade slicing toward his chest. Silas stepped inside its reach, driving his staff upward in a bone-crushing strike that shattered its head with a brutal crack. The puppet crumpled, dissolving into the floor like the others.
Silas dropped to one knee, his staff clattering softly against the stone floor as he leaned heavily on it for support. His chest heaved, his breath coming in strained gasps as sweat and blood dripped from his body. Every muscle in his legs burned, his arms ached from the relentless swings, and the shallow cuts across his chest stung with each movement. Wiping his face with the back of his hand only smeared the blood and sweat further.
Then came the hum.
He glanced up, groaning as the two wheels rose again from the floor, spinning just as they had before. The first wheel spun steadily, its sections blurring for a moment before abruptly stopping. Silas caught a glimpse of the result but didn't bother dwelling on it—whatever it landed on didn't matter now. His attention shifted to the second wheel, its strange symbols spinning so fast they blended into a single blur.
Silas leaned harder on his staff, his chest still rising and falling in deep, labored breaths. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, shaking his head. He tilted his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling as if searching for some unseen force. "I can't even pretend to get a break, huh?"
The second wheel slowed, clicking with sharp precision before coming to an abrupt stop. The chamber grew silent, the hum fading as the air shifted again. The faint shimmer of movement began to coalesce in front of him.
Silas exhaled heavily, his fingers tightening on his staff. He dragged himself upright, his tired legs protesting with each step as he moved to square his stance. He watched as the shapes ahead of him solidified, his grip tightening as his jaw clenched.
"Fuck me," he muttered, a faint, humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Here we go again."
The shimmering figures came into full focus—taller, broader, and with weapons far deadlier than before. There were more of them than he cared to count, and they advanced with a deliberate menace that made his breath hitch. Silas rolled his shoulders, ignoring the sting of his wounds.
"Can't be worse than twenty-five goblins, right?" he muttered to himself as he shifted his weight.
A low rumble from the advancing foes made him groan under his breath, the faint smile lingering on his lips as the humor faded to resignation. "Ah, who am I kidding," he murmured, readying his staff as they closed the distance. "Of course it's worse."