Luka stepped through the towering door, gripping the warhammer tightly as the darkness swallowed him. His boots echoed in the void, the air thick with tension. Then, like someone flicking a switch, the blackness vanished, replaced by a wide, stone chamber lit by green torches.
He froze when he spotted them—the others.
The two mercenaries from before stood near the edge of the room, their weapons already drawn. One of them being Serra. Her dark eyes swept the room, calculating, while her partner, a grizzled man with a thick beard and a battle-worn axe, stood beside her. His arms bulged with muscle, but there was a twitchiness to him, a readiness to spring into action at any moment.
But they weren't alone anymore.
There were five new faces, each as distinct as the next.
Closest to Luka was a towering man with a shaved head and a jagged scar running from his forehead to his jaw. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, and he clutched a massive spiked mace like it was an extension of his body. He grinned at Luka, but it wasn't friendly—it was the kind of grin a predator gives its prey.
Next to him was a slim woman with short, cropped hair, her bow already slung over her shoulder. Her sharp features and the way she checked her surroundings screamed experience. Luka guessed she'd been in her fair share of fights.
Then there was a man who looked wildly out of place—a clean-shaven kid who couldn't have been older than twenty. His armor gleamed like it had never seen battle, and he held a longsword awkwardly, his fingers twitching nervously.
Behind him stood a muscular woman with tattoos snaking up her arms and neck, her fists wrapped in blood-stained cloth. She carried no visible weapon, only a confident smirk as if daring anyone to question her choice.
And finally, the one who made Luka's stomach turn—a girl no older than thirteen. Her small frame was swallowed by oversized armor, and she gripped a short sword with both hands, her knuckles white. Her wide eyes darted around, trying to take in everything at once.
Before anyone could speak, the notification screen appeared again, its glowing words cutting through the tension.
[Main Quest: Eliminate all Goblins to Clear Level One.]
[Remember: Only the Strongest May Continue.]
The words hung in the air, suffocating the room with their weight. The young man with the shiny armor swallowed hard, his face pale. "Only the strongest may continue," he repeated, his voice shaky.
The bald man snorted, hefting his mace. "Means some of us won't make it, kid. Better hope it's not you."
The girl flinched, her grip on her sword tightening.
Luka stayed silent, leaning against the wall. He wasn't here to make friends or give pep talks. These people were strangers, and judging by the earlier levels, most of them wouldn't be around for long anyway.
"Everyone ready?" Serra's voice cut through the room. She didn't wait for an answer. "Good. Don't die."
The next notification was brutally simple.
[BEGIN.]
The ground trembled. Luka barely had time to brace himself before the goblins came pouring into the chamber from every direction.
They were grotesque creatures, their hunched forms covered in mottled green skin. Sharp teeth glinted in the torchlight as they shrieked, brandishing crude weapons—rusted swords, jagged spears, and makeshift clubs.
The first wave hit like a tidal wave.
The bald man charged forward with a roar, swinging his mace in a wide arc. Goblins exploded into pieces, their green blood spraying across the stone floor. "COME ON!" he bellowed, laughing as he waded deeper into the horde.
The archer took a position on higher ground, her arrows flying with deadly precision. Each shot found its mark, piercing goblin skulls and dropping them instantly.
The tattooed woman moved like a whirlwind, her fists slamming into goblins with bone-crunching force. She snapped necks and crushed skulls with brutal efficiency, her movements fluid and unrelenting.
Serra and her partner were a deadly pair, cutting through the goblins with practiced ease. Their blades danced, every strike a killing blow.
The young man with the gleaming armor stumbled, his sword slipping from his sweaty hands. A goblin lunged at him, its spear aiming for his throat. He barely blocked it, the force knocking him to the ground. He screamed, scrambling to get back up as more goblins swarmed him.
The girl with the oversized armor stood frozen, her sword shaking in her hands. A goblin sneered, charging at her with a jagged knife. She let out a terrified scream, swinging wildly and managing to cut the creature's arm off. It howled in pain but didn't stop, tackling her to the ground.
Luka cursed under his breath and finally moved. He swung his warhammer with all his strength, the weapon smashing into a goblin's chest and caving it in. The creature's shriek died instantly as it crumpled to the ground.
Another goblin came at him from the side, its claws aiming for his neck. Luka ducked and countered, slamming the hammer into its skull. The sound was sickening—bone cracking, flesh tearing—but he didn't flinch.
After what felt like hours, the goblins stopped coming. The room was littered with bodies, the floor slick with green blood.
The survivors regrouped, panting and bloodied.
"That wasn't so bad," the bald man said, grinning as he wiped goblin guts off his mace.
"Don't jinx it," Serra muttered, her dagger still at the ready.
As if on cue, the ground shook violently. A massive door at the far end of the chamber groaned open, revealing the final boss.
The Goblin King stepped forward, towering over them. Its grotesque body was covered in jagged armor, and it carried a massive cleaver that dripped with black ichor. Its red eyes glowed with malice as it let out a deafening roar.
For a moment, no one moved.
"Let's kill this thing and get it over with," the tattooed woman said, cracking her knuckles.
The fight was brutal but surprisingly short. The Goblin King was strong but slow, and the group overwhelmed it with coordinated attacks. Luka crushed its knee with his hammer, bringing it down to Serra's level, where she drove her dagger through its throat.
The beast gurgled and fell, its lifeless body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
The bald man laughed, raising his mace triumphantly. "That's it? That was too easy!"
But minutes passed, and no notification came.
The group exchanged uneasy glances.
"Why isn't it over?" the young man asked, his voice trembling.
The bald man frowned, stepping closer to the Goblin King's corpse. "Maybe we missed something?"
Luka stayed silent, his grip tightening on his warhammer. Something wasn't right.
The silence stretched, oppressive and suffocating.
And then, the ground trembled again.