Chapter Title: Blades Against the Horde
The searing glow of Serah's light magic enveloped the battered warriors, humming gently as threads of silver-gold wove through bruised skin, torn muscle, and fractured spirit. Her hands trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer strain of pouring out her magic, again and again, against an enemy that refused to relent.
Nick stood slightly hunched, his breath shallow as the warmth of Serah's healing threaded through the slash along his ribs. Blood still stained the side of his uniform tunic, its once pristine white scorched by flame and grime. He gritted his teeth against the sting, eyes flickering to the deeper cavern ahead.
Asher sat cross-legged, his broad frame trembling with contained energy. Emberfang lay across his lap, its blade pulsing with heat in reaction to the adrenaline that still raced through his veins. Sweat clung to the strands of his unruly blue hair, dripping in slow rivulets down the bridge of his nose. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly, like a warhorse being dragged back to the field too soon.
Ethan leaned against a crag of broken stone, one leg bent, the other stretched before him. Lightning crackled faintly from his fingertips as he checked the fractured leather guard wrapped around his left arm. Blood dotted his sleeve, and his breath came in short, hissing bursts. He gave Serah a tight nod when her magic touched him, but his mind wasn't on the healing—it was already scanning the next movement, the next attack.
The human students weren't faring better.
Darius had taken a blow that nearly crushed his left shoulder. The earth mage sat with his staff braced against the ground, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. The veins around his temples bulged from the effort of keeping his mana from spilling out in panicked bursts. Serah touched him last, her glow illuminating the bruise-blackened skin under his armor.
Aven had a deep gash across his thigh, bandaged hastily, and his face was pale but focused. Even as Serah's light wove over his injury, he sketched runes in the air, preparing another sequence of Phase Constructs. He didn't stop working.
"They just... don't stop coming," Serah murmured under her breath.
Ethan's voice was dry. "They're protecting something."
Asher exhaled hard through his nose. "The shaman."
From deeper in the tunnel came the echo of drums—low, primitive, and constant.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
It was not just sound. It was vibration. Felt in the bones. In the lungs. It carried the taste of soil and blood. Every beat summoned something ancient in the dark.
Nick stood, twin blades of Zephyrfang sliding into his palms with a whispering hiss. "We can't stop now. We press forward."
The explorers huddled close, faces pale, but none dared speak. The boys and the students fell back into formation.
They advanced.
The tunnel narrowed. Then widened again—into a circular chamber wreathed in moss and decay.
And there, waiting in the dark, were goblins.
Dozens. No, more than that.
Hundreds.
Small forms with hunched backs and crooked teeth, eyes glowing in the dark like angry embers. Each one armed—spears, clubs, jagged metal cleavers, and bows of twisted bone.
A roar went up.
And the horde charged.
Asher surged forward first, Emberfang swinging in a heavy arc that ignited the air. Fire erupted in a crescent wall, engulfing three goblins mid-lunge, turning them into ash and screams. His muscles flexed with every swing, raw strength poured into each cleave. He fought like a beast of flame, untamed and furious.
But they came in waves.
Nick danced through them, twin blades slicing clean lines through the air. Wind circled him, hissing like a snake. Each step was deliberate, each pivot perfectly timed. He ducked beneath a swinging axe, rolled forward, and sliced the knees of three goblins before they even reacted.
"Don't let them swarm you!" he shouted.
Ethan struck from behind the others, his daggers crackling with unstable energy. He vanished in a burst of speed, reappearing behind a group of goblins. Twin flashes of violet light lanced through the air, cutting down their spines. But the moment he paused, five more leapt from the shadows. One blade sliced across his shoulder.
He winced—but twisted with the pain, driving a dagger into the attacker's eye.
Darius slammed his staff into the ground. "Crystal Spire!" he bellowed.
The floor cracked and erupted—giant spikes of glowing violet stone burst upward, impaling multiple goblins and shielding the explorers behind them.
Aven triggered his constructs—spheres of geometric energy pulsing outward, sweeping across the battlefield. Whenever a goblin passed through one, it dissolved into a blur of limbs and gore.
But it wasn't enough.
Every kill was replaced by three more attackers.
Serah flung threads of Mystweave in every direction. They shimmered through the air, slicing, burning, entangling. She shouted spells with a cracked voice, her hands weaving circles faster than thought. But they kept coming. One latched onto her arm, biting through the fabric. She screamed, light blasting it off her body in a burst.
Blood painted the ground.
The adventurers cowered behind the students, flinching with every blow that landed near them.
A particularly large goblin—a berserker, nearly six feet tall and wielding a rusted axe the size of a man's torso—charged through the chaos.
It reached Asher.
The boy grunted, catching the axe with the flat of Emberfang. The impact drove him to one knee. His breath hitched. His muscles spasmed.
He roared—and a geyser of flame exploded from his blade, launching the berserker backward. It crashed into the cavern wall with a wet crunch.
But more came.
Nick's legs trembled. His breathing grew ragged. The flow of wind around him faltered.
He dodged too slowly—one spear grazed his thigh.
He stumbled. Another goblin lunged for his throat.
Darius tackled it, smashing its skull with his staff.
"Don't fall now!" he growled.
Ethan's left arm hung useless—dislocated, bleeding.
Still, he fought. Slower now, but no less lethal. He fought with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes.
The drums still beat.
Boom.
Boom.
And above them, on a high ledge carved into the cavern wall, the shaman stood.
Cloaked in bone and moss, the goblin shaman towered over its kin, its form hunched but massive. It held a staff carved from a petrified tree root, encrusted with ancient runes. In its other hand—glowing with molten light—was a crystal.
A pulsing, green core of magic.
The source of power.
The shaman did not move.
It watched.
Waiting.
Testing.
The boys saw it.
"That's it," Ethan breathed. "That crystal. It's powering everything."
Asher narrowed his eyes. "We break that, we break them."
"Then we push," Nick said, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. "No matter what."
The three of them stood side by side again.
Bruised. Burned. Bloodied.
But standing.
Together with the students, they charged forward again.
Goblins surged to meet them.
The battle roared anew.
And the path to the shaman remained blocked.