Daniel's breath came in short, sharp bursts as he stepped through the veiled curtain of smoke, emerging into the first floor of Nightmare.
The air here was thick—like soured meat left to rot in a furnace. Dank, choking, and violently alive with the stench of blood, piss, and something fouler. He stood just beyond the white marble portal, clutching a spiked mace in one hand and a battered iron shield in the other. No armor. Just a torn hoodie and track pants, now damp with fear sweat.
[OBJECTIVE 1: KILL GOBLINS]
[PROGRESS: 0/50]
"Great," he muttered, trying to ignore the way the words hung in the air like some omniscient game master's cruel joke.
He wasn't a soldier. He was 5'11 with a decent build, enough for gym selfies and weekend hikes—not goblin genocide. His blue eyes darted around the cave's dimly lit expanse. Rock formations jutted from the earth like jagged teeth. The shadows seemed to breathe.
Then came the sounds—wet squelches of flesh against earth, screeches like rusty hinges scraping bone. Daniel ducked behind a sharp outcrop. His heart rattled like a trapped rat.
Five goblins.
Small, hunched things with gray-green skin, crooked teeth, and eyes that burned red like dying coals. They wore scraps of leather, bones strapped to limbs like grotesque trophies. Each one held a rusted blade, twitching with anticipation.
Daniel whispered to himself, "They can't be that tough. They're just goblins, right?"
Wrong.
The creatures turned toward him instantly, their nostrils flaring. One barked something guttural. All five sprinted toward him, screeching.
Daniel stepped from cover, shield raised just in time to block the first goblin's wild swing. Steel clanged against rusted iron. Pain surged up his arm.
He retaliated. The mace came down in a brutal arc, crunching the goblin's skull like a watermelon. Bone fragments and green brain matter exploded, splattering his chest.
He froze.
He'd just killed something.
The goblin twitched once, then lay still. Daniel stared. Time slowed.
That hesitation nearly killed him.
Another goblin lunged, slashing deep into his shoulder. White-hot agony ripped through him. He screamed, shoving it back with his shield and swinging again, this time with fury. The mace connected with the goblin's ribcage—crack!—and it folded like a wet paper doll.
The third came from the side. He blocked, barely, then spun, slamming the spiked head into its jaw. Teeth and blood flew in a red-green spray. It choked on its own tongue before collapsing.
But the last two weren't waiting.
One blade plunged deep into his bicep. The other goblin pounced, biting into his wrist like a rabid rat.
Daniel roared, slamming them off with sheer adrenaline. But his left arm—
—it dangled uselessly.
Blood pumped out in rhythmic spurts.
He dropped to one knee. Vision dimming. Pain like fire eating through nerves.
"No, no, no—"
He looked at the portal.
The white marble shimmered faintly in the distance. The safe zone. He remembered—earlier, when he'd playfully hit himself testing the mace, the wound had sealed within seconds inside that space.
One chance.
With a howl of pain and desperation, he threw himself backward. His boots skidded through blood and gravel. A goblin slashed at his heel—missed by inches.
He dove into the light.
The pain vanished instantly.
Muscle knitted. Bone realigned. Flesh reformed. His torn nerves hummed with strange warmth.
Even the mace and shield shimmered anew, fresh as if forged a second ago.
For a moment, he just lay there, sprawled out on the cold white marble, blinking at the pristine ceiling above. The contrast between this sterile sanctuary and the filth-ridden cave he'd just crawled out of felt like a joke. A cruel, cosmic prank.
Then came the rage.
Hot. Blinding. Righteous.
"You little goblin shits," Daniel growled, voice rough like gravel grinding against steel.
He stood.
No armor. No fanfare. No buffs. Just him, a cracked shield, a spiked mace, and the kind of fury that could hollow out a god.
Hatred wrapped around his body like phantom plate. He felt it thrum in his muscles, boil in his veins. It dulled the ache, silenced the fear. He was done hesitating. Done bleeding for answers.
Daniel sprinted toward the shimmering portal—his blood still fresh on its threshold—and dived through.
The cave was still, like a beast waiting to pounce.
Two goblins lingered, picking over the corpses of their fallen kin. They turned. Yellow eyes widened. It was the last thing they saw.
Daniel didn't land—he crashed.
His shield came down like the hammer of God, crushing the first goblin into the stone wall. Bone cracked like dry twigs. Its legs spasmed, twisted backward, then stilled.
The second shrieked—more squeal than scream—and bolted.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Daniel snarled.
He hurled the mace.
It spun, once—twice—thunk.
The weapon embedded itself between the goblin's shoulder blades with a wet, meaty crunch. The creature dropped instantly, twitching, coughing blood, dragging itself forward like a broken toy.
Daniel walked up, calm as a corpse.
One hand gripped the mace handle. He yanked.
Squelch.
Green ichor sprayed. The goblin gurgled, clawing at his boot.
Daniel lifted the mace.
And brought it down.
CRACK.
Again.
SPLAT.
And again.
SCHLORP.
By the time he stopped, the goblin resembled a meat smoothie with bones.
He stood over it, panting.
"Objective progress: 5/50," the system chimed politely.
He spat blood on the corpse. "Damn right."
No hesitation now.
He hunted.
The cave turned from a maze to a massacre. Goblins screeched in terror when they saw him—some ran, some charged, some begged.
None survived.
He was a wrecking ball of muscle, madness, and malice. Shield forward, mace swinging, bones shattering like glass under a war drum.
One tried to lunge. He raised his shield and let it. The goblin impaled itself on the spikes he'd added with shattered bones. It slid down, twitching. Daniel flung it aside like trash.
Another tried to bite his ankle.
Big mistake.
He kicked it with enough force to turn its neck into a fleshy spiral staircase. The head twisted halfway around before the body gave up and flopped like a sack of dying rats.
One played dead.
Cute.
Daniel pinned it under his shield. It screamed, clawing at the metal. He raised his mace high and brought it down like Thor on a sugar rush.
BOOM.
The chest exploded in a mist of blood, lungs, and what looked like half a kidney. Bits of spine clattered across the cave floor like morbid confetti.
The mace was now more goblin than metal.
He didn't care.
He cleaned it by smashing it into the next goblin's head.
And the next.
And the next.