The goblin's blood was black and viscous, staining the stone floor near my sneakers. I didn't linger. In a dungeon, the scent of death is an invitation for every other predator in the vicinity. I wiped a smudge of grime from my glasses and looked back at my swarm.
It was a grim sight. I'd started with thirty, but the first skirmishes had been costly. Seven were dead—crushed by the goblin's club or spent in the kinetic burst of my Enhanced Strike. Four more were limping, their fur matted with blood. My "ammo" was literally dying, and the deeper I went, the heavier the air felt.
I continued down the corridor, the only sound being the rhythmic skitter-click of claws on stone. The dungeon wasn't just a cave; it was a labyrinth of forgotten industry and jagged earth. I passed rusted vats and pipes that hissed with a foul-smelling gas. Every shadow looked like a lurking threat.
"Focus, Oliver," I whispered, my voice sounding thin in the vast silence.
I checked my status. My mastery of Rat Wall had ticked up by a fraction of a percent. It wasn't much, but it was progress. The problem was the cost. Unlike a Hunter with a fireball or a sword, my "mana" was physical. If I ran out of rats, I was just a nineteen-year-old kid with no combat training.
As I rounded a sharp bend, the tunnel opened into a wide, vaulted chamber. Hanging from the ceiling were massive, pulsating cocoons of some thick, grey webbing. And standing beneath them were three more goblins. They were smaller than the one I'd killed, but they were armed with sharpened pieces of scrap metal.
They saw me instantly. With a series of high-pitched yaps, they scrambled forward.
Three. Damn it.
"Rat Blade!" I commanded.
This was a newer extension I was experimenting with. Ten rats scrambled up my arm, locking their bodies together with a frantic, interlocking grip. Their tails wrapped around my wrist like a leather strap, and their hardened fur created a jagged, serrated edge along my forearm. It was a living weapon—gross, vibrating, and terrifyingly effective.
The first goblin lunged, thrusting its scrap-metal spear. I parried with the Rat Blade, the sound of metal hitting hardened fur like a dull clink. The vibrations traveled up my arm, making my teeth ache. I swung back, the "blade" tearing a jagged red line across the goblin's chest.
But as I moved to finish it, the other two closed in from the sides.
"Rat Wall!"
I sent my remaining healthy rats to my left. They piled up just in time to stop a rusted blade from sinking into my thigh. But the impact scattered them. I was being flanked. I felt a sharp sting as the third goblin's blade grazed my shoulder.
"Get off me!" I roared, swinging the Rat Blade in a desperate circle.
I managed to catch one goblin in the eye, the serrated rats tearing through its skull. It went down, but the Rat Blade was falling apart. The rats making up the weapon were exhausted, their grip failing. I had to de-summon the blade before they were all killed.
I backed away into the shadows of the tunnel, my chest heaving. One goblin was dead, one was bleeding out, and the third was circling me warily. My swarm was down to twelve able-bodied rats.
I looked at the remaining goblin. It was grinning, showing rows of yellowed teeth. It knew I was weakening. It knew I was running out of pieces on the board.
"You think this is over?" I spat, tasting copper in my mouth. I reached into the mental thread, pulling on the very last of my concentration. "I've spent my whole life in the dirt. You're just a guest here."
I didn't wait for it to move. I charged.