The Liberators, now thoroughly coated in slime and righteous indignation, stumbled out of the "Corridor of Whispering Insults" (Ragnar had decided against the caroling goblins, opting for disembodied voices murmuring things like "Is that a new haircut?
It's... a choice" and "You call that a heroic stance? My grandmother stands straighter").
Miyamoto Masakado was still fuming about the wooden sword incident, muttering darkly about avenging its "splintered honor." Isabelle Thorne, her jaw tight, scouted ahead.
"There's a staircase," she announced, her voice echoing slightly in the oppressive silence. "It leads down. This must be the second floor."
"Finally!" Masakado exclaimed, pushing past her. "Enough of these childish games! Let's find some real monsters and claim some real treasure!" He seemed to have conveniently forgotten his earlier pronouncements about cleansing and justice, now solely focused on loot.
Torvin the Tank grunted. "Hope it's not another room full of rubber chickens. Took me ages to get the squeaker out of my boot."
They descended the stairs into a vast, cavernous chamber. It was easily a hundred feet across, the ceiling lost in shadows far above. The air was cold and damp. And in the far distance, almost too far to see clearly, was a single, illuminated archway – the exit. Between them and that archway, however, was a sea of monsters.
Goblins, not the rock-throwing nuisances from the Farm, but bigger, meaner-looking ones with crude iron weapons. Kobolds, not Gary's clumsy brethren, but lean, snarling packs with wickedly sharp spears. And interspersed among them were lumbering Orcs, their green skin glistening, their eyes burning with dull malice. There had to be hundreds of them.
"Now this is more like it!" Masakado declared, drawing his glittering sword. A low hum of power emanated from it. "A proper battle! Liberators, to glory!"
Isabelle scanned the room. "The exit is clear, but the numbers…He's not trying to kill us. He's trying to break us."
"If they want war by annoyance, we'll outlast them!". Masakado roared, charging forward before Isabelle could voice a strategy.
BOOM!
The ground exploded under his feet as he transformed into a blur of motion. The wind shrieked as he closed the distance with the first line of goblins.
BOOM!
His sword met a goblin's rusty axe. A visible shockwave erupted as the goblin was sent flying, its weapon shattering. Masakado took a step back, a grim smile on his face. "Too easy!"
The battle began in earnest. The heroes, despite their earlier frustrations, were undeniably powerful. Isabelle was a whirlwind of silver light, her katana flashing, felling monsters with precise, deadly strikes.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Each swing of her sword sent out miniature sonic booms and shockwaves that rippled through the enemy ranks.
Torvin held the line, his shield a bulwark against the tide.
CRACK!
A kobold spear shattered against his shield, the force of the impact sending shivers up his arm. Elara, the healer, chanted, bolts of light restoring stamina and knitting minor wounds. The archer sent arrows whistling through the air, each one finding its mark.
From his throne, Ragnar absently ate what appeared to be popcorn. Pixia assured him it was dried cave fungus. He tried not to think too hard about it.
"Impressive," he said. "They're slicing through my trash mobs like a hot knife through butter"
But the key here isn't quality, Pixia, it's quantity. And that oh-so-tempting exit sign."
Pixia adjusted her glasses. "Indeed, my Lord. The 'Visible Goal' tactic is statistically proven to encourage perseverance beyond optimal stamina levels, leading to critical judgment errors in approximately 67% of Type-A Hero personalities."
"You mean like Masakado?" Ragnar grinned.
On the battlefield, the initial heroic charge began to slow. For every monster they cut down, two more seemed to take its place. The waves were endless.
"Hrrrngh!"
Torvin grunted, as a heavy Orc club slammed into his shield.
BOOM!
The impact was like a physical explosion. The ground cracked. A massive shockwave blasted outwards, forcing Torvin back three heavy, grinding steps, his shield arm numb.
"These things hit like a runaway troll!"
"I'm running low on mana!" Elara called out, her voice strained. Sweat beaded on her forehead. "I can't keep this up indefinitely!"
Masakado, who had been showboating, found himself surrounded by a dozen snarling kobolds.
BOOM! CRACK!
He lashed out, his sword a blur, the wind shrieking around his blade. Shockwaves battered the kobolds, but their numbers were too great. A spear slipped past his guard and raked across his arm, drawing blood.
"Aargh! You curs!" he yelled, but his movements were becoming sloppier, his bravado fading.
Minutes turned into an agonizingly long hour. The chamber was littered with monster corpses, but more kept pouring in from shadowed alcoves. The heroes were visibly tiring. Their armor was dented, their clothes torn.
"We need to pull back! Rest!" Isabelle urged, parrying a goblin's wild swing.
BOOM!
Her parry sent the goblin spinning.
"No! The exit is right there!" Masakado shouted, pointing with his sword. "We push through! Victory is at hand!"
"Victory or exhaustion?" the archer retorted, loosing an arrow that skewered an Orc through the eye. "My quiver's almost empty!"
"Are you questioning my leadership, fly-boy?!" Masakado snarled.
"Your leadership got us covered in confetti and rubber chicken guts!" the archer snapped back.
ENOUGH!
Isabelle roared, her voice cutting through the din. "We fight as a team, or we die as individuals!"
But even as she spoke, another wave of Orcs charged, their heavy footfalls making the ground pound.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
One of the lesser heroes, a young spearman, stumbled from exhaustion. Before Torvin could reach him, an Orc club came down.
CRACK!
The sound was sickening. A visible shockwave exploded from the point of impact. The spearman screamed, his leg shattering. He fell, and the tide of monsters washed over him.
"NO! JAREN!" Elara cried, but she was too far away, her healing light flickering weakly.
The loss sent a fresh wave of despair through the party. Their formation, already strained, began to fray.
Ragnar munched on another piece of cave fungus. "Ah, the sweet sound of crumbling morale. Pixia, any bets on who cracks first?"
"Statistically, my Lord, individuals exhibiting high levels of narcissism and low frustration tolerance, such as Subject Masakado, are prime candidates for irrational decision-making under prolonged stress."
"Music to my ears," Ragnar purred. The second floor was working perfectly. The heroes were strong, but their spirits were clearly starting to break.
And the third floor awaited, where the real fun would begin.