Stone grated on stone as the hidden gates slammed shut behind Shunjiro, Itsuki, and Yoshinori. In front of them the hulking goblin berserker, towering, plated in scavenged steel, let out a wet, rattling roar. Violet fumes hissed from vents in its armor where crude runes pulsed with corrupted power. The monster hefted its halberd and charged, the floor quivering beneath each tread. Yoshinori reacted first. Bright coils of electricity crackled around his fists and leapt forward in a quick arc, aiming for the berserker’s lead leg. The lightning stuttered over iron greaves, forcing the creature’s stride to hitch, but the blow barely slowed its momentum. Shunjiro stepped in, fists raised, sliding under a horizontal sweep of the halberd. The blade whooshed past so close he felt wind tug his hair. He countered with a tight hook into the berserker’s ribs, his knuckles met iron, but spirit-charged impact rang like a smith’s hammer and dented the plating. Itsuki moved behind her friends, staff leveled. A shimmer of light rippled outward, wrapping Yoshinori and Shunjiro in a protective veil; grazes sealed before blood could spill. The berserker pivoted with surprising agility, slamming the halberd’s butt into the floor. Shock waves rippled down the corridor, throwing everyone off balance. Shunjiro rolled, avoiding a follow-up overhead chop that split a boulder. Sparks sizzled from Yoshinori’s fingers as he seized an opening. He darted in, slapped a palm against the haft, channeling raw voltage. Current crawled along the weapon’s length and into the berserker’s gauntlets. The creature convulsed, armor joints locking for half a heartbeat. “Now!” Yoshinori barked. Shunjiro launched himself off a wall, driving a rising uppercut beneath the berserker’s chin-guard. Metal crumpled. The monster’s head jerked back; corrupted fumes coughed from its maw. Shunjiro landed, legs braced. With a sharp exhale he hammered a second punch into the same dent, iron cracked, and a surge of bright spiritual force cascaded through the berserker’s torso. The giant staggered, free arm sweeping blindly. Itsuki ducked, thrusting her staff forward. A ring of mint-green sigils flared under the berserker’s boots, sapping momentum and rooting it in place just long enough for Yoshinori to draw a glowing arc of lightning across its back. Sparks ignited the violet vapors, a dull pop echoing as runes burned out. Armor smoked. The creature sagged to one knee, halberd clanging against stone. Shunjiro inhaled, focused, and drove one final palm thrust into its breastplate. A shockwave cracked the chest piece in two, and the berserker collapsed, twitching before falling still. Silence spiraled outward, broken only by their rapid breaths. Itsuki’s shoulders slumped. “That… was worse than the warm-up.” Yoshinori nudged the halberd aside with his foot. Shunjiro wiped sweat from his brow, then turned at the scraping sound of chains in the dark ahead. A slow, deliberate clap carried from the vaulted shadows ahead, a measured beat that prickled the back of Shunjiro’s neck. Out of the dark stepped a tall goblin clad in pieced-together plate and chain. He carried a single, brutal weapon: a black-iron spiked club as long as Shunjiro was tall, pitted by old battle marks but still lethal. “Well, well,” the newcomer rasped in fluent common, voice rough as gravel yet disturbingly poised. “Trespassers finishing my gatekeeper. Takes pluck.” Itsuki’s staff quivered in her tightening grip. Shunjiro slid one foot back, fists coming up. Yoshinori’s eyes sharpened behind half-lidded calm. Yoshinori spoke low to his teammates. “Ordinary goblins can’t speak like that. He’s a high-rank variant. B-rank at least.” The goblin rested his club on one shoulder, tusked grin wide beneath helmet crests scavenged from human cavalry. “Name’s Brughor the Reforged. This hole in the rock is my forge, and bones of intruders are my coal.” He tapped the club against stone, sending dull booms through the corridor. “Walk away, and I might let you limp free.” Shunjiro squared his shoulders. “We’re the Strongest Guild. We’re here to clear this dungeon.” Brughor shrugged massive shoulders. “Then break, Strongest.” Steel boots pounded forward, Brughor closed the fifteen-step gap faster than a boar. He swung in a low, horizontal arc meant to decapitate three heads at once. Shunjiro ducked beneath, feeling the wind of its passage. Sparks kicked where iron scraped the wall. Yoshinori pivoted behind Shunjiro and answered with a lightning-laced jab. The bolt struck Brughor’s armor, dancing across metal, but the goblin only hissed and kept charging. Itsuki thrust her staff, a barrier flaring as Brughor brought the club back in a brutal reverse swing. The impact shattered the barrier in a burst of shards but slowed the momentum enough for Shunjiro to counter-punch. His fist hammered Brughor’s rib plate, echoing like a gong. The goblin grunted, but armor held. Brughor retaliated with a backhand that caught Shunjiro across the biceps. Pain exploded; Shunjiro flew into a pillar, dust showering down. “First dent,” Brughor rumbled approvingly. Itsuki darted to Shunjiro, channeling a burst of healing into the bruised arm before the next exchange. Yoshinori flicked two fingers, sending a thin needle of lightning at Brughor’s eyes, a blinding feint. The goblin jerked his helm aside; the bolt seared the cheek strap, but he did blink hard, vision white-washed for a heartbeat. Shunjiro seized that moment. He sprinted, slid low, and slammed both fists up into Brughor’s exposed stomach seam where mail parted around the groin. Breath whooshed from the goblin; he doubled slightly. Shunjiro vaulted over one knee, chopping the club arm at the wrist. The iron weapon hit the ground with a clang. But Brughor’s free hand lashed up, gripping Shunjiro’s ankle mid-flip. He roared and flung the fighter bodily down the corridor. Shunjiro tumbled, rolled with it, and skidded to a halt twenty feet away, gasping yet upright. Yoshinori retrieved the club with a crackling line of electricity, yanking it toward himself to deprive Brughor of reach. The iron hulk scraped across stone, heavy as a small tree. But Brughor charged instead of chasing the weapon, fists alone now his artillery. He barreled into Yoshinori. Lightning burst as Yoshinori blocked with crossed arms, feet digging trenches in dust. Brughor’s headbutt followed, denting Yoshinori’s forearm guard. Yoshinori twisted free, sparks flying from contact. Itsuki planted her staff and swept in a crescent; healing wind raced by Yoshinori, knitting surface welts before bruising could deepen. Her breath came fast, but her eyes remained calm, she’d practiced this rhythm: heal, reposition, scan. Shunjiro dashed back into range, trading rapid strikes: a three-hit flurry to Brughor’s torso, duck under a hook, rising elbow to chin. Each blow drew a grunt, each dodge shaved a hair of space. Brughor fought like living siege iron, no sorcery, just punishing mass and disciplined brutality. He feinted left then drove a knee straight into Shunjiro’s ribs. Crunch. Air blasted from Shunjiro’s lungs. But Yoshinori was there, palm crackling against Brughor’s side, discharging a thunderclap at point-blank. The goblin staggered, smoke curling from rent armor. Itsuki pressed two fingers to a talisman on her staff. A narrow beam of light lanced into Shunjiro’s chest, mending the worst of the impact. She shifted left, aware of each step in the confined corridor, intent on staying out of Brughor’s immediate reach while still within line-of-sight of both allies. Brughor retrieved his club with a sharp kick that sent it flying. He snatched it mid-air, whirled, and unleashed an overhead smash aimed at Yoshinori. The lightning caster dove sideways; iron cratered the stone below, shards spraying. “Can’t take many of those,” Yoshinori noted grimly. “Then we disarm him for good,” Shunjiro answered, rolling his shoulder where bone still ached under fresh knit muscle. Yoshinori lifted a hand; small arcs flicked between finger-tips. “I’ll blind left eye, force him to guard high. You sweep the legs.” “Copy.” Shunjiro flexed aching knuckles. Yoshinori feinted right, then snapped a white-hot bolt into Brughor’s helm visor. Metal sizzled; Brughor flinched, eye watering. Shunjiro dived low, sliding feet-first between greaves. He swung both fists outward, hammering the inside of Brughor’s knees. The goblin buckled; the club thunked into stone as balance faltered. Shunjiro popped to his feet behind Brughor, aimed a kidney-level punch, but the goblin twisted, elbowing Shunjiro’s temple. Stars burst across vision. Still, the club arm was momentarily unguarded, Yoshinori lunged, slapped the wrist with current strong enough to numb it. Fingers spasmed; the iron weapon clanged free again. Shunjiro saw the opening. He hooked the club’s haft with one foot and kicked it down the corridor behind Itsuki, out of reach. Now Brughor fought bare-handed. He roared, charging Shunjiro anew. The corridor shook. Shunjiro planted his stance. They exchanged a blur of blows, fists against fists, human grit versus goblin ferocity. Shunjiro’s style relied on speed; Brughor’s on devastating weight. Each landed hits that would have felled lesser foes. Itsuki zig-zagged in the narrow lane, staff glowing, throwing bursts of mend to whichever ally sagged. Yoshinori searched for pattern, darting in to strike nerves behind elbow joints, neck seams, then dancing back before counterstrikes. Sparks scored armor, superheating plates until smoke hissed around Brughor’s collar. But still the goblin stood, breathing hard yet grinning. “Good,” he rasped. “Flesh bruised, bones rattle, yet you’re upright. At least the Strongest die with spirit.” Shunjiro spat copper from split lip. “Who said anything about dying?” Brughor lunged with renewed fury. Thunder of fists resumed, echoing down endless corridors as torches guttered. Their energy waned. Itsuki’s reserves thinned; each heal slower to cast. Yoshinori’s lightning arcs shortened, sparks petering. Shunjiro’s arms vibrated from repeated impacts. Brughor, too, bled dark streaks down his armor, but his stamina remained monstrous. The club lay far down the hall, but a glance showed it hadn’t been forgotten. Sooner or later Brughor would reach it or improvise another weapon. As the goblin pressed forward, Shunjiro blocked a crushing cross and staggered; Yoshinori slid in, deflecting a follow-up strike. Itsuki thrust healing light through both friends. But exhaustion clawed them. The corridor seemed to shrink, torchlight dimming. Brughor loomed, breathing ragged but triumphant. “One push more,” he taunted, lifting battered fists. “Then I mount your skulls on the door you broke.” Shunjiro wiped sweat from his eyes, vision blurry but spirit blazing. “Let’s make that push hurt.” Lightning flickered once more around Yoshinori’s hands. Itsuki steadied her staff, focus unwavering. They braced, hearts pounding. The next exchange would decide if they could outlast raw goblin might, or fall before Brughor’s iron reign.