A gust of bitter wind slaps me in the face the second I hit the tenth floor. The cold doesn’t sneak in, it hits hard. Sharp. Biting. No mercy.

The whole place stretches out like a warzone carved by something ancient and pissed off. Jagged cliffs, dusted in red, rise in a brutal circle like a stone cage locking me in.

The ground under my boots is cracked and twisted, like some monster tried to claw its way up from the depths and nearly made it.

This isn’t random. It’s not just some cool-looking set piece slapped together by a bored dev. Someone meant for it to look like this.

This floor’s not just scenery. It’s talking. Loud and clear.

Only the strong get through.

No sugarcoating. No mercy.

My HUD kicks in with that soft, familiar hum, like an old friend showing up just in time to tell me I’m probably screwed. A topographic map flashes across my vision.

Tight terrain. No forests to duck into, no open fields to make a break for it. Just a pure, stripped-down kill zone. Boxed in by cliffs, every inch soaked in tension.

The air’s thick with static, charged like a live wire. Like the whole place is holding its breath, waiting for someone to strike the match.

And then I see it.

The throne.

It’s a hundred yards away, massive and sculpted from obsidian-black stone. It doesn’t just exist—it commands. Like the whole damn tower built itself around it just to give it somewhere to sit and look terrifying.

Power rolls off it in waves, daring anyone dumb or desperate enough to get close.

And yeah, I feel it.

Not fear. Not exactly. It’s more like hunger.

That reckless idiot fire in my chest leans in and whispers, Go on. Take it.

Then I look down.

A faint green circle glows under my feet. Subtle at first, then brighter. It pulses, slow and steady, syncing up with the tension hanging in the air like static just waiting for a spark.

I don’t need a guide to tell me I’ve stepped into a trigger zone.

A new screen flares to life. Letters start forming, one by one, like they’re being carved into the air with fire.

________________________________________

The timer will begin as soon as you step off the circle. For the tenth-floor battle, you are allocated one hour to complete the fight. Failing to do so will teleport you back to the previous floor. You may attempt again after 24 hours. You may retreat at any time by reentering the circle.

________________________________________

Oh, great. A timed boss fight. ’Cause this wasn’t stressful enough.

I roll my neck, crack my knuckles, and smirk.

Well then. Let’s dance.

But the system isn’t done with me.

Another screen pops up.

This one’s bigger. Grittier. Like the data itself doesn’t want to be here.

________________________________________

Tenth Floor Ruler: Goblin King Krag

Defeat him to claim control over all goblin-held floors.

Warning: Krag is guarded by Mirella and Nirella, the twin vixens, feared for their ruthless speed and lethal coordination.

________________________________________

Vixens?

I blink.

Did the tower just throw in mini-boss waifus?

More data loads, and okay… no. These aren’t just set dressing.

________________________________________

Krag the Brutal

Risen from the shadowy depths of the Goblin Warrens, Krag earned his crown through blood and terror. His scarred frame was a history of violence—each gash a warning to challengers.
Krag wields The Crusher, a spiked club forged from the bones of fallen enemies. Capable of pulverizing steel and flesh alike. His nearly impenetrable skin shrugs off most conventional attacks.
In berserker mode, Krag’s strength and speed spike dramatically, turning him into a one-goblin apocalypse.

Mirella and Nirella, The Twin Vixens

Feared for their deadly grace and twisted charm, the twins became Krag’s most trusted enforcers after leading a slaughter-heavy raid on a rival tribe.

They’re experts in deception, manipulation, and two-on-one murder-dancing.

Most who underestimate them? Don’t live to regret it.

________________________________________

Yes! I finally got to screw—

Sorry. Meet. I finally got to meet some chicks in this game.

Even if they were goblins, whatever. I’m not complaining. Hot is hot. Fantasy world or not,

I’ll take my wins where I can.

Strutting like I just leveled up in Charisma, I make my way toward the massive throne at the far end of the arena. That’s when Krag starts coming into focus.

And holy raid boss—

This guy looks like he downs protein shakes for breakfast and bench-presses dragons before dinner.

Dude’s got to be ten feet tall, easy. Muscles stacked like someone broke the character creation screen, maxed every slider just to see what’d happen.

He’s got scarred green skin clinging to him like it’s built-in armor. White hair—spiky, wild, (obviously allergic to conditioner), spills down his back like he walked out of a heavy metal album cover.

He’s sitting there like some zero-chill king, flashing a grin full of teeth that basically screams, I floss with bones.

Then he opens his mouth.

“Ohhh, a puny challenger!”

His voice slams into me like someone cranked the bass in a surround sound setup. He’s definitely overcompensating for something.

I don’t flinch. Just shove my hands in my pockets and give a lazy once-over to the twin goblin girls curled up at his sides.

Mirella and Nirella.

Don’t ask me which one’s which. They’ve both got that deadly combo of cute and I’ll-smile-while-I-shank-you.

They lean into Krag like bored cats on a jungle cat throne, all smug smirks and low-key death flags.

“Ahem,” I clear my throat, throwing on my best please-don’t-kill-me grin.

“Let’s leave the ladies out of this, yeah? I’m not really into throwing hands with women. Especially when they look so… helpless and lovely.”

The goblin girls giggle. Soft. Sweet. Totally staged.

Flirty. Lethal. Exactly my type.

God help me, I’ve got a thing for bad decisions.

Krag doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even blink. Just stares at me like he’s trying to decide which limb to rip off first. Probably the ego. That’d hurt the most.

But me?

My brain’s already two boss fights ahead.

Recruit the twins.

Yeah, yeah. I know.

Completely delusional. But just picture it—

Lazy picnics by sparkly rivers. Hot spring scenes with more steam than sense. Stargazing on mossy rocks while pretending we’re not freezing our asses off.

Classic teenage protagonist dreams. The kind you usually wake up from drooling into your math textbook.

Which, funnily enough, is exactly what happens.

Zoned out like a simp mid-fantasy. Drool loading.

Snapped back. Slurped the evidence. Wiped my mouth like nothing happened just as Krag rises from his throne like the final boss he is.

“Of course,” he rumbles, voice like gravel and doom, “I don’t plan on asking my women to help me fight, puny human.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Something cold. Like he already knows how this ends, and I’m just now catching on.

Then he reaches for his club. Not just any club. This thing looks like a pissed-off tree grew spikes and hit the gym out of spite.

Krag starts walking toward me. Slow, heavy steps like he’s punishing the ground.

The twins don’t budge. Still lounging. Still watching. Sipping the drama like it’s fine wine and I’m the free sample.

And just like that, it’s on.

No warning. No countdown. Straight into sudden death mode.

Krag lunges. Quick for his size. Way too quick.

I barely dodge, the air slicing past my cheek as his monster club slams into the floor with bone-breaking intent.

CRACK.

Stone shatters like brittle candy under a sledgehammer.

“That was close,” I mutter, adrenaline slamming into my veins like a double shot of dungeon espresso.

No time to hesitate. No time to breathe.

Okay, dude. Let’s see who breaks first.

I summon a Hiishi round into the SlingBam and pull the trigger.

BOOM!

Dead center.

Flames explode across Krag’s chest in a burst of orange and heat. Perfect shot. Movie-level effects. I even flash a little grin.

“How about that?”

Smoke curls around him. For a second, I think I’ve scored big.

Then Krag walks through the fire like he’s just stepped out of a hot tub.

Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t slow. His roar hits me like a wrecking ball, and the flames just dance on his skin, barely leaving a mark.

That plot armor? Not for show. It drinks explosions like it’s thirsty.

Seriously. Just how much HP does this guy have?

He comes at me again, faster this time. Club cocked back like he’s ready to send me into low orbit.

I dive sideways, tuck into a roll, pop up, and fire another round. This time at his legs.

BOOM!

A stumble. A twitch. Not much, but I’ll take it.

I can’t stop moving. One second still and I’ll be a pancake with great hair.

I dart across the arena like my sneakers have Red Bull for soles. Ducking behind shattered pillars, vaulting over busted rubble, firing shots every time I catch a clean line.

Each hit chips away. Barely. Like trying to tear down a skyscraper with a squirt gun.

And yeah—he notices.

His eyes light up. Glowing red.

Not good. That’s a berserker trigger if I’ve ever seen one.

I know the signs. Played enough games to know exactly what’s coming next.

Suddenly he’s faster. Stronger.

Every swing of that club brings a side of death.

One hit smashes the ground so hard it cracks like thunder.

And before I can even think about dodging, the shockwave nails me.

I get launched.

Slammed into the dirt like a training dummy someone set to hard mode and forgot to turn off.

Stars explode behind my eyes. My bones are still in a group chat trying to figure out which ones are broken.

Everything buzzes. My whole body feels like it’s just been Wi-Fi-connected to pure pain.

I curse under my breath and scramble to my feet like a gremlin avoiding sunlight.

Yeah. I need a new plan. Fast.

My eyes sweep the battlefield, brain firing on panic-fueled instinct.

That’s when I notice it.

A boulder. Big. Solid. Just sitting there like Mother Nature herself dropped it as a “Get Out of Death Free” card.

I bolt. Boots skidding across cracked stone.

Behind me, Krag thunders closer, like a semi-truck full of anger and trauma issues. Each step sends a mini-earthquake through my spine.

I dive behind the boulder and suck in a shaky breath, heart doing Olympic-level backflips.

No time to chill. No time to think. Just full-blown survival mode.

The second Krag rounds the rock—

I leap out like a lunatic and go full trigger-happy.

Hiishi rounds light up his face like a rave. Flashes and chaos slap him right in the senses.

He flinches. Stumbles. Just long enough.

I charge.

Sprint straight at him and slam my thumb down on my “Leap” skill. The one I unlocked back on Floor Five after that whole… slime boss incident.

Long story. Still gross.

My feet leave the ground.

I launch through the air like a caffeinated squirrel, slam into Krag’s shoulder, and start climbing.

He roars like I just called his ancestors NPCs and tries to swat me off, but I cling on like a tick with commitment issues.

I scramble higher. Make it to his shoulders.

Grinning like a maniac, I shove the open end of the SlingBam barrel right against his thick skull.

“Sayonara, sucker.”

BOOM!

The blast goes off like a firework in a microwave.

It launches me, flinging me through the air with all the grace of a flying potato.

Krag drops to his knees, then faceplants with a groan straight out of a final boss cutscene.

I hit the ground, roll, and pop up like I meant to, ready to finish him off with something epic. Maybe even a slow-mo pose, if the universe isn’t feeling petty.

And that’s when things get weird.

Before I can move, they’re just… there.

Mirella and Nirella.

One on each side.

No footsteps. No warning. Just bam—hot goblin girls flanking me like some twisted fantasy reward screen.

“You’re so strong, human,” Mirella purrs, pressing her chest against my arm like she’s running an experiment on male brain failure.

Nirella mirrors her on the other side, her warmth setting off every hormone alarm in my body.

My brain hits emergency shutdown.

Peaches detected. Sanity compromised.

Yup. My face lights up like a streamer going viral for something deeply questionable.

“You bet I am,” I manage, voice cracking like a preteen at a talent show.

Smooth. Real smooth.

Nirella leans in, voice like velvet with bad intentions. “Do you want to play with us, mighty warrior?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say.

My cheeks do their best impersonation of Mount Doom.

They glance at each other, sharing that creepy twin telepathy thing they do.

Then, slowly, they start pulling my arms out to the sides until I’m standing there like some human scarecrow about to be sacrificed to the gods of bad decisions.

“Ladies?” I laugh, a little too high-pitched. “What are you doing?”

They smile. At the same time.

Same creepy sweetness. Like synchronized serial killers in lip gloss.

“Playing with you,” they chime.

Oh no.

My stomach drops.

And that’s when Krag stands up.

Yeah. He stands up.

Dude looks like death warmed over, reheated in a rage microwave. His eyes lock onto me, glowing pure murder mode.

“Having fun, puny human?” he snarls, voice thick with vengeance.

My jaw hits the floor. “How the hell are you still standing?”

He raises his club.

His eyes burn like someone just deleted his save file.

Then it hits me.

Literally.

The club comes down like divine punishment from the rage gods themselves.

I don’t even have time to scream something cool.

“Ackkkk! You bitches!”

CRASH.

Everything goes dark.

And then…

Those familiar, soul-crushing words appear like the universe’s worst pop-up ad.

SYSTEM FAILURE! SYSTEM FAILURE! SYSTEM FAILURE!

Just perfect. Back to square one again.