The chamber had gone silent.
A cold, wet hush blanketed the group as the mutated slimes parted like a foul tide, clearing a path toward the yawning rupture in the chamber's rear wall. It wasn't a gate—at least, not in the usual sense. No glow, no system glyphs, no shimmer. Just an impossible crack in the dungeon, wide enough to swallow a truck and pitch black within.
And then it stepped out.
A single, heavy footfall echoed through the cavern like a drumbeat. A hulking figure emerged, hunched but towering—easily over two meters tall. Its muscles were corded like braided steel, dark green flesh slick with slime residue. It had tusks. Armor made of scavenged bones. And in one massive, three-fingered hand, it held a rusted cleaver nearly the size of Marie's torso.
[D-Rank Monster Detected: Ork Mutant]
The system prompt blinked once before vanishing. No fanfare. No dramatic alert. Just cold, factual horror.
Marie's stomach twisted.
The atmosphere grew heavier by the second.
Suddenly, the dungeon floor shimmered—and an invisible wall slammed down behind them. A glowing red grid locked across the chamber's entrance like cage bars. Another message flickered.
[Mutation Event: Arena Protocol Initiated]
[Escape Denied]
The others stared at the grid, realization dawning.
"We're locked in," Jonas whispered.
"No shit we're locked in!" Erik shouted. "What the hell is that thing?!"
"It's a D-Rank!" Marie's voice cut through the panic. "That's two ranks above us—we're not supposed to even SEE something like this."
The Ork didn't wait.
It charged.
Its feet pounded across the chamber like a war drum. The mutated slimes scattered. It raised its cleaver, and the group scrambled.
"SPLIT!" Erik barked, and they broke formation without thinking.
Sophie tried to cast—fire building in her palm—but the Ork was faster. It closed the distance in a blink, and with a swing that carved the air itself, the cleaver hit her mid-cast. The impact lifted her off her feet. She slammed into the far wall with a wet crack.
She didn't get up.
Blood spattered the stone.
Marie stared, frozen.
She's dead.
A life snuffed out like a match. No system message. No dramatic fall. Just a body broken beyond repair.
"SHIT! SHIT!" Tim screamed. "Get it away from me!"
He tried to summon a Windblade but tripped on a rock, and the spell flew wide. Jonas dove between him and the Ork, using Magnet Bind to pull a chunk of ore from the wall into the creature's path. It stumbled—but only for a heartbeat.
It swung again.
Jonas blocked with a conjured shield—too thin. The cleaver shattered it and kept going. The sound it made hitting his arm was like chopping wet wood.
Jonas collapsed with a howl, arm bent the wrong way.
Marie moved. Instinct. Training. Panic.
She darted around the chamber's edge, eyes scanning. They couldn't beat this thing. Not in a straight fight. Not with flashy skills and panic-fueled yells.
They need a distraction.
She grabbed a loose torch from the wall, lit by dungeon bioluminescence, and hurled it at the Ork's face.
It flinched—barely—but enough.
Tim yanked Jonas out of reach.
Erik, cursing, launched a kinetic pulse that hit the Ork in the side. It staggered. Turned. Locked eyes with Marie.
Her chest clenched.
She ran.
The Ork thundered after her, boots like cannonballs against the stone. She ducked behind a stalagmite, forcing it to swing wide, cleaver catching on the rock.
Come on, come on—
She circled behind it, striking once at the back of its knee. The blade barely nicked the skin, but it snarled and spun, backhanding her with raw force. Her vision exploded with stars as she slammed into the ground.
Pain exploded across her ribs.
Get up. Get UP.
The others were shouting. She heard Erik scream something—maybe a command, maybe a curse.
The Ork raised its cleaver again.
And then Tim—bless him—screamed, "Hey! Over here!"
Another Windblade. This one caught the Ork across the chest. A shallow cut, but enough to pull aggro.
It turned.
Erik moved next, kinetic blasts slamming it sideways—but they were weaker now. He was tired. They all were.
Jonas, cradling his shattered arm, wasn't moving.
Sophie was still dead.
And Marie—Marie was trying to think.
There has to be a way. A trick. A weakness.
The Ork swung wildly, forcing Erik to backpedal.
Tim tried to flank, but a slime caught his leg. He tripped. The Ork saw—and leapt.
Cleaver down.
Tim screamed.
The blade split his back. Blood sprayed the ground.
Marie felt something snap inside.
Three left.
She pulled herself upright. Forced herself to breathe through the pain.
The Ork turned toward her again.
And she understood something then:
This was not a game. Not a test. Not some drama with XP and system prompts and glowing rewards.
This was death.
And unless she figured something out—now—it would be hers.
Her eyes darted across the chamber.
Broken stone. Mucus trails. Stalagmites. Bones—some fresh, some ancient.
She ran again, not from the Ork—but toward the far wall. There, half-buried in slime residue, was the shaft of a broken spear.
She snatched it up, circled back.
The Ork gave chase.
She dodged behind a tall column of stone.
Waited.
Listened.
As it thundered around, she slid the broken spear into a gap between stones—angled upward like a pit trap.
She moved again, feinting left.
The Ork snarled.
Charged.
Marie dove aside.
The Ork's foot hit the slick stone—and dropped directly onto the sharpened spear fragment.
It roared in pain.
Erik didn't waste the chance. Another full-force kinetic blast smashed into its exposed throat. It reeled.
Marie was already up, slashing at its hamstring.
This time, her blade cut deep.
The Ork collapsed to one knee.
Still dangerous.
Still snarling.
But wounded.
They had hurt it.
But the fight was far from over.
The arena grid still shimmered red.
And the Ork's single glowing eye locked back onto Marie.
It rose—slowly, deliberately—cleaver dragging a line through the stone.
The battle was just beginning.