The decision was made, whether Marcus liked it or not. People tightened straps, tested blades against their thumbs, and adjusted shields. Makeshift armor clattered. Some checked their guns—useless unless things got desperate. Goblins soaked bullets like sponges; steel on bone was faster and less wasteful.
We moved out.
The first floor stretched ahead like a rotting carcass, blood smeared in trails, shattered glass glinting in the dark, scraps of clothing plastered to walls where fights had ended badly. Our footsteps fell softly, deliberately. Even our breathing seemed too loud.
No one spoke. Not Nadia with her calm mask, not Marcus with his cold eyes, not even Nicole at my side. The only sound was the dull rhythm of forty blades and boots moving in unison.
At the next junction, I raised a hand. The line rippled to a halt. Ahead, the faint orange glow of goblin torchlight flickered against the walls. We were close.
"This is where we split," I whispered, voice steady. "Diversions peel off at the next corner. The extraction team holds its position until the noise starts. The rest of us push straight through."
Nadia gave her little nod, Marcus cracked his neck with a grunt, and Wei Shen stood stiff until Lian squeezed his arm. He gave her a small nod back, then gripped his spear tighter.
I shifted the weight of Whisper and Echo in their holsters, then settled my hand on Silent Fang at my hip.
At the corner, I gave a sharp nod. No speeches. No goodbyes. Just movement.
Nadia peeled off first with her group, shadows slipping north. A faint clink of metal and the low scuff of boots, then they were gone. Marcus gave me one last unreadable look before leading his fighters west, their silhouettes swallowed by the dark.
Wei Shen and his people stayed close, Lian in the middle. Faces pale but set, they waited for the signal.
That left us.
I motioned forward, Silent Fang heavy and familiar at my hip. The others closed ranks behind me. Sol's bow was drawn but low, Liam's knuckles flexed around his baton, and Nicole's eyes stayed locked on the shifting shadows ahead.
The path narrowed into broken storefronts. Blood smeared the walls, some dry, some fresh enough to gleam in the torchlight bleeding from the food court ahead. We moved like a ghost. Step, Pause, Listen, and Repeat. The only sound was our breath, the faint shuffle of boots over cracked tile, the wet drip of something unseen deeper in the dark.
Then the noises started.
Low goblin chitters, a cough like gravel in a throat, the clatter of bone bowls against stone. Laughter too, sharp and sudden, carrying a kind of joy that didn't belong in this place. My stomach turned, but I kept us moving, weaving through the last of the debris until the corridor spilled open.
And there it was.
The food court stretched before us, lit by guttering torches stuck into skulls hammered into the ground. The air reeked of smoke, rot, and meat that had been boiled too long.
Shapes shifted in the light. Dozens of goblins sprawled across mats of rags and bones, their limbs tangled in sleep. A few stirred, scratching, rolling over, but none were truly awake. Hobgoblins lingered nearer the altar, half-drowsy, their weapons leaning against the stone like they trusted no one would dare disturb them. Above it all, the altar pulsed faintly, its carved grooves glowing sickly green as the Shaman's staff struck in rhythm.
I kept us low, edging along the shattered line of storefronts, every step measured, every breath shallow. My eyes flicked over what little I could risk seeing, the crude cages pushed to the far wall, the faint whimper that carried across the torchlight before being smothered into silence. I didn't let myself look long. Not yet.
We had to wait.
The silence pressed in like a second skin. Sol's bowstring creaked faintly as he adjusted his grip, Nicole's jaw tight enough I thought it might crack. But no one spoke. We held. We watched. We waited.
Then it came—the sudden bellow of Marcus's voice, followed by the roar of his fighters crashing in from the west. Goblin shrieks answered, sharp and rising, their torchlight flaring with the rush of bodies springing awake.
Almost at the same time, smoke began to drift up from the north, Nadia's fire licking into the stale air, goblins screeching as chaos erupted on that side too.
The food court erupted. Goblins poured awake like someone had kicked a nest, their shrieks splitting the air. The diversions had worked.
I held my team in place, pressed into the shadows of a broken storefront. Every instinct screamed to move, to cut, to kill. But not yet.
"Wait," I whispered, hand lifted just enough to halt everyone from moving.
Out in the open, Nadia and Marcus led the charge.
Marcus went first, all fury and weight. His fireaxe cleaved through three goblins in a single stroke, scattering bodies across the tiles. The hobgoblin squaring off against him was scarred and massive, its battleaxe swinging like it wanted to split the mall in half. Marcus met it head-on, laughing under his breath as sparks screamed from their clash. Around him, his men fought like rabid dogs: shouting, hacking, and dragging goblins down with sheer strength. They bled and cursed, but they didn't stop moving, feeding off Marcus's raw momentum.
Nadia cut a different picture. She slid through the fray like a knife through cloth, twin blades flashing with precise, economical strikes. One hobgoblin tried to close, but two of her fighters caught it in a pincer, shields locking while she darted past and slit another goblin's throat. Her team moved with practiced unity, each one filling the gaps she left, their rhythm drilled and deliberate. No wasted movements. No wasted breath.
The two styles clashed and blended. Marcus's brutality, Nadia's precision. Together, they lit the food court like fire, drawing goblins from every shadow. Sleepy ones roused, shrieking as they snatched weapons. Others poured in from side corridors, rallying to the war drums pounding against the walls.
Dozens. Maybe more.
I tightened my grip on Silent Fang. Not yet. Let them carry the goblins' eyes, let them draw every last one into the blaze. When the chaos peaked, when the Shaman was blind in the storm, then we'd strike.