The last of the three scavengers fell with a wet thud. I took a ragged breath, the copper taste of adrenaline thick in my mouth. I didn't linger; in a dungeon, the scent of death is an invitation for every other predator in the vicinity. I wiped a smudge of grime from my glasses and checked my swarm. The tiny creatures were panting, their whiskers twitching in the stagnant air.
"Twenty-one left," I muttered. The earlier skirmishes had been costlier than I liked, and the weight of the silence in the hall was starting to press against my eardrums.
I pushed deeper into the facility. The stone walls of the dungeon were beginning to merge with the rusted iron of the old factory. Massive, corroded gears hung frozen from the ceiling like the ribs of a dead giant, and the air smelled of ozone and rot. I moved with a rhythmic skitter-click of claws behind me—my living arsenal.
The tunnel opened into a large, rectangular loading dock. In the center, standing over a pile of gnawed bones, was a goblin. This wasn't a scavenger; it was nearly six feet tall, built of corded green muscle, and gripping a heavy wooden club studded with rusted bolts. This was a Floor Guard. The creature stood its ground, its yellow eyes locked onto mine with a level of malice that made my skin crawl.
The goblin roared, a sound that vibrated through the floorboards, and charged.
"Rat Wall!" I barked.
Fifteen rats surged forward. Instead of just piling up, I focused on the connection, trying to make them interlock and distribute the force. As the club came whistling down in a vertical overhead strike, I dove to the right. The wind from the swing nearly knocked me over.
The impact was thunderous. The Rat Wall held for a split second—long enough to redirect the momentum of the swing away from my skull—but the force was immense. Six rats were sent flying, stunned or broken, as the stone floor cracked beneath the blow. It didn't kill the whole swarm, but I felt a sharp, sympathetic sting in my mind as the connection with them flickered. It was a reminder that my defense had limits.
I scrambled to my feet, my palms scraping against the gritty floor. "Rat Enhanced Strike!"
I grabbed a rat in my right hand, feeling its body harden into a living stone. I lunged while the goblin was recovering from its heavy swing, burying my fist into its ribs.
Crack.
The goblin grunted, stumbling back, but it was far tougher than the scavengers. It swung a massive arm in a backhand, catching me across the shoulder. I felt my collarbone scream in protest as I was sent sprawling across the dusty floor. I coughed, dragging myself up as my vision swam. The goblin was already adjusting its grip, the heavy club scraping against the concrete as it prepared to finish the job.
"Distraction!" I commanded, my voice hoarse.
The remaining rats swarmed the goblin's legs, biting at its ankles. It roared in frustration, swinging the club wildly at its own feet to clear them off. That was the opening. I knew I only had one shot left before my energy and my swarm gave out completely.
I didn't have many options left. I reached out, pulling the last of my concentration to form that jagged, experimental shape I'd been visualizing.
"Rat Blade!"
Ten rats leaped toward my arm, locking together to form that serrated, vibrating edge. It felt unstable—raw and draining—but I drove the point straight into the goblin's solar plexus. The creature gasped, its eyes bulging as it looked down at the living weapon buried in its chest. I twisted the blade, feeling the rats tear into the muscle, until the brute finally slumped forward, the heavy club clattering to the ground.
I stood there trembling as the notification pinged. I had won, but I was down to twelve able-bodied rats. My shoulder was throbbing, and the realization hit me: if I didn't find a way to replenish my swarm or increase my mastery, I wouldn't make it to the end of this Gate.