They ate a quick breakfast of leftover stew and a bit of hard cheese and broke camp quietly, as they all wanted to leave behind the haunting scene of a massacre they had been too late to stop.

  By the time the sun had risen above the horizon haze, they were on the move again.

  Nick walked near the middle of the column, with the Shard hovering at his shoulder in its default position. He stretched his senses in every direction, warier now that they were getting close to the dungeon’s border.

  Two hours in, he found what he’d been looking for.

  It wasn’t anything visible at first. The sky remained stubbornly clear, and the grass continued to sway in the breeze, but the mana in the air grew noticeably thicker, enough to create a constant, low thrum, and obfuscate his senses beyond the first few hundred feet.

  “Raphael,” he said quietly.

  “I feel it,” Raphael replied, not slowing his stride. “We crossed the boundary.”

  A notification chimed.

  So, there is a feral god behind this, after all. I already suspected it, but it’s good to get confirmation. But that raises the question: Is every dungeon connected to something like that, or am I just uncovering all the ones that are?

  He wasn’t sure, though he suspected the former was more likely. It wasn’t mentioned in Roberta’s Diary, his first valuable discovery in this world, but the ancient druid mainly focused on the effects on the local mana flow, not on metaphysical mechanics.

  The domain pressed against the edges of his thoughts, a faint memory of hunting, blood on the wind, the urge to run and howl, but it slipped off the cold, smooth surface of [Blasphemy].

  Fortunately, the others didn’t appear to be affected by it, although they became tenser.

  The first sign of trouble came ten minutes later.

  “We’ve got contact,” he said, slowing. “About a mile to the southeast.”

  Raphael raised a hand, and the column stopped. “What kind?”

  A wild surge of hunger and aggression pushed through the mana haze, low and tumultuous. About a hundred signatures, possibly more, advanced in a loose formation towards them, though they hadn't yet picked up their scent.

  “Goblins,” he said. “And hobgoblins, and a whole lot of them.”

  Monte swore softly. “A warband?”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah, and they have something bigger following at the back.”

  Raphael was already scanning the terrain. “We won’t outrun them,” he decided. “And I don’t fancy fighting an open battle.”

  He pointed toward a small hill ahead, where the ground gently curved upward, forming a shallow hollow behind it, with several large stones scattered by ancient geological forces.

  “There,” he said. “We’ll set up a defensive line behind the rise.”

  The hill was small, even compared to the northern grassland, just a modest bump in the savannah, but it was better than nothing. Behind it, the hollow offered some cover, with a few waist-high boulders to use as anchors. Tall grass swayed around them, but it could be flattened or burned if necessary.

  Willow went to work, and soon a translucent dome snapped into place just ahead of the hill, cupping over them like an invisible shell. Layers of thinner barriers formed in staggered patterns behind it, ready to take over if the first failed.

  It was a good setup, but Nick could now sense that two Grumblers were lumbering their way from the back of the goblin horde, so he planted the Shard’s butt into the earth.

  “[Crest of the Thunderbird],” he whispered.

  Golden light radiated from the orb in a sweeping wave, rising in a wide curve. A stylized thunderbird's shape spread its wings above them, gleaming with restrained power, and formed into a dome that overlapped Willow’s wards.

  The Shard hummed with satisfaction as the spell anchored into space itself, absorbing the dungeon’s ambient mana and integrating it into the shield’s structure.

  Everyone inside shivered as a faint static crawled over their exposed skin, but soon relaxed as the Crest’s protective weight settled in.

  “That feels different,” Monte said, flexing his fingers.

  “It does its job,” Nick shrugged, severely understating the power of his magic.

  Behind them, Lina set palm-sized clay disks into the ground at intervals, murmuring activation glyphs. “Step on these and lose a limb,” she said cheerfully.

  Mikel placed invisible pressure mines further out, calibrated to explode at the slightest non-human presence. Joran flicked beads of condensed green fire onto carefully marked points, embedding them into the soil like seeds.

  On the flanks, Yvonne and Malik dug shallow firing steps behind the boulders, while Monte and Terence ensured they could quickly run in and out of the defensive position without getting caught in the traps.

  Nick ignored them and focused upward.

  [One With the Storm] was elegant, flexible, and deeply satisfying on a primal level. Here, under a feral god’s domain, wielding it felt both easier and harder.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The domain favored hunting, chaos, and blood. Storms fit that theme well enough, but it also didn’t like the foreign will infringing on its territory.

  “Too bad,” Nick murmured, lifting the staff.

  He reached upward, feeling the layers of air above him. Heat from the savannah rose in waves, while cooler air currents flowed down from higher altitudes. Light wisps of moisture floated by, solitary and dispersed, not yet forming into clouds.

  He called to them, and the Shard steadied his reach, extending his senses higher than he could normally manage. Threads of mana connected him to invisible vapor, and he tugged, coaxing it together.

  Clouds gradually formed, starting as mere smudges of gray against the blue sky, then expanding and coming together to create a single wide blanket.

  The light dimmed beneath their cover.

  Wind came next. He skillfully created pressure gradients, drawing air from high to low, circling it around the humped rise so that any approach would face a headwind. The grass around them bent, rippling in a wild pattern.

  Electricity arrived last. He seeded the growing clouds with charge, encouraging friction, and building potential. The air grew heavy, and the fine hairs on his arms stood up, while the Shard acted as both a lightning rod and a capacitor, its crystal orb flickering with sparks.

  Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, like a giant clearing its throat.

  The Dungeon’s mana pushed back again, dissatisfied with the intrusion, but this far from the core, it lacked the cohesive will to fight him and could only limit his reach.

  I’m not here to kill you, Nick thought dryly, just let me play with your toys a bit.

  “Here they come,” Raphael said quietly.

  Nick opened his eyes and looked down, just as the horde crested a distant hill like a dark wave.

  Goblins in crude leather and scavenged pieces of armor jostled and yipped, some on foot, a few riding mangy, too-thin hounds. Hobgoblins moved among them, taller and broader, trying with limited success to maintain some order.

  In the back, the huge forms of the Grumblers lumbered along.

  They were unmistakable even from a distance; hunched, barrel-chested humanoids with thick, gray hides and oversized, jutting jaws.

  “Do you have a count?” Raphael asked.

  “Hundred and twenty-three goblins and hobs,” Nick counted. “Two Grumblers. Of the goblins, maybe twenty are worth paying attention to. The Hobs are a bit stronger, and I sense at least five with decent mana reserves.”

  “Lovely,” Monte muttered. “We’ve been given a proper welcoming committee.”

  “They’re spreading out,” Willow reported, voice taut. “Nicholas?”

  “I’ve got the first wave,” he said.

  “Alright,” Raphael said softly. “Remember, no heroics. Let them come to us. Nicholas will thin them. Yvonne, Malik, Monte, Terence; any that make it through, you must cut down. Apprentices, our priority is to keep them away.”

  The goblins started running, their grouping turning into a chaotic wave. A few, more alert than their peers, stayed back, guiding the others ahead as cannon fodder and observing their reactions.

  They reached the edge of the trap field, and clay disks burst beneath their feet, transforming into earthen arms that grabbed their ankles and yanked. The first goblins face-planted, and others tripped over them, triggering a chain of wordless curses and shrieks.

  Mikel’s invisible mines popped next, collapsing joints and sending legs buckling as bones imploded inward.

  Joran’s buried fire-beads exploded as goblins found them, sending green flames shooting up in pillars that left charred bodies crumpled in the grass.

  Despite the initial chaos, their sheer numbers pushed the mob onward. They clawed, scrambled, and sometimes trampled over the fallen, but the first arrows and javelins started to arc toward the hill.

  Nick took a breath, feeling the storm above reach critical mass, and lashed out.

  A gust of wind slammed into the front ranks, noticeable only by the goblins staggering, their advance slowing as they leaned into the force. Dust and loose grass ripped up, stinging exposed skin and eyes.

  Another one followed, angled differently, catching projectiles in mid-flight and directing them off-course. A glowing spear that would have clanged against Willow’s outer ward instead whistled harmlessly past, embedding itself in the dirt far to the side.

  The horde howled and kept pressing forward, and Nick lifted the Shard.

  The first bolt hit a hobgoblin who had climbed onto a rock to shout encouragement, turning him into a twitching wreck that fell backward, bringing two goblins down with him.

  Thunder followed after a moment, too late to warn them of the danger.

  The second bolt split mid-strike to arc across the line of goblins holding crude metal shields. Electricity leapt from one to the next, using rusted iron and damp leather as a path.

  Five goblins fell all at once, their few hairs standing on end as smoke curled from their nostrils and mouths.

  The sky darkened, and rain poured over a hundred-yard stretch in front of the hill, quickly soaking the goblins. Their cloaks clung to their skin, their hair hung limply, and mud tugged at their feet.

  The next bolt turned that strip into a killing field, as it zapped across soaked bodies, through puddles, up metal spear tips, and down onto sword blades. Goblins convulsed and died in clusters, as lightning flickered between them in a creepy spiderweb pattern.

  Nick had never really leaned hard into water-element manipulation before, but thanks to [One with the Storm], it wasn’t difficult, so he kept battering at the horde, keeping them at bay.

  However, not everything was going smoothly. Five brighter signatures among the hobgoblins chanted despite the chaos, their voices rising in harsh, warbling cries. Their hands traced jagged symbols in the air, leaving trails of sickly light.

  Nick felt their spells forming as they tugged at the fear and excitement in their own horde, shaping it into crude weapons. Spears of malice, waves of nausea, and snapping phantasmal jaws formed.

  They use spiritual derivatives to power their spells. It’s crude, but likely more effective than anything else they could try against mages.

  The initial surge of their magic hit Willow’s front ward like a swarm, and the barrier trembled, its opalescent surface rippling as if being chewed.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Willow hissed through gritted teeth, pouring more mana in.

  Then the second wave hit, and this time, the Crest flared up too.

  The stylized thunderbird’s wings glowed brighter, with gold lines streaking across the shield. The hobgoblins’ spells scraped against it, trying to take hold, but the Crest simply absorbed them and released what it couldn’t as harmless static in the ether.

  For a moment, Nick was tempted to engage in a spiritual battle, but he wasn’t sure how the dungeon would react, so he stuck with the old-fashioned methods.

  He swung the Shard, and a bolt of lightning struck the first shaman, killing him instantly.

  Joran’s green fire found another one, arcing through the chaos to land on an open palm, and flames erupted up the arm, racing inward, and devouring flesh.

  Raphael ended a third, his invisible planes of spatial magic breaking the hob’s upper body into three neat, tumbling pieces before the half-formed spell could take effect.

  The remaining two shrieked and unleashed everything in one final attack.

  The air in front of the ward twisted as their combined malice took shape into ghostly claws, and the echo of a thousand goblin voices howling for blood reverberated.

  They hit the crest and broke, the backlash staggering them. For a moment, their minds faltered, and a gust of wind pushed them forward, off-balance.

  “Yvonne!” Nick shouted.

  She didn’t need more.

  She vaulted over the low edge of the rise in a blur, used a stunned goblin as a springboard, and sliced through both hobgoblins with a diagonal strike. Heads flew, and she landed in a crouch before quickly ducking behind the ward as the storm of arrows and stones resumed.

  Still, the horde kept coming. Numbers mattered, and for every goblin that tripped or was fried, two more scrambled over.

  Soon, they reached the primary ward, crashing into the invisible barrier in a flurry of claws and blades. The shield pulsed with each impact, Willow’s jaw tightening as she fed it.

  “They aren’t getting through that,” Malik gasped, more to reassure himself than anything.

  The two giants who had stayed at the back so far seemed to take that as a challenge. With their shamans gone and the front line bottlenecked at the ward, they lumbered forward, sweeping aside goblins when they didn’t move fast enough.

  The first stopped twenty yards from the ward, planted its feet, and opened its massive mouth.

  The sound that emerged was a pressure wave that made Nick’s eyes water, before it shifted into normal human hearing, like a brutal mix of a roar and a drumbeat.

  It struck Willow’s front ward like a physical blow, and the barrier flashed, cracked, and shattered, shards of light flying outward before dissolving.

  Willow cried out, hands snapping back as feedback burned her channels. She clenched her jaw and immediately tried to reroute power into the secondary lattice.

  The second Grumbler unleashed its own roar, slightly out of sync with the first. The overlapping sound waves formed a disturbing interference pattern that crawled across Nick’s skin like ants.

  The secondary wards also shuddered, yet [Crest of the Thunderbird] flared up, its golden lines blazing as it absorbed the sonic assault.

  Sound became visible as the ripples hit the shimmering dome. Gritting his teeth, Nick pushed back.

  Static roared through the barrier, and golden sparks traced the outlines of invisible feathers. The Grumblers’ sound crashed, broke, and faded into the ground as vibrations.

  The goblins, emboldened by the collapse of the first ward, had reached striking distance.

  Claws and weapons reached the golden boundary and skittered away, leaving only faint ripples. The smarter ones tried to climb each other, forming unstable towers, only to be knocked down by sudden gusts.

  The Grumblers took another step forward, preparing for a second assault, and Nick’s patience snapped.

  “Enough,” he roared, and let the storm off its leash.

  45+ chapters: