Miquella descended onto a low platform and from there reached the floor of a vast cavern. The space was wide, with multiple entrances and tunnels opening like the jaws of a beast. But there was no real exit: at every access point waited goblins or cave trolls, blocking any attempt at escape.
As he turned, he saw him. The Goblin King had arrived, his immense bulk closing off the only opening large enough not to be sealed by the mob. There was no way out anymore.
"Your options are over, kid," he growled with a malicious smile, panting with rage. Being forced to run so much enraged him, though the gift of his master kept him strong, he could still feel the exhaustion.
The monster raised his club and struck it against the ground. Stone cracked with a muffled burst, and the entire cavern quaked from the impact.
Miquella's eyes fixed on the trunk and the metal band around its end. He already suspected it: that strange power, that strength beyond the natural, did not come from the Goblin King himself, but from that corrupted piece that glowed with red sparks in every fissure. The rest was just rough wood.
There weren't many options. Torrent could not escape without being overtaken by the goblin tide, but the cavern's open space at least allowed him to circle, to dodge, to buy time… just enough until reinforcements arrived.
With staff and seal in hand, Miquella summoned a colossal sword of pure energy. The blade shone with a bluish-white glow and, in contrast, looked absurd: a child mounted on a steed wielding a weapon larger than both of them together. But it was his only choice. It carried no real weight, which allowed him to swing it without tiring; moreover, it was the only magic he could sustain continuously. Casting powerful spells was too costly—he would burn through his energy in minutes, and he could not afford that.
He also activated the power of his ring. He didn't know how effective it would be, but he set it to absorb on a large scale. At first, only a whisper: diffuse energy from the air, echoes of distant corpses. Ineffective over long distances… though unknowingly, he had made the best decision. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the energy of fallen goblins from other caverns began to seep into him. It was a weak but steady current.
Around him, the goblins sensed a strange unease. They couldn't name it, but it was as if something were stealing seconds of their lives. Even the rock itself began to yield a trace of its essence, though it would take an eternity to truly weaken it. The real risk was another: if he didn't control the flow precisely, the ring could turn against him and start consuming his own life force.
Miquella knew it. And even so, he couldn't stop.
The arena was set, the circle closed, and the Goblin King advanced with the certainty of one who knows his prey has nowhere left to run
...
Meanwhile, dwarves and Eldens rushed along the different platforms, fleeing hordes of goblins and toppling others along the way. With cunning, the company managed to divert, make use of the place's mechanisms, and carve a path forward—whether by cutting chains or destroying walkways to halt their pursuers.
The skill of the thirteen dwarves became evident: each felled more goblins than could be counted. The Eldens, in contrast, advanced like an unstoppable machine, though with a different goal. While the dwarves sought to reach a safe zone, the Eldens pressed toward where they believed their lord to be, determined to aid him even if the path was impossible.
Thiollier and Moore were key in that advance. The first scattered his poisonous creations over clusters of enemies, weakening dozens, while his companions shielded him. Moore, in turn, marched like a living tank, pushing forward with his shield, clearing paths across bridges, and hurling goblins into the void with brute strength.
Obstacles were not lacking: trolls hurled stones from afar or blocked the way. But then came Filian and Kilian, skilled archers, alongside Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, who wielded runes of troll power. The Eldens had Freya and Hornsent, who pressed forward with fixed intent on cutting down those giants so they could not hinder their passage.
Spiders were another problem: fast, silent, difficult to detect, and bearing deadly venom. Luckily, they were few, and their riders even fewer, which kept the battle from becoming overly complex.
At a certain point, dwarves and Eldens were separated so far there was no clear path to reunite. Thorin, with Orcrist gleaming in his hand and slicing goblins like a blade through a mill of flesh, noticed with frustration.
"Keep moving forward, we'll find a way to regroup!" he roared, leading his kin through the wooden and iron corridors.
But misfortune caught them. They reached a different platform, where the goblin who had first sent them to see the king awaited. He watched with a malicious grin, his hand resting on what looked like a crude lever. As soon as they arrived, he yanked it down.
Immediately, the platform lost support on one end and tipped. The dwarves slipped and fell amid splintered planks to a stone floor. The fall wasn't long, and the toughness of their bodies spared them serious injury, but the goblin's laughter from above made clear something was wrong.
Then they heard it: dragging footsteps, echoes from the depths of the cave. Looking up, they saw humanoid silhouettes stumbling toward them. As they neared, the light revealed the horror. Goblins—but not living ones: bodies with missing parts, rotting flesh, exposed bones… a nauseating stench worse than the usual cave stench filled the air.
There was no doubt. The dwarves had fallen into a trap: they were in the pit where goblin corpses were thrown, now defiled and returned to unlife by the power of the black root.
...
Miquella was having a hard time. With Torrent handling all movement and dodging, the demigod only needed to focus on swinging the great magic sword against the Goblin King… but that was easier said than done. Despite his obese and grotesque appearance, the monster moved with terrifying agility, deflecting attacks and countering with brute force impossible to underestimate.
Aware of the source of his power, Miquella tried several times to cut the trunk where the metal band was embedded, hoping to nullify the monster's strength. However, the magic of the band itself seemed to reinforce the wood: every clash of club against sword ended not in fracture but in a collision that repelled both, bursting sparks and waves of energy.
"You look tired… boy," the Goblin King panted, though without any sign the battle would end soon.
Until then, the goblins, trolls, and spiders nearby had remained expectant, watching their sovereign's duel. But with a simple signal from him, they began to move: bows drawn, stones readied in trolls' hands, a tightening circle around the demigod. The space to maneuver shrank with every moment.
Miquella's eyes darted in all directions, his mind working at full speed to devise a countermeasure.
His ring had been absorbing energy without rest, becoming a vortex growing stronger with each passing second.
Even the goblin army's creatures seemed weaker, and the corpses around decomposed at an unnatural pace, as if the very air was being drained of life. The power amassed was vast, immeasurable. He felt it pulsing within him, ready to erupt in a spell capable of obliterating everything.
But therein lay the dilemma: to unleash such magic, he would need to release a force that might consume him as well, and in an enclosed space the devastation could rebound upon them all. Worse still: what if the Goblin King's enchanted club could counter it?
Trapped in that crossroads, the tension suddenly broke with a crash. From above, a platform gave way, and onto part of the goblin horde fell the Eldens, like a lightning bolt tearing through the darkness.
"For Miquella!" shouted Leda, throwing herself into the fight and rousing her companions. The slaughter began in an instant, and the goblin army's attention split at the most critical moment.
The Goblin King glanced briefly toward the newcomers, but didn't seem concerned: his hordes could deal with them. A troll, eager to prove it, lifted a stone over his head to smash the Eldens. Yet before he could hurl it, a blinding white light engulfed him and sent him flying, crashing down onto a group of goblins.
Behind the fallen troll appeared Gandalf, staff raised high, radiating a brilliance that cut through the cavern's gloom. His arrival was heroic, though his appearance far from majestic: tattered robes, blood staining his skin, wounds making him look worse than a beggar. But his eyes burned with resolve, and sword in hand he carved a path to the cavern's center, where Miquella stood.
"So… one blow wasn't enough," growled the Goblin King, unshaken in his arrogance.
No time for more. A collective war cry erupted:
"AAAARGHHH!!!"
The dwarves burst into the arena, battered but unbroken. Three of them carried a massive log as a battering ram, charging at the goblin giant. With a violent swing of his club, the king sent them and their improvised weapon flying, toppling them. He turned triumphant… and in that instant, sensed something coming.
He spun again and swung a horizontal blow with all his might, but missed: Torrent leapt nimbly over the weapon and its wielder, once again mocking the colossus. The Goblin King roared with fury, tired of being humiliated by the steed. He saw it charge head-on, as if to gore him, and struck down with a devastating blow.
The club hurtled toward Torrent, but before it could strike, the horse vanished.
Miquella had slipped from his mount before impact. Now, with palms on the ground, he unleashed a surge of energy. The Goblin King, still reeling from the inertia of his own attack, barely noticed the rock beneath his feet heating and cracking.
Not far away, Gandalf reached the arena's center and, with a leap beyond human limits, soared high above Miquella and the king.
Like a volcanic eruption, a burst of flames exploded beneath the Goblin King, launching him several meters into the air. Mid-ascent, the wizard intercepted him from above.
On the fall, Gandalf swung Glamdring and drove it through the stunned colossus, sinking the blade mercilessly. With his other hand, he pressed his staff to the creature's chest and released a blinding white light. The impact was brutal: the Goblin King was hurled like a projectile into the ground, crashing with a force that shook the entire cavern.
The club slipped from his hand as he fell. Deprived of the energy that sustained him, his gigantic body collapsed, shattered by the combination of wounds, overload, and the loss of borrowed power. He may even have died before striking the floor.
The battle in the cavern's center was at last over, though heavy with the ragged breaths of Gandalf and Miquella, who could barely stand. Without words, both turned their gaze toward the fallen club.
On the ground, the metal band encircling it pulsed with ever-weaker sparks. A few seconds after the Goblin King's death, it began to fracture, until it shattered into countless fragments that scattered across the place. The glow it once exuded vanished in an instant, leaving behind nothing but ordinary metal.
A faint shockwave rippled through the cavern, so subtle only a few perceived it… like a whisper, a final warning that the object had truly been destroyed.