The ground rumbles again. Dust falls from the rough ceiling. My hammock creaks ominously. It sounds like it's thinking about giving up.
Honestly, same.
I stay exactly where I am for a long moment. Because I already know what it is.
Gorak. Gorak, the oversized angry meatball with too many teeth and not enough sense. Gorak, now pumped full of enough demonic mana to probably bite the dungeon in half if he sneezes. System already warned me last night.
[warning: local apex predator detected – aggression status elevated by demonic influence]
Yup. Still happening. Still horrible.
Splitjaw bursts into my tent without knocking. He's not even out of breath.
Which means he either ran fast or the situation is so bad even his survival instincts are caffeinated. "The ground's mad again!" I lift my head slowly. "Yes. Thank you, Captain Obvious." He brandishes both his spears. "We fight now?" "No." I swing my legs over the hammock, groaning. "First, we panic. Then we fight." He nods seriously, like this is an actual tactical doctrine.
Outside, the camp is already a mess. Moss golems are running in circles like broken wind-up toys. Seedfoot's aggressive crops are snapping at the air. Bitterstack is yelling at three different groups of kobolds to stop trying to take inventory in the middle of a tremor. Artist has duct-taped two catapults together and labeled it "Super Siege Platform" in big excited letters. If I weren't so busy dying inside, I'd almost be proud.
System pings.
[dungeon pressure accumulating] [hostile entity movements: confirmed] [major aggression source: Gorak | trajectory: direct approach]
Well, at least he's punctual.
I stomp over to the Great Rock of Authority and slam a claw against it. Emergency meeting bell engaged. Within minutes, everyone important—and some moss golems who are just here for emotional support—gathers around. I sweep my gaze over them. Splitjaw. Embergleam. Bitterstack. Artist. Stonebite. Stonealign. Seedfoot. The kid—the shaman. My people. My absolute chaotic disasters. My responsibility.
"Alright," I say, voice sharp. "Situation: Gorak is coming." Somebody whimpers in the back. I pretend I didn't hear it. "Not just Gorak, either. Dungeon pressure is spiking. That means other monsters are waking up too." Artist raises a hand. "Can I use the Super Siege Platform?" "No," I say immediately. "But—" "No!" He droops. Bitterstack scribbles something angry on a ledger. Splitjaw spins his spears idly. Seedfoot looks like he's about to cry. Stonealign is already sketching defensive lines in the dirt with a stick. The kid just stares ahead, tiny fists clenched, a faint shimmer of mana gathering around him. Good. Useful panic.
"We have maybe two days before the big stuff hits," I say. "Maybe less if we're unlucky." "Are we ever lucky?" Embergleam mutters. I ignore her.
System pings again.
[minor monster surge: 4 minutes] [prepare defensive units]
Four minutes. Four.
"Positions!" I bark. Splitjaw immediately starts shouting orders. Stonebite grabs weapons. Bitterstack grabs supply crates. Artist tries to mount a moss golem with a saddle made of rope. I decide not to watch that part. The ground is trembling harder now. First shadows dart at the camp edges. Time to see if Ashring is ready to survive—or ready to crumble. And somehow, I'm not sure which one scares me more.
The first monster hits the outer moss wall like a sack of angry rocks. The wall wobbles. The monster wobbles. Then the wall explodes sideways in a shower of soggy green and confused shrieking.
So. Not great.
Splitjaw is already moving, spears flashing, his squad of kobolds rallying behind him in something that vaguely resembles a charge. Embergleam sets one of the moss golems on fire by accident while trying to torch a charging lizard-thing. Artist screams "BETA TEST!" and launches a half-finished siege bolt that somehow ricochets into a crop field, starting a minor plant uprising. Seedfoot runs after them crying. Bitterstack shouts inventory numbers like war cries. And the kid—tiny, serious—draws strange runes in the dirt that pulse and snap like miniature shields.
It's chaos. Beautiful, horrible, exactly-what-I-expected chaos.
System pings.
[minor monster surge: underway] [estimated wave strength: 2%] [advisory: this is the easy part]
The easy part. Oh good.
I slam my claw into a charging rat-monster the size of a goat, sending it tumbling. More shadows surge out of the mist. Snarling wolves with too many legs. Slimy centipede things that drip acid. One particularly upset squirrel-like creature that tries to bite a moss golem and gets yeeted into the forge.
Through the madness, I almost miss it. One ragged figure, smaller than the monsters, staggering toward camp. At first I think it's just another thing to hit. Then I squint. Claws. Tail. Tattered tunic barely holding together. A kobold. Not just any kobold. The hoarder.
He stumbles through the fray, dodging instinctively, dragging a half-empty satchel. Half-collapses against a moss golem that doesn't even notice him. His eyes lock on mine—dull, exhausted, but still burning with something stubborn and wild. I run to him without thinking, batting away a leaping crawler on the way. He falls into my arms like a puppet with cut strings. He smells like moss, blood, and desperation.
"Camp…" he rasps. "Had… to find… the camp…" "Hey, hey, I'm here," I say, holding him steady. His claws tighten on my arm. "Not just Gorak… not just him…" "What do you mean?" His head droops lower. "Whole… dungeon… moving…"
I stiffen. System pings.
[emergency dungeon event confirmed: monster surge] [major aggression threshold: 48 hours]
Forty-eight hours. Two days. Before the real wave hits. Before Ashring is swallowed whole.
Splitjaw charges by yelling something about glorious deaths and pit traps. Embergleam rides a moss golem like a deranged warhorse. Artist's Super Siege Platform collapses under its own ambition. And I kneel in the dirt, clutching the hoarder to my chest, feeling the ground thrum with incoming doom. "We're not ready," I whisper. The mist growls back.