The World's First Dungeon Vs Zane

Max's spine trembled when the first scream tore through the air.

It started somewhere near the back of the crowd—a high, ragged sound that sliced through the chatter and froze everyone where they stood.

For one breathless moment, the world went silent again.
The kind of silence that hurt to listen to.

Then came the second scream—louder, closer—and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Kaitlyn's hand found Max's again, this time without thinking.
"Max," she whispered, voice trembling, "something's wrong."

The crowd was breaking. People near the back began to scatter, shoving and stumbling over one another as they fled. Max couldn't see what they were running from—not from where he stood near the stage. He pulled at Kaitlyn's arm, trying to drag her toward their parents, but froze when he saw his mother's face.

Fear. Real fear.
Not the kind she used to fake when he did something reckless—this was raw, shaking dread.

Max felt warm wetness down his leg before he even realised what he'd done. He couldn't look away as his mother turned to his father, shouting something he couldn't hear over the growing panic. Both of them began swiping at the air in front of them, fingers moving fast.

It took his brain a moment to catch up.
They're spending their points.

She had told everyone not to spend them—not until they understood what they did. So why now?

Max's mind spun, trying to grab onto something solid. Why didn't he or Kaitlyn have the blue screens? His friend David had gotten one. Was it age? Luck? Something else? The thought made his chest feel tight.

By the time he focused again, his parents were off the stage and rushing toward them. Kaitlyn's grip tightened around his hand, her other hand shading her eyes as she tried to see what was happening beyond the panicking crowd.

"Okay!" his father, Liam, bellowed. His voice carried like thunder, somehow cutting through the chaos. "You all heard us! Grab something you can use as a real weapon and GROUP UP!"

People obeyed instinctively. The front few rows tore apart the stage scaffolding, wrenching loose steel poles and broken planks. Someone tossed one toward Max's mother, who caught it easily and snapped it where there was a plastic join, getting a two-foot section free.

"Take this," she said, pressing the cold metal bar into Max's shaking hand. "Stay beside us. We're heading for the Riders' property—now."

Max nodded dumbly, still clutching the improvised weapon. His heart hammered as the crowd surged around him, people shouting names, crying, running.

Then the front of the crowd split apart—and Max saw why.

It stood a hundred metres away, lit by a noonday sun ray that was coming through the now cloudy sky: a hulking, green-skinned figure with arms like tree trunks and eyes that glowed dull orange. It roared, the sound thick and wet in its throat, and swung a crude wooden club.

The club connected with a man trying to run—Ian, the baker's assistant—and his skull crumpled like paper. He dropped without a sound.

Max's mind went white.
He's dead. Ian's dead. Just like that.

The thing turned toward them, drool hanging from its fanged mouth.
Someone screamed again, and this time, Max joined them.

___________________________________________________________________

Tarni kept an easy jog, matching his pace so Barry could keep up as they made their way toward the twins' birthday party. The late afternoon air was warm, cicadas buzzing lazily in the trees, and for a moment it almost felt like any other day.

Then he heard it.

A scream—distant, faint, but sharp enough to freeze the air in his lungs. He slowed, head snapping toward the sound.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, voice low and alert.

Barry, a few paces behind, was bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he shook his head. "No—I didn't hear anything," he managed between gulps of air.

Tarni frowned, scanning the treeline. Maybe it was his imagination. The wind? A bird? But before he could convince himself, a second scream echoed faintly through the hills, raw with pain.

That settled it.

He turned to Barry, who was still struggling to catch his breath. "Sorry, mate," Tarni said, already adjusting his bag strap. "I'm going to need to leave you here. Try to catch up as soon as you can."

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Barry's head shot up, eyes wide with panic. "What? Wait—where are you going?"

Tarni pointed toward the ridge, his expression hardening. "There are people in trouble, just over that valley. I'm going ahead to help. Catch up when you can!"

And before Barry could argue, Tarni was gone—feet pounding against the dirt, his stride lengthening until he was little more than a blur between the trees.

Barry stared after him, heart hammering. "Bloody hell…" he muttered. "Was he even human ?"

In the distance, another scream tore through the valley, one that Barry definitely heard. He also started to run.

_____________________________________________

Max's legs were shaking so badly he thought they might give out.
Why weren't they running?
Why was everyone just standing here—backs pressed to the torn-up stage, makeshift weapons in their hands, eyes darting between the monsters closing in?

Then he understood.
There wasn't anywhere safe to run.

The creatures weren't just in front of them anymore—they were coming from both sides. At least half a dozen of them, green-skinned and snarling, with jagged blades and twisted faces. Goblins? His brain supplied the word, desperate to make sense of the impossible.

His dad's voice cut through the noise. "GROUPS OF FIVE! STAY TOGETHER! COVER EACH OTHER!"

Max turned and saw his father—Liam—already at work, somehow keeping his head while everyone else panicked. He'd found one of the old trestle tables from the food stall and had ripped it in half, turning one section into a makeshift shield big enough to cover his upper body. He needed both hands to hold it, but it looked solid.

Max blinked. His vision wavered for a moment, and when he focused again, his mother was moving—faster than she should've been able to. Too fast. He couldn't tell if it was adrenaline, skill, or something the System had given her.

And then the first one came.

A smaller goblin—barely chest-high but wiry and fast—broke through the line of fleeing people, shrieking as it charged. Its knife flashed once in the sun before it lunged.

Liam didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, swinging the heavy table shield with both arms. The flat wood caught the goblin square in the face with a crack, stopping its charge cold. The creature reeled backward, dazed and off-balance.

Before Max could even process what had happened, his mum was there. She moved in close, faster than he could follow, and drove her own metal pole into the goblin's temple. Once. Twice. Three times. The blows landed with sickening, meaty thuds, and the creature dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. The world seemed to hold its breath.

Then someone screamed again—this time in defiance—and the spell broke.

The goblins were swarming.

Then the battle began in earnest.

What had started as screaming chaos turned into something grim and violent. Most of the townspeople had listened to Liam and Emma, clumping into groups, fighting in twos and threes. They learned fast. For every human that went down, five goblins died under steel pipes, tent poles, and shattered planks of wood.

Max couldn't remember when he stopped shaking. Somewhere between the second and third kill, the terror blurred into something colder—focus, maybe. Kaitlyn stayed beside him, knife flashing in short, quick stabs. Their mother moved like she'd been fighting her whole life, a three-foot steel pipe gripped tight in both hands, every swing ending in a crunch.

But then a shadow moved at the edge of the clearing.

The Hobgoblin.

It was easily twice the size of the smaller ones, its hide a dark, leathery green, muscles like bunched rope beneath the skin. Its weapon wasn't a club—it was a tree trunk stripped of branches. And its eyes locked straight onto the largest cluster of movement.

The kids.

Max barely had time to think before the thing bellowed, a sound that made his bones vibrate. It charged, the ground shaking under its steps.

"SHIELDS UP!" Liam roared, planting his feet and raising the torn table section like it weighed nothing. The other adults followed his lead, forming a loose half-circle between the monster and the children.

The Hobgoblin hit like a truck.

Liam took the first blow head-on, the massive club slamming into the shield. The impact drove him backward three meters, boots gouging trenches in the dirt. The table split down the middle but didn't completely shatter. He braced again, teeth bared, holding the line.

Emma darted to his right, slamming the pipe into the Hobgoblin's knee with a sound like splitting wood. The creature snarled and backhanded her, but she ducked low, the blow grazing her shoulder.

"MAX! LEFT SIDE!" she shouted.

Max obeyed before thinking. He and Kaitlyn moved together, striking at its calf and thigh. The thing barely noticed—but it noticed them. It turned its head, mouth curling into a grin full of broken teeth.

Liam saw the shift. "HEY! OVER HERE, YOU BASTARD!" he yelled, slamming his shield into the creature's shin again. The Hobgoblin swung its tree-trunk weapon in answer.

It connected.

The shield shattered. Liam was thrown through the air, landing hard on his back with a dull, sickening thud.

"DAD!" Max screamed, rushing forward.

But before he could reach him, Emma's roar cut through the chaos. She didn't hesitate. She grabbed the fallen half of the table, slamming it up and between the Hobgoblin's legs, making the Hobgoblin bellow and fall to its knees in pain that only a male could know, giving Emma the opportunity to swing her pipe straight into its face like she was hitting a home run at a baseball game.

The blow cracked its jaw. Blood—black and thick—splattered across the dirt. The creature stumbled back to it feet, blinking in confusion.

"NOW!" Emma shouted.

Everyone surged forward.

Max swung his pipe with both hands, Kaitlyn stabbing furiously at its side. Another man drove a length of scaffolding through its ribs. The Hobgoblin howled, rearing back for one last, desperate swing—
—and Emma drove the steel pipe up through its open mouth with every ounce of strength she had left.

The creature jerked, twitched once, then fell like a felled tree. The ground shook as its body hit the earth.

Silence.

Then, slowly, the noise returned—ragged breathing, sobs, the sound of people realising they were still alive.

The remaining goblins shrieked and ran off back into the surrounding bush.

Emma dropped the pipe, stumbling toward Liam's motionless form. "Liam… Liam, stay with me," she whispered, her hands already slick with blood as she pressed them against the wound in his side, more blood leaking out of his ears and mouth

Max knelt beside her, tears blurring his vision. Kaitlyn clutched his arm, too shocked to cry.

Around them, the survivors stared at the fallen Hobgoblin, the impossible creature lying dead at their feet.

They had won.
But at a cost.