Max stayed motionless in the shadows, pressed tight against one of the massive stone pillars. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, but his breathing stayed steady, slow, controlled. Across the cavern, the goblin council bickered in low, guttural growls that rolled through the chamber like echoes of thunder. Their massive bodies shifted in the dim firelight, each silhouette dwarfing any goblin Max had fought before. They were hulking things, broad-shouldered, tusked, with muscles straining under dark leather armor. Hobgoblins, most likely—though judging by their sheer presence, they might have been something more.

  Five of them.

  Max had handled five-on-one fights before. Rats, goblins, even patrols. He’d learned how to use the shadows, how to outmaneuver and outthink enemies stronger than him. But these weren’t rats. These weren’t simple goblins with crude knives and patchwork armor. These were leaders, generals, monsters in their own right. If he went in head-on, he’d be lucky to kill one before the rest tore him apart.

  He flexed his fingers and, with a thought, summoned his staff from the Ring of Storage. The sapphire embedded in the ring glowed faintly as the weapon materialized in his palm. The familiar weight settled against his grip, the wood humming with arcane energy. It grounded him, reminded him he wasn’t defenseless—but that comfort didn’t lessen the reality. He couldn’t win a straight fight here.

  Not against five of them.

  His gaze drifted upward. The cavern ceiling arched high overhead, a patchwork of cracked stone and ancient support. He could see where thin streams of smoke slipped through fractures in the rock, disappearing into darkness instead of pooling in the chamber. The whole ceiling was unstable. It reminded him of the cliff where he’d slain the Beast. He didn’t need to kill the council one by one. He could bury them all at once.

  The thought made his pulse quicken.

  “It worked once before,” he whispered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “Why not now?”

  A rustle of movement pulled his attention. Ben crept behind him, crouched low in the shadows of the pillar. The smaller goblin’s eyes darted to Max, then back to the hulking figures around the table, wide with fear.

  “I need you to make a distraction,” Max murmured, sliding a crude dagger into Ben’s trembling hand.

  Ben’s expression twisted in disbelief. “Are you insane? You want me to get their attention?”

  “Not for long.” Max’s voice was steady, calm. “Thirty seconds. That’s all I need. You don’t even have to fight—just make them look the other way. Give me that time, and I’ll bring the ceiling down on their heads.”

  Ben swallowed hard, the dagger shaking slightly in his grip. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again in a muttered, “You’ll get me killed.”

  Max’s eyes locked on his. “No. I’ll get us both killed if you don’t do this. Trust me.”

  Silence stretched between them, broken only by the low growls of the council’s conversation echoing through the cavern. Finally, Ben gave a stiff, reluctant nod and began creeping along the line of pillars, one at a time, moving in the opposite direction.

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  Every second stretched thin as wire. Max watched, holding his breath, as Ben edged forward. The shaman-like goblin at the table turned suddenly to spit, and Max’s stomach dropped when Ben chose the same moment to cross to the next pillar. For a heartbeat the goblin’s gaze swept the shadows—but it passed on, oblivious.

  Fifteen agonizing minutes passed before Ben was in position. By then Max’s jaw ached from how tightly he clenched it. One mistake, one slip, and their plan would be over before it began.

  At last, Max raised his hand, signaling.

  Ben hurled the dagger.

  The clang of steel on stone echoed like a thunderclap through the cavern. The blade spun across the floor, bouncing and sliding until it came to rest halfway to the council’s table.

  The reaction was instant. Conversation stopped. One of the leaders shoved back his chair, snarling. Others reached for their weapons, tension crackling like a drawn bowstring. But when no enemy revealed itself, their motions faltered.

  The largest of them—towering, broad, his tusks gleaming in the firelight—rose slowly to his feet. His presence filled the chamber like a storm front rolling in. He barked an order, low and harsh, gesturing toward the dagger. His underlings spread out, scanning the shadows.

  But they were already too late.

  Max had begun channeling the moment the dagger clanged against the floor. Mana surged from his core like a tidal wave, flooding into his palm and condensing into a swirling sphere of fire. The staff amplified it, arcane channels glowing faintly as they guided the energy into form.

  At ten seconds, the fireball was the size of a melon, its heat scorching the air around his hand. Sweat trickled down his temple. He didn’t stop.

  At fifteen seconds, it swelled to the size of a man’s chest, the surface roiling with sparks of molten flame. His arm trembled with the strain, teeth grit hard enough to ache.

  By twenty seconds, the air around him shimmered like a desert mirage, his robe clinging to his skin with sweat. His vision wavered at the edges, black spots dancing at the corners of his sight. The spell buckled under its own weight, threatening to unravel, but he forced it to hold together.

  “Just a little more,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  At twenty-five seconds, the fireball was enormous—glowing like a newborn sun, big as a compact car. His skin screamed with heat, his muscles quivered with effort, but he held, pouring everything into this final strike.

  Then he let go.

  The fireball screamed through the air, a blazing comet that lit the cavern like daylight. It slammed into the cracked ceiling with a deafening roar.

  For a heartbeat, silence.

  Then the world came down.

  Stone groaned, split, and collapsed in an avalanche of sound. Massive boulders the size of wagons tore free and plummeted into the chamber, crushing pillars and smashing into the council’s table. Flames sputtered out under the wave of dust and rock as the ceiling ripped apart. The impact shook the cavern like an earthquake, stone splitting and collapsing in great thunderous waves.

  The leaders roared in panic, voices drowned beneath the crashing rubble. One scream cut short as a boulder crushed its source. Another was silenced by the collapse of a pillar. The chamber became chaos—stone, fire, dust, and the shrieks of the doomed.

  Max staggered back, retreating toward the entrance as dust and debris surged outward like a storm. He covered his mouth and nose with his arm, lungs burning as the air turned thick with grit. Chunks of stone rained down all around him, one smashing into the ground close enough to spray his legs with shards. He stumbled, half-blind, forcing himself to move.

  At last, the last echoes faded.

  Silence. Heavy, absolute silence.

  The chamber was no longer a council hall. It was a tomb. Broken pillars jutted like the ribs of a corpse, and the long stone table lay buried under tons of rubble. Dust hung in the air like smoke, choking, blinding.

  Max coughed, stumbling toward the cavern mouth. He leaned against the wall, chest heaving, his robe streaked gray with dust. His hands still trembled from the mana he had poured into that one devastating spell.

  He stared back into the ruin, vision blurred, but even through the haze he could see no movement. No towering silhouettes, no gleam of eyes.

  It was over.

  Max let out a long, shuddering breath, shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion and relief. His staff clattered softly as he leaned it against the stone wall beside him.

  For now, at least, the council was finished.