Rakk and Vraza's shouts rang out as they barreled through the bustling streets. "Out of the way, human!"

  "Move your fat rump, meat!"

  The siblings were on the move, heading towards the Dockside District. Their destination: Warehouse 18. Zark'thul followed behind them, flanked by Filu, Urgan, and Skitters. Their approach hadn't been stealthy, to put it mildly. The ruckus they made was anything but subtle.

  Zark'thul glanced at the local guards in their dingy armor. They gave the group wary looks but made no move to interfere. Seemed Elspeth's recommendation to don the official Northmen Traders Guild uniform had been a good one. But despite the facade of professionalism, the two goblins in front were attracting a lot of attention, their shouts drawing wary glances from passersby.

  He wouldn't hold it against them. Not now.

  In the distance, the sea glittered, a vast expanse of blue, sparkling under the bright sky. The harbor, crammed with ships, looked like a floating forest of masts and rigging. Sounds of hammering, chopping, and shouted instructions echoed in the air.

  But it was the stench that struck him the most. The port's reek of salt mixed with tar, oil, and fish was overwhelming. Zark'thul grimaced at the assault on his heightened senses. Humans must have a terrible sense of smell if they could tolerate this.

  "Why did the twins have to come along?" Filu grumbled from behind.

  She had a point. They were hardly the silent types.

  "This squad has the highest combat power, and considering our target, we need it," he replied, not taking his eyes off the road. "Besides, this might be a learning experience for them."

  "Hmph," she grunted in response, looking sideways at Skitters, who was grinning like he'd been handed a free pass.

  "It's okay, Filu," Urgan chimed in, the grin evident in his voice. "Think of it as more playtime."

  "Ho, playtime?" Filu growled.

  Urgan's laughter boomed. "Let 'em have their fun, eh? The greenskins are in their element."

  Zark'thul didn't respond but reflected on their words. He had deliberately brought this squad instead of the efficient REDLINEs for that very reason: chaos. If his suspicions were right, there'd be surprises waiting for him in the warehouse.

  And he was just the entity to welcome that challenge.

  Ahead, Rakk and Vraza had skidded to a stop, their heads craned back to look at a large sign above a pair of bulky doors, a bright, golden number '18' inscribed on it.

  "This is the place," Filu declared as they approached the twins. "Let's get in before these two decide to announce our presence to the entire district."

  Zark'thul raised a hand to halt the others as they caught up to Rakk and Vraza.

  "Not yet. We'll wait until tonight when the majority of the dockworkers have retired. Only then do we make our move."

  The sun was still high in the sky, the day far from over. Patience. It wouldn't do to barge in with too many witnesses around.

  They found themselves walking along one of the piers, surveying the bustling activity of the harbor. Large vessels, their hulls creaking and sails snapping in the wind, lined the docks, unloading their cargo onto waiting carts and wagons. Workers in stained shirts and sturdy boots milled about, carrying crates, tying ropes, and shouting orders.

  In the distance, beyond the city walls, rolling hills and farmland stretched out, shrouded in a haze of purple and brown. The midday sun bore down, its rays sparking off the sea, turning the horizon into a shimmering ribbon of light.

  As they strolled, Zark'thul couldn't help but notice the way people stared at them—Filu and Urgan towering over the rest, their orcish stature unmistakable, the twins, Rakk and Vraza, scrambling about like unruly, oversized children, Skitters with his hood pulled low, his eyes darting about like a scavenger on the hunt. He, himself, striding confidently in his tailored suit.

  He ignored it all. He was used to the attention.

  Rakk and Vraza ran ahead, climbing onto the bulwarks at the end of the pier. From their perch, they waved at the crew of a nearby ship.

  "Oi, whatcha got in yer cargo, lander?" Rakk shouted, leaning precariously over the water. Vraza laughed, grabbing Rakk's shirt to anchor him.

  "Ho, nice ship! We like!" Vraza added, pointing at the vessel's ornate figurehead.

  Zark'thul moved to pull the twins back, but Filu beat him to it.

  "Get down from there!" Filu's voice carried a hard edge of annoyance. "Now!"

  The twins glanced back with pouting faces but quickly climbed down and scurried to where the rest of the group was gathered.

  Zark'thul shook his head. One could find amusement in their antics, if they were in the mood for it. Right now, he wasn't.

  Turning his attention to the bustling harbor, Zark'thul took a moment to appreciate the spectacle. Dozens of ships, each one a different type, crowded the piers, their masts like a forest of leafless trees. Some were small, single-masted cutters designed for swift trips along the coast, while others were huge galleons with multiple decks filled with cargo.

  Judging from all that he has seen up to this point, this world's technological development wasn't very high. They were still using relatively simple machines and hadn't yet discovered many things that other worlds had long ago mastered. No guns. No trains. No automobiles. No advanced artillery or airplanes. Only sailboats, lumbering beasts that relied on the wind and muscle power.

  Magic, or the elements of it he'd witnessed thus far, seemed to serve as a substitute for much of what advanced technology would offer.

  They resumed their walk, the group drawing even more looks as they ventured deeper into the heart of the harbor.

  Vraza and Rakk slowed their pace, falling behind the others. With a conspiratorial wink, Vraza slipped away, vanishing into a stack of crates. Rakk, a smug look on his face, turned to the group. "Gotta find a place to piss. Meet ya at the other end of the harbor!"

  With that, he dashed off, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the bewildered stares that followed him. His laughter echoed behind him.

  "Wait... You can't just... Skitters, go with them," Filu growled in frustration.

  "Ho, what am I supposed to do?" Skitters protested, "Hold their hands?"

  "Just make sure they don't get into trouble," she reiterated, her gaze darting back to where the two had vanished into the crowd. "We'll meet you at the end of the harbor."

  Skitters grumbled but complied, setting off after the errant twins.

  "They're a handful, those two," Urgan commented, scratching his chin. "Still, they got spirit."

  "Hmph," Filu snorted, looking unconvinced. "If that's what you want to call it."

  Zark'thul, Filu, and Urgan had found a spot near the end of the harbor, which was quieter and less crowded than the middle. It was close to the farthest pier that was currently under construction. The sea breeze ruffled their clothes and the sound of waves gently lapping at the wooden supports of the piers filled the air.

  They sat on a crate watching the distant workers as they struggled to move large logs into place. But they didn't have to wait long. Not soon after they got settled, Skitters came jogging up, the twins hot on his heels.

  Zark'thul arched an eyebrow as he took in the state of Rakk's and Vraza's clothes. They were stained with an oily residue, and their grubby hands bore evidence of some recent escapade. But the biggest giveaway was a small, cloth-wrapped bundle tucked under Rakk's arm, which he kept glancing at with barely contained glee.

  Skitters slumped onto a nearby crate with a weary sigh. "Ya know what, boss, you gotta whip them into shape. I'm bushed chasing these two around."

  Filu and Urgan glowered, their eyes narrowing at the twins.

  "What did you do?" Filu's voice was icy.

  "Huh?" Rakk looked at her with an expression of pure innocence. "Nothing, we's good."

  "Ho, he's right, we's good. Don't fuss," Vraza chipped in.

  "Show me what you're hiding," Urgan rumbled, stepping closer.

  With a nervous giggle, Rakk extended the package in his hands towards Urgan. The orc warrior unwrapped it, revealing a collection of glittering crystals, each the size of a thumb. Their facets caught the light of the sun, throwing colorful refractions onto the ground. The quality of each crystal was clear, and Zark'thul guessed they were worth quite the sum.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Stole them," Rakk said, matter-of-factly. "Found some idiot who had no idea how to hide them properly. Got 'em from him, we did."

  Urgan shot a quick glance at Zark'thul, who shrugged, gesturing for the orc to hand the crystals over. "It's fine. We can sell these later, bring in some extra coin."

  The twins cheered, dancing on the spot.

  However, Filu's glare remained, a stark contrast to Urgan's easy acceptance.

  "This will bring unwanted attention," she stated firmly. "It's bad."

  The twins immediately sobered, avoiding Filu's stern gaze. The fact that even the boisterous Skitters averted his eyes spoke volumes about her influence over them. It was a small marvel, seeing such unruly creatures succumbing to her authoritative presence.

  She looked pointedly at Zark'thul, clearly expecting him to side with her.

  Zark'thul, however, waved it off. "Let it go. We'll go to a tavern shortly and stay there until nightfall. What's done is done."

  Vraza perked up, a grin spreading across her face. "Tavern?"

  "Hoi, can we 'ave some spirits?" Rakk asked, his eyes gleaming.

  Filu stared at Zark'thul, disapproval written all over her face. "You're encouraging them?"

  Zark'thul stood up, ready to set off. "It'll keep them entertained."

  "Ho, entertain! Hoi, we's the entertainment!" Skitters beamed. "Lead the way!"

  Night crept over the harbor, wrapping the docks in a cloak of darkness. The bustling chaos of the day subsided into a hushed murmur, with only the occasional creak of ships and lap of water to disturb the quiet. Lanterns hung at the entrances of the larger warehouses, casting pools of yellow light, while smaller, dimmer glows flickered from the windows of sailors' taverns and boarding houses.

  Warehouse 18 loomed before him, its wooden walls a patchwork of old planks and newer, more sturdy construction. The sign above the main doors was a simple, slightly faded number, the paint chipping around the edges. No guards were visible, and the warehouse showed no signs of being occupied, but Zark'thul knew better.

  Urgan and Skitters shifted to either side of the doors, the large orc putting a shoulder against one to force it open. Rakk and Vraza pressed their weight against the other door. With a grunt and a creak, they managed to pry them both open enough to create a gap wide enough for Urgan to fit through.

  Inside the dimly lit warehouse, stacks of crates and barrels formed a maze of shadowed aisles. As they ventured further in, Zark'thul noticed movement in the darkness, shadows flitting amongst the storage clutter.

  Beside him, Urgan's grip tightened on his mace. Filu's posture tensed, while Skitters reached for the crossbow strapped to his back, and Rakk and Vraza assumed their bloodthirsty grins as they unsheathed their cleavers.

  With a whisper, Filu sent a cluster of tiny orbs of light floating around the warehouse, revealing figures darting between the rows of crates.

  As if on cue, a barrage of arrows came hurtling towards them from multiple directions. Zark'thul reacted instantly, his hand whipping out to deflect one arrow aimed directly at his face. Beside him, Urgan had already raised his shield, which took the brunt of several projectiles. Filu and Skitters, farther back, also deflected the incoming arrows with quick, fluid movements.

  Rakk and Vraza, however, simply stood there with smug grins, ignoring the rain of arrows. One bolt found its mark, piercing Rakk's cheek, drawing a gush of green blood, which he casually spat out. He plucked the arrow from his flesh with a grunt, seemingly unconcerned by the wound.

  His twin sister laughed and gestured to the dark, "More! Give us more, meat bags!"

  Zark'thul strode forward, conjuring his Aura of the Eldritch Terror. The air around him crackled with an ominous presence, manifesting as tendrils of shadowy energy that danced and swirled around his form.

  In response, his Agents charged into the fray, the twin goblins laughing and twirling their cleavers with glee. Urgan brought up the rear, his shield raised as he followed the manic twins. From the deeper shadows, their assailants emerged, clad in mismatched armor and wielding a variety of crude weapons.

  One of them, a ratman, scrambled into the light, its scaly tail lashing behind it. With a vicious snarl, it lunged at Vraza, thrusting a crude shortsword at her midsection. But the goblin sidestepped nimbly and brought her cleaver down onto the back of the ratman's neck, severing its head from its body with a resounding crunch.

  Filu unleashed a cascade of energy bolts from her palm, each a blinding white. The bolts streaked through the warehouse, striking several thugs lurking between the crates. Skitters, meanwhile, hung back, his crossbow at the ready, looking for a clear shot at any foe that dared to stray from the cover of the crates.

  Zark'thul's advance was unhindered, his eldritch aura and intimidating presence seeming to unnerve the attacking thugs, many of whom hesitated before deciding to engage. Urgan kept pace with Zark'thul, acting as his shield.

  At the center of the warehouse, Zark'thul paused, surrounded by the sounds of battle and the pained cries of the fallen. Amidst the chaos, a lone figure stepped forward, a bulky Khibrath decked out in rough, scaled armor. The creature, easily dwarfing even Urgan, carried a massive hammer, and its beady eyes glinted with a bloodthirsty light.

  Bottuf.

  Urgan edged closer, but Zark'thul stopped him with a gesture. He stepped past the orc, his gaze locked with Bottuf's.

  "First goblins, now this?" Bottuf sneered, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Who are you?"

  "Someone of no consequence to you," Zark'thul responded flatly. "You will die here."

  The Khibrath let out a deep, grumbling laugh. "You? Kill me? You've got some nerve, tiny man. I'll show you why they call me the Horned Behemoth!"

  With a bellowing war cry, Bottuf charged, his hammer poised to crush.

  "Na'hlath'ih," Zark'thul murmured, and the warehouse's interior lit up with an azure hue. Eldritch Blast, his first real attack spell, rippled through the air as a burst of crackling blue and violet energy, slamming into Bottuf with a thunderous crack.

  The Khibrath stumbled back, his face a mask of shock and pain. He swayed on his feet, stunned.

  Urgan charged and bellowed a taunting roar as he swung his spiked mace, landing a glancing blow on Bottuf's hip. But the Khibrath swiftly retaliated, slamming his hammer down on Urgan's shield, pushing him back. With a grunt, the orc went down on one knee under the force of the impact.

  Zark'thul moved closer, summoning a second Eldritch Blast. The energy surged forth, slamming into Bottuf once more, eliciting another roar of pain from the huge Khibrath. Still, despite the hit, Bottuf recovered quickly. He spun, catching Urgan off-guard with a sweeping blow, knocking the orc several meters across the warehouse floor.

  Zark'thul lunged forward, drawing his steel sword from its scabbard. He launched himself at the distracted Khibrath, aiming a powerful thrust at the creature's exposed flank. The sword bit deep into Bottuf's flesh, drawing a grunt of pain.

  Enraged, Bottuf swung his massive fist, catching Zark'thul across the chest. The force of the blow sent him crashing into a nearby stack of crates. His suit torn, his chest ached as he sucked in a breath, the feeling like inhaling fire. Ribs broken, no doubt.

  "Na'hlath'ih." Another blast crackled towards Bottuf, this time striking him in the chest and forcing him back. Despite the damage, Bottuf remained on his feet.

  Zark'thul rolled to the side, barely avoiding the hammer that smashed into the ground where he had just been. He got to his feet, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, just as Urgan rejoined the fight. The orc warrior lunged at Bottuf, swinging his mace in a wide arc. Bottuf, caught off guard, took a hard hit on his unarmored shoulder, sending him stumbling.

  Seizing the opportunity, Zark'thul raised both hands and unleashed two Eldritch Blasts in quick succession. They struck the staggered Khibrath in the chest, each burst of energy punching through his armor and knocking him off his feet.

  The sound of the other Agents fighting began to ebb, signaling that the lesser thugs were being dealt with. This only fueled Bottuf's rage. With a guttural roar, he surged back up, his eyes wild and frenzied. He swung his hammer with renewed vigor, nearly taking out Urgan with a massive swing.

  But Zark'thul's next volley of Eldritch Blasts crashed into him again. These energy blasts left smoking holes in Bottuf's armor, some reaching deep into his flesh. The Khibrath staggered, his movement visibly slowing.

  Urgan didn't miss a beat. He rushed Bottuf, ramming him with his shield. The impact staggered the huge creature, and Urgan immediately followed up with a brutal mace strike to the knee, causing the Khibrath to drop down to one leg.

  As Zark'thul was preparing another Eldritch Blast, Rakk and Vraza joined the fray. Their eyes gleamed with savage glee.

  "Hoi, give us a go at the big one!" they shouted in unison.

  The twin goblins lunged at Bottuf's exposed legs, their cleavers hacking away at his flesh.

  A crossbow bolt from Skitters followed soon after, piercing Bottuf's armor and embedding in his chest. Filu was quick to join in, firing a flurry of energy bolts into the Khibrath.

  Caught in a whirlwind of attacks from all sides, Bottuf fell heavily to the ground, bleeding profusely from numerous wounds.

  Zark'thul stepped forward, his sword glinting in the dim light. He leaned down and whispered in the Khibrath's ear. "Tell me all that you know about the cult of Nai'hum, and I'll spare you."

  The huge creature coughed, a mixture of spit and blood spewing from its mouth. "Never."

  "Rakk, Vraza. Start cutting."

  Bottuf's eyes widened in horror as the two goblins approached, their cleavers dripping with his own blood. They grinned at him, their sharp teeth gleaming.

  "Now, let's do this slow-like, eh, boss?" Rakk chuckled, running his blade along the side of Bottuf's neck. The edge just bit into the skin, drawing a thin line of blood. Vraza knelt and cut a deeper slice on his arm.

  Bottuf shuddered in fear and pain. "No... no! Wait!"

  "Alright, get talking," Zark'thul said. "Nai'hum. Spill it."

  "The... the cult, they paid me to bring them people for their 'rituals.' The captives are locked up in the back. There's a key in my pocket. Take it!" Bottuf stammered.

  "Good," Zark'thul said. "And the ritual?"

  "I don't know, I don't! I wasn't involved in that."

  Zark'thul locked eyes with Bottuf. "Is that everything you have?"

  The Khibrath nodded feebly, a faint glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes.

  "Na'hlath'ih."

  The bolt of energy struck Bottuf between the eyes, blowing out the back of his skull. He slumped to the ground, lifeless.

  As Zark'thul rummaged through Bottuf's pockets, retrieving a brass key, the rest of his Agents gathered around, their expressions a mix of satisfaction and weariness.

  "Well, that was fun," Skitters remarked, cleaning his crossbow with a dirty rag.

  "Yeah," Urgan chuckled, a toothy grin splitting his face. "Reminds me of the good old times."

  "I cut him good," Vraza chimed in, wiping her cleaver on Bottuf's sleeve. "Meatsack tried to hit me!"

  "I cut him better," Rakk grumbled.

  "No, me!"

  "I did!"

  Vraza lunged at her brother with a playful growl. He dodged nimbly, sticking out his tongue at her before scampering off to inspect the rest of the warehouse.

  Zark'thul tossed the key to Filu, who caught it with a graceful snap of her hand. "Free the captives, loot as much as you can carry, and let's head back."

  Zark'thul manifested his Vocarious Maw of the Abyss, devouring Bottuf's corpse while his Agents busied themselves with their tasks. The memories of the fallen thug lord were drab and dull, confirming what had already been told to them.

  No, not quite.

  The name of the cult surfaced—The Fleshbound Choir.

  For a group of delusional mortals vying for Nai'hum's favor, it certainly wasn't the worst name. But they could have certainly done better.

  His AetherLink chimed with the directive's completion.

  [Directive 2-6: Eliminate the Floor Guardian. Status: Complete; Rewards have been allocated to your account.]

  [Floor 3 is now unlocked.]

  Zark'thul felt no need to congratulate himself. It had not been a challenging fight. But, he'd beaten another guardian. Now, for the next floor.