Hero Raid

Grashok’s moment of peace with Skarn was interrupted by the rapid pat-pat-pat of Goblin feet slapping against the stone floor. He turned just as one of the door guards skidded to a halt before him, panting heavily.

“Big Chief!” the Goblin rasped, eyes wide as they darted between Grashok and the newly evolved Skarn. The wolf's glowing eyes and imposing form clearly unsettled the small creature, who instinctively took a step back.

“What is it?” Grashok demanded, rising to his full height.

“Humans! At door! Three of ‘em!” the Goblin blurted, practically tripping over its words. “We think... they no know what this is. Just poking around. But they smell like trouble!”

Grashok frowned, his sharp mind already whirring. “Adventurers,” he muttered, glancing down at Skarn, who stood at his side, tail still but body tense, ready for action.

“Go back to your post. Hold them in place as long as you can. If they breach the door before I arrive, fall back to the first defensive line,” Grashok ordered, his voice like steel.

The Goblin saluted clumsily and bolted back the way it came, leaving Grashok to gather his thoughts. He turned to Skarn, who stared up at him expectantly.

“Come,” Grashok said, his jaw tight and his voice low. Fear churned in his gut, but he forced it down. “Let’s see what these trespassers are made of.”

At the dungeon’s entrance, the three adventurers stood in a loose huddle, bickering as they examined the sturdy wooden door reinforced with iron bands.

“Dude, I told you this was gonna be like... a secret treasure vault or something,” said the first, a wiry rogue named ShadowStabz. He wore mismatched leather armour with daggers at his hips, fidgeting constantly as if he couldn’t stand still for more than a second.

“It’s not a vault, you idiot. It’s clearly a dungeon,” snapped the second, a bulky warrior clad in poorly polished chainmail. His name, proudly displayed above his head in shimmering gold letters, was xX_BladeGod_Xx. His weapon of choice, a giant two-handed sword, was comically oversized for his frame.

“Okay, okay, guys, chill,” said the third, a lanky mage in an oversized robe that looked like it had been borrowed from someone twice his size. His name was FireBoi69, and his staff crackled faintly with arcane energy. “We just need to clear this place, get some loot, and post the screenshots in the guild chat.”

ShadowStabz rolled his eyes. “Yeah, if BladeGod here doesn’t aggro the whole dungeon first.”

BladeGod bristled. “I told you that was a glitch! I didn’t mean to pull the entire spider nest!”

Their squabbling was interrupted by the low growl of Goblin voices from the other side of the door. ShadowStabz perked up. “Sounds like we got company. Let’s do this.”

With a dramatic flourish, FireBoi69 raised his staff and unleashed a small firebolt, blasting the door open with a loud crack.

Grashok watched from the shadows of the first defensive line as the adventurers stepped cautiously into the dungeon. Skarn crouched beside him, the faintest hum of anticipation emanating from the wolf.

“Let them come,” Grashok murmured, gesturing for his forces to hold position. Sylrith stood nearby, her dark elven blades gleaming faintly in the dim light. Snippa, perched on a ledge above, nocked an arrow silently.

The trio moved forward, bickering all the while.

“This place is kinda creepy, not gonna lie,” FireBoi69 muttered, his staff glowing faintly to light their way.

“Quit whining,” BladeGod grunted, hefting his sword. “It’s just a bunch of stupid Goblins.”

“Then why don’t you go first?” ShadowStabz shot back.

Grashok smirked. “Now.”

With a guttural war cry, his Goblins swarmed from the shadows.

Snippa was already in motion. A faint shimmer rippled along her bowstring as she whispered the trigger word for Hail of Thorns. Her ensuing shot flared with green magic.

The arrow struck FireBoi69 square in the shoulder. It detonated on impact, bursting into a spray of razor‑sharp thorns. The mage screamed as the shards tore into him and peppered BladeGod beside him, both health bars dipping in jagged chunks.

BladeGod roared, swinging his oversized sword wildly as Goblin warriors closed in around him. The Goblins fought with reckless abandon, each attacking in their own way—snarling, stabbing, clawing—more a chaotic mob than a disciplined unit. They tripped over one another, lunged without coordination, and yet their sheer ferocity kept the adventurers off balance.

In the chaos, ShadowStabz darted toward a side corridor, only to find himself face‑to‑face with Sylrith. The Dark Elf moved like water, her blades flashing in a deadly dance. Within seconds, the rogue lay crumpled on the floor, his health bar drained to zero.

Grashok joined the fray, his sword sweeping in wide arcs to cut down the adventurers’ attempts to regroup. BladeGod charged at him with a bellow, but his reckless swing was easily parried. With a single, decisive thrust, Grashok ended the warrior’s charge.

Skarn, meanwhile, pounced on FireBoi69, who tried desperately to fend him off with weak firebolts. The Grimhound dodged each attack with ease, his glowing eyes locked onto his prey. With feral precision, Skarn unleashed his Crushing Throatbite, jaws clamping around the mage’s neck in a devastating strike. FireBoi69 crumpled with a final gurgle, leaving the dungeon silent once more.

Fame increased! 304

Defeated a hero +130 (Expanded)

You defeated a level 5 hero! +50

You defeated a level 4 hero! +40

You defeated a level 4 hero! +40

Defended the dungeon +40

Rumours of your realm are spreading! +9

As Grashok surveyed the aftermath, Sylrith approached him, wiping her blades clean. “They were weak,” she said simply, though there was a faint glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.

“Perhaps,” Grashok replied, gazing down at Skarn, who padded over to him with blood staining his silver fur. “But weak or not, they won’t be the last.”

He crouched low, bringing himself to Skarn’s level. Both hands rose to scratch behind the wolf’s ears, fingers working through the thick, matted fur. Skarn leaned into him immediately, rumbling with pleasure as he nuzzled Grashok’s chest and licked at his jaw in rough, grateful strokes. His tail swept the ground in slow, heavy arcs.

“You fought well,” Grashok said, shifting his hand to the thick ruff at Skarn’s neck. He thought of the Crushing Throatbite Skarn had unleashed, the sheer force of it. “You’re a good boy.”

Skarn’s ears pricked. His tail thumped again — once, then twice — harder this time. He pressed his head into Grashok’s palm, breath huffing warmly against his chest, leaning in with the full weight of his trust.

The moment couldn’t last. Grashok gave one last firm scratch along Skarn’s jawline. Skarn’s tail flicked in a final, eager wag before Grashok rose, his expression hardening. “Double the watch at the entrance. If these three came sniffing, others will follow. And we’ll be ready.”

He opened his menu and began repairing the damage they had done.