Kobold Obliteration

The eerie silence of the arena began to fade as Michael pushed through the heavy door, leaving behind the remnants of the chest room. The battles within the arena had tested his strength, but the unknown that awaited him beyond this threshold caused his heart to pound with a mix of anticipation and dread. The weight of his new title, "Overlord of Death," and the name Azrael seemed to press down on him, a constant reminder of the profound transformation he had undergone. His very soul had been reshaped, and now, he was about to face the next trial in this unforgiving dungeon.

The passage beyond the door was narrow, the stone walls rough and cold as they seemed to close in around him. Each step he took deeper into the earth was met with an increasing chill, the air growing more oppressive and stifling. The light from the arena quickly dimmed, leaving him in near darkness, with only the faint, eerie glow of an enchanted ring to guide his way. Shadows twisted along the walls, contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock him, their silent jeers amplifying the weight of the silence.

Time seemed to stretch as Michael descended further into the depths. The path wound on endlessly, his footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor as he moved forward with a sense of grim determination. The further he went, the more the cold seeped into his bones, chilling him to the core. The darkness pressed in on him, oppressive and suffocating, as if the very dungeon was testing his resolve.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the corridor opened up into a vast, cavernous chamber. The ceiling loomed high above, disappearing into the inky blackness, and the ground beneath his feet was uneven, littered with loose stones and debris. The sheer scale of the chamber was overwhelming, and for a moment, Michael felt a flicker of doubt. But his thoughts were quickly interrupted as he noticed movement in the shadows, dozens of glowing eyes staring back at him from the darkness.

Kobolds.

The small, reptilian creatures began to emerge from their hiding places, their scaly bodies reflecting the dim light from his ring. They were smaller and lighter than the goblins he had faced earlier, but what they lacked in size, they more than made up for in numbers. Their eyes glinted with a feral intelligence, and their mouths twisted into snarls that revealed rows of sharp, jagged teeth. Some clutched crude weapons—rusty daggers, bone-tipped spears, jagged pieces of metal—while others flexed their claws, eager to tear into his flesh.

Instinctively, Michael took a step back, his heart racing as he assessed the situation. Unlike the goblins, the kobolds didn't charge recklessly. They moved with a chilling precision, encircling him with a calculated strategy that made his skin prickle with unease. Their eyes never left him as they tightened their formation, closing in like a pack of wolves cornering their prey. Michael knew he had to act swiftly—there was no room for hesitation.

The kobolds' war cries began to echo off the cavern walls, growing louder and more frenzied as they prepared to swarm him. Michael's heart thudded in his chest, but with the rising panic came a familiar power stirring deep within him. He felt it uncoil within him, a surge of raw, untamed energy that thrummed in time with his heartbeat.

He forced the mana from his heart, feeling it spread warmth through his veins like fire. It pulsed with a rhythm that matched his heartbeat, growing stronger, more vibrant with each passing second. The power was raw, almost primal in its intensity, an exhilarating surge that both thrilled and terrified him. It was as if the very essence of his being was coming alive, bending to his will.

As the mana flowed outward, it coalesced into a translucent shield that surrounded him, flickering with an ethereal glow. Michael knew that this was only the beginning. He needed more than just a defense—he needed a weapon capable of obliterating the kobolds just as he had done with the goblins.

In his mind he meticulously constructed the weapon, visualizing every detail with unwavering clarity. He imagined the chemical composition of the explosives, the intricate wiring of the detonator, the precise placement of the ball bearings that would scatter like deadly hail. The image was so vivid that he could almost smell the acrid scent of the C-4, feel the cold, hard steel of the casing in his hands.

The magic responded to his thoughts, forming a series of glowing circles around the shield, each one humming with latent power. The circles spun and intertwined, creating a complex web of energy that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The more Michael focused, the brighter the circles became, their light intensifying until it was almost blinding.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying. The shield around him had transformed into a dome of light gray energy, inscribed with powerful words in a language he could barely comprehend. The symbols pulsed with a sinister glow, as if alive with a will of their own, promising inevitable destruction. The air crackled with tension, thick with the promise of impending doom.

Michael poured more mana into the formation, watching as the gray light intensified, turning into a blinding white that illuminated the entire cavern. The energy condensed around him, forming a barrier that thrummed with raw, destructive power. When he blinked, the light shifted, revealing a dome of cool blue energy—serene, yet charged with lethal potential.

Beyond the protective layer, a massive array of semi-transparent explosives materialized, embedded with millions of glinting ball bearings. The kobolds were mere feet away now, their snarls reverberating through the chamber as they prepared to launch their final attack.

With a final, decisive surge of power, Michael activated the spell. The cavern erupted in a deafening explosion as the claymore mine detonated, unleashing a storm of shrapnel that tore through the kobold ranks. The blast was so intense that the very walls of the chamber trembled, and a shockwave rippled through the air, scattering debris in every direction.

The kobolds' cries were cut short, drowned out by the roar of the explosion. Their strategy, their cunning, all of it was rendered meaningless in the face of such overwhelming force. The dark corners of the cavern were suddenly illuminated by the flare of destruction, the walls painted with the remnants of those who had dared to challenge him.

As the dust began to settle, Michael stood alone in the aftermath, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The protective energy around him flickered, then faded, leaving him exposed in the stillness of the ruined chamber. The raw power he had just unleashed drained his mana reserves, leaving him exhausted yet exhilarated. The ease with which he had conjured such catastrophic magic left him deeply unsettled.

He had survived, and the victory sent a thrill through his veins. Yet, as he looked around at the bloodied remains scattered across the stone floor, a creeping realization settled over him. The path he was walking was one of relentless bloodshed and unyielding power, and with each step forward, he was leaving behind the last remnants of who he used to be. The newfound power he had obtained seemed to twist his thoughts, urging him to press on, to delve deeper into the dungeon's depths, to kill more. The transformation was not just physical—it was seeping into his very soul, changing him in ways he could scarcely comprehend. But there was no turning back now. The dungeon awaited, and with it, the promise of even greater power and more treasures.