The smoke from the Huntsclan's opening salvo hadn't even settled before the clubhouse transformed from a den of illicit deals into a slaughterhouse. The "thwip" of crossbows and the rhythmic "clack-clack" of goblin-modified firearms replaced the tense silence of the failed exchange. Jake felt the heat of the Orb behind him, a violet sun held in his grandfather's steady hand, but his focus was entirely on the whimpering form of Fu Dog.
"Grandpa, Fu dog!" Jake roared over the cacophony.
Lao Shi didn't look back, his staff spinning in a jade blur that deflected a hail of Huntsclan bolts. "Go! I will hold the center!".
Jake didn't need a second invitation. He dove through the crossfire, his body halfway between boy and beast. Scales like obsidian plates rippled across his shoulders, and his fingernails lengthened into jagged, black talons. A group of goblins, emboldened by the chaos, lunged for the weakened Shar-Pei with rusted cleavers. Jake didn't breathe fire; he didn't have time for the flair. He caught the first goblin by the throat mid-leap, the sound of snapping vertebrae lost in the roar of an exploding grenade. Without breaking stride, he slammed the corpse into a second attacker, using the dead weight as a shield against a volley of lead from a goblin-wielded submachine gun.
He reached Fu Dog in a skid, his claws shredding the floorboards. The green magical chains were still pulsing, draining the dog's essence. Jake didn't look for a key or a counter-spell. He grabbed the glowing links with his bare, scaled hands. The anti-magic feedback scorched his palms, the smell of burning ozone and dragon scale filling his nostrils, but he snarled through the pain. With a primal surge of strength, he twisted the metal, the magical energy shattering like glass under the pressure of his draconic grip.
"Get to the cellar, Fu! Go!" Jake commanded, hoisting the dog up and shoving him toward a heavy iron grate in the corner of the room. Fu Dog, barely conscious but sensing the urgency, scrambled into the darkness of the lower levels just as a massive shadow loomed over Jake.
A Hobgoblin, nearly seven feet of corded muscle and scarred green skin, swung a spiked mace that would have crushed a car. Jake rolled beneath the swing, the wind of the weapon's passage ruffling his hair. As the Hobgoblin overextended, Jake drove his elbow into the creature's knee with a sickening crunch. As it buckled, Jake didn't wait for it to recover. He grabbed a discarded Huntsclan dagger from the floor and drove it upward, through the soft tissue beneath the Hobgoblin's jaw and straight into its brain. He twisted the blade and kicked the body away, already looking for the next threat. This was the "Goblin Slayer" way—brutal, efficient, and devoid of mercy.
In the center of the hall, Lao Shi was a whirlwind of ancient power. He held the briefcase containing the Orb in his left hand, using it almost like a shield, while his staff danced in his right. He was fending off a dual assault. To his front, Ralph's remaining ogres were charging like living battering rams, their footfalls shaking the very foundations of the building. To his rear, a squad of Huntsclan specialists were closing in, their blue-glowing katanas humming with lethal intent.
"You want the Orb?" Lao Shi's voice carried over the din, calm and terrifying. "Come and claim it from the dragon's maw!"
He slammed his staff into the ground, and a shockwave of emerald fire erupted outward. The floorboards disintegrated, sending a dozen goblins plummeting into the crawlspaces below. But the fire stopped abruptly as it hit a wall of swirling, grey ash.
Descending from the hole in the roof, suspended by a single wire, was the Grandmaster of the Huntsclan. He didn't land so much as he drifted, his feet touching the blood-slicked floor with eerie silence. His presence was cold, a void of heat that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room.
"Long time no see, Dragon," the Grandmaster said, his voice a dry rasp that sounded like dead leaves skittering on a grave. "Your time has passed. Give us the artifact, and perhaps I will let you and the boy live."
"Your threats are as empty as your soul, fool," Lao Shi countered, his eyes narrowing.
The Grandmaster didn't respond with words. He raised a hand, and the air around him began to grey. It wasn't smoke; it was fine, pulverized ash. With a flick of his wrist, the ash solidified into jagged spears that shot toward Lao Shi. The old dragon parried the first three, but the fourth turned back into dust the moment his staff touched it, flowing around the weapon before re-solidifying into a heavy mallet that slammed into Lao Shi's shoulder.
Lao Shi stumbled, a grunt of pain escaping him. He tried to retaliate with a blast of dragon breath, but the Grandmaster simply dissolved. His entire physical form turned into a cloud of swirling soot, the fire passing harmlessly through him. He was like a ghost of ash that could not be touched, but whose touch brought only ruin.
"Grandpa!" Jake screamed, seeing the Grandmaster reform behind Lao Shi, his hand glowing with a disintegrating grey light.
Jake sprinted toward the center of the room, intending to knock his grandfather out of the way, but a flash of silver light intercepted him. He barely had time to bring his scaled forearms up to block as a dozen ethereal blades materialized out of thin air, raining down on him like a metallic storm.
Jake skidded back, his scales scored with deep white lines where the blades had struck. Standing between him and the center of the fray was Huntsgirl. Her red-trimmed tactical suit was pristine, and in her hands, she held two short swords that pulsed with a vibrant, shifting light.
"And where do you think you're going," she said, her voice muffled by her mask. "This is between the masters."
"I don't think so, bitch!" Jake snarled, his frustration boiling over. "Move, or I move you!"
Huntsgirl didn't move. Instead, she spun her blades in a complex pattern. "Blade Magic: Thousand Edge Dance!"
Suddenly, the room was filled with steel. It wasn't just the two swords she held; she was manifesting dozens of blades of magical energy. They hovered in a halo behind her before launching at Jake in a relentless, homing stream.
Jake was forced onto the defensive. He ducked, weaved, and swiped at the magical constructs, his draconic reflexes pushed to their absolute limit. He grabbed one of the physical blades mid-air, ignoring the way it sliced into his palm, and hurled it back at her with the force of a bullet. Huntsgirl barely leaned her head back, the blade whistling past her ear to go through the skull of a Huntsclan member and then bury it in the head of an ogre.
The ogre didn't even scream. It simply toppled forward, its massive weight crushing a squad of goblins who were trying to reload their rifles. The chaos was absolute. On the far side of the room, a Goblin Shaman had managed to climb onto a chandelier, raining down bolts of sickly green lightning that struck friend and foe alike. A Huntsclan member, his arm nearly severed by a hobgoblin's axe, pulled the pin on a specialized freeze-grenade, turning himself and the three goblins surrounding him into a macabre ice sculpture.
The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, copper, and magical discharge. Goblins with high-caliber revolvers were taking potshots at anything that moved, their bullets pinging off the Grandmaster's ash-form or being deflected by Rose's wall of blades. It was a symphony of destruction.
"AHHHHH!" Jake roared, parrying a trio of floating daggers with a piece of a broken table. "Your boss is trying to kill my grandfather!"
"He's doing what's necessary for the world!" Huntsgirl shouted back. "Your kind has always been the root of all problems. That ends today!"
"And you think the Huntsclan is going to put the fire out?" Jake countered, lunging forward. He ignored the shallow cuts on his chest, closing the distance between them. He didn't use a weapon; he used his weight. He tackled Rose, the two of them crashing through a line of goblin riflemen like a bowling ball hitting pins.
They tumbled into the debris-strewn bar area. Jake scrambled up first, seeing a Goblin Shaman leveling a staff at him, the crystal glowing with a lethal necro-charge. Without thinking, Jake grabbed a heavy glass bottle from the floor and hurled it. It shattered against the Shaman's temple, the creature's spell misfiring and turning its own arms into blackened husks.
Huntsgirl stood up, looking at the dead Shaman and then back at Jake.
"A massive explosion from the center of the room cut the moment short. The Grandmaster had collapsed his ash-form into a singular, dense point of pressure, detonating it in a grey nova that sent Lao Shi flying through the air. The briefcase slid across the floor, the Orb of Malphorus rolling out of its velvet casing.
The violet light of the Orb intensified, reacting to the sheer volume of magical blood spilled in the room. The air began to vibrate with a low, bone-shaking hum.
Ralph, seeing his prize sitting unprotected, let out a high-pitched cackle. "The Orb! Get the Orb, you useless maggots!"
The remaining Goblins and Huntsclan members alike abandoned their personal duels, turning into a singular, ravenous wave rushing toward the artifact.
Suddenly, a magic circle materialized. Through the haze, three figures emerged.
In the center stood Batman, draped in a cape as black as the abyss, his silhouette cutting a terrifying figure against the firelight. To his left, Zatanna, in a tuxedo and top hat twirled a wand with practiced ease. To his right stood Jason with his grim face, his eyes glowing with an ancient fire.
The reinforcement has arrived.