Tarni and the new front line of defenders had taken care of the two hobgoblins that had chased Barry out of the bush. He had even levelled up. After running most of the way here and fighting multiple battles, he was feeling the lack of stamina. Hoping to at least ease that strain, he decided to put 3 points into Constitution, taking it from 17 to 20, and his remaining 2 points into Dexterity.

"Because you can never have too much Dex," he said with a wink at Liam, bumping his Dexterity from 30 to 32.

They had been making good progress when two of the people Tarni had designated as forward scouts burst from the treeline—clothes torn, faces streaked with mud and blood. They weren't running straight anymore, stumbling and gasping for air as branches snapped behind them.

Hulking hobgoblins crashed through the undergrowth in pursuit, their deep roars echoing like thunder. A handful of smaller goblins scrambled at their feet, shrieking and waving crude blades.

The moment Tarni saw them, he didn't hesitate.

"Shields forward! Archers—take the little ones first!" he bellowed as he sprinted toward the line.

The makeshift formation he'd built around the survivors shuddered but obeyed. People lifted scavenged planks, sheets of metal, or broken stage parts as shields, while those with bows or throwing weapons stepped up.

The first volley flew.

Three goblins dropped, one screeching as an arrow buried itself in its neck. But the hobgoblins didn't slow—they ploughed straight through the bodies, one sweeping a fallen log like a club. The impact tore a gap in the front line, scattering two men to the ground.

"Close that line!" Tarni roared, charging straight at the lead hobgoblin.

June, one of the scouts, barely made it past him before collapsing into the arms of two bystanders who dragged her toward the healers.

The hobgoblin swung its makeshift club down toward Tarni's head, but he was already rolling aside. Dirt sprayed across his face as the weapon smashed into the ground, leaving a crater. He came up under the swing and slashed upward, his sword biting into the creature's thigh. Purple blood sprayed, but the monster only snarled and turned its fury on him.

"Come on then, you ugly bastard," Tarni growled.

The second hobgoblin barrelled in from the right, forcing Tarni to leap back. It hit one of the outer defenders instead—sending the man flying ten metres before he hit the dirt, unmoving.

Smaller goblins were swarming now, climbing over bodies and slipping into gaps between defenders. Screams, steel, and snapping wood filled the clearing.

Tarni fought like a man possessed. Using every stat and every skill he had, his blade flashed—he even fired off "No Need to Worry, Mate, We Are All Friends Here" multiple times—before cutting through a goblin's throat and spinning to parry another's jagged knife. His muscles burned, and his lungs felt like fire, but he couldn't stop. Not with more than three hundred people behind him, depending on the line holding.

And the number of goblins seemed to be growing. Most of the noobs, as Tarni thought of them, had already run out of stamina, mana, or both. They collapsed in exhausted heaps while the line thinned. Tarni himself wasn't far from the ground.

Then—out of the corner of his eye—he saw it.

A flicker of motion through the trees.

Four figures.

Zane, Bell, Kai, and Lily—running full speed, weapons drawn.

"About bloody time," Tarni muttered through clenched teeth.

The first hobgoblin swung again, catching Tarni's shoulder hard enough to spin him halfway around. He stumbled, barely catching himself before his knee hit the dirt.

The monster raised its club again—

—but a machete bit deep into its wrist from behind.

Zane hit like a storm, sliding under the creature's reach and ripping his blade free in a shower of purple blood.

Bell was beside him a moment later, driving a metal spear into the hobgoblin's thigh and twisting. Kai shouted a healing spell, light flashing across Tarni's torn shoulder, while Lily loosed an arrow that buried itself in a goblin's chest mid-charge.

The soldiers weren't far behind, weapons improvised but eyes blazing. Staff Sergeant Lewis barked orders as his team moved to flank.

"Focus the big ones! Drop 'em fast!"

The fight turned.

With Zane and Tarni back-to-back, they met the hobgoblins' next charge head-on. Tarni ducked under a swing while Zane's machete carved across the exposed ribs. The creature howled and swung again, but Bell's spear found its mark—straight through the throat.

The second hobgoblin tried to pull away, but a rifle butt—swung like a club by Hutch—slammed into its jaw. Tarni followed up with a leaping strike, his sword cutting deep into the base of the creature's neck.

The monster staggered, bellowed once more—and fell.

The last few goblins broke ranks, fleeing into the bush with terrified screeches.

And just like that, the bush fell silent.

Tarni dropped to one knee, breathing hard, his sword dripping with dark blood.

Zane reached down and clapped him on the shoulder. "You alright, mate?"

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Tarni gave a grim smile. "Yeah… but next time, you're taking the front."

Bell exhaled shakily, lowering her weapon. Kai was already moving among the wounded, glowing hands ready, while Lily watched his back.

Staff Sergeant Lewis looked around at the survivors—battered, bloodied, but alive.

"Do we hold here?" he asked quietly.

Zane shook his head. "No. We move. The safe zone's the only place I think we are going to get repite from these ugly bastards."

He looked over the crowd—his friends, his family, the soldiers, the frightened survivors—and felt something stir in his chest.

Determination.

"Let's bring everyone home."

_____________________________________________________________________

Max could not believe the violence of it all.

He had thought he'd be able to handle anything—like most sixteen-year-old boys think they can. He had helped fight the monster that had nearly killed his dad, and that was before he was in the System. Now he felt smarter, quicker, and stronger than ever.

It didn't seem to help.

He was still terrified and wanted nothing more than to be home, tucked into bed by his mum or dad like when he was little. Except now he was in the middle of a massive group of survivors, carrying a box of raw snags, watching everybody else fight—grown adults, soldiers, and even some of the older teens.

Kaitlyn, his twin sister, was healing people from unbelievable injuries with skill-glowing hands.

Meanwhile, Max had… Create Light.

What was he supposed to do with that? Make the monsters squint?

He had tried talking to his mum about it, and later to Mr Walker—who had appeared earlier like some kind of badass superhero out of the bush—but everyone was too busy. His mum had listened for ten seconds before being dragged away by people who needed answers or comfort.

Mr Walker had listened properly—right up until Max mentioned he still had 9 unspent points and that his skill was Create Light.

That was when Tarn had grinned like Max had just told him he won the lottery.

"Max, that is bloody brilliant. Zane's going to love you."

Then, just as quickly, his expression turned stone-serious.

"Best not spend your points right now—unless you get hurt, then dump them all into Constitution. And don't name your pet or whatever that Soul-Bound Companion is until we're in the safe zone. In fact, come find me or Zane before you do it. Ok, Max?"

Before Max could respond, his dad stepped up beside them. He had been teasing Mr Walker about his haircut before Max arrived, but now his face was serious.

"That's some good advice, son. You listen to Tarn—Mr Walker." Liam paused long enough to grip Max's shoulder with a firm father's squeeze. "Now, I need you to stay in the middle of the group. I need you near your sister, keeping her safe. Ok?"

Max nodded, even though a part of him sagged with relief. He wanted to be brave, to be useful, to be everything Kai and Lily and Tarni and Zane were right now… but deep down, he was glad to have an excuse not to face more monsters.

He pushed his way back toward the centre of the formation, weaving through the outer rings of tired fighters and nervous townsfolk as the whole group marched toward the Rider property—toward safety.

Or at least… he hoped.

_____________________________________________________________________

People were finally starting to understand their Skills.

At first the System had been nothing but panic and blue windows flashing in front of terrified faces. But battles—even desperate ones—had a way of forcing people to learn fast. Now, as the battered line of townsfolk moved toward the Rider property, the air was thick with whispered discoveries.

A woman with a fractured arm murmured to Grace, "I think I can use Reinforce Grip twice a minute now." Two teenage boys compared notes about passive Strength bonuses. Someone in the rear whispered, "I think I've got something like Threaten. Might be good for a tank?"

Small victories. Small comforts.

Zane, Tarni, Emma, and Liam had spent most of the march trying to create balanced parties. It quickly became obvious that the System had not been generous where they needed it.

Not enough Healers. Not enough ranged DPS. Not enough anything, honestly.

So they'd done the best they could: – All the people who picked up shields or had tank skills were shoved into the outer edge, forming a thick protective ring. – The naturally aggressive fighters formed the warrior parties. – Every healer, archer, and anyone with anything resembling a ranged ability was kept in the centre with the children.

It wasn't ideal, but it was working. At least for now. And as they killed more monsters, the more drops they were getting, better weapons, better bows, even some +2 armour.

They'd also worked out one more crucial detail: you had to be sixteen to be in the System.

That meant most of Max and Kaitlyn's friends were still just normal kids. No stat boosts. No abilities. No safety nets. Just scared children caught in something too big and too cruel.

And the monsters kept coming.

The march had become a running battle. Goblins harried them from the treeline like wolves, darting in when they sensed weakness. The group tried to keep their packs, and boxes of food, but eventually, survival outweighed comfort. boxes burst open and food spilled across the forest floor when someone screamed. People tripped over cans of drink they couldn't afford to carry. And after the fifth skirmish within half an hour, Zane finally snarled:

"Drop it! Food slows you down— we need to carry the injured."

So most of the food was left behind on the trail, abandoned in torn boxes or crushed underfoot as the group surged forward. People used the space in their arms to carry the wounded instead.

And there were many wounded.

After that first terrible battle—when the System descended and the twins' birthday bash fell into chaos—Kai had joined them. With his healing, calm hands and his impossibly powerful recovery spells, nobody had died since.

But that didn't mean they were unhurt.

People limped with arms around each other's shoulders. A man with a broken rib wheezed as he walked. A teen boy lay unconscious in his father's arms, his face pale and sweaty even after healing. A woman staggered forward, using her spear as a crutch.

There were more hurt than whole.

Every time Kai slowed to tend someone, Tarni or Zane yelled for a defensive circle, and the fighters would lock shields and brace. Goblins struck like lightning—fast, sharp, unpredictable—but the group was learning. People reacted quicker. Parties moved as one. Tank lines held instead of buckling.

Bit by bit, they were becoming something more than a bunch of frightened townsfolk.

They were becoming a force.

Still, exhaustion was setting in. Even the strongest fighters were moving on willpower more than physical stamina. The kids in the centre trudged along silently, holding hands, shell-shocked.

Max walked with them, carrying the bundle of raw snags he'd somehow become responsible for. He looked back constantly, watching the fighters, watching Kaitlyn heal, watching the adults struggle forward under the weight of the wounded.

He wasn't the only one scared.

A little girl cried softly as her mother carried her. Two boys whispered about whether their dad would survive his cuts. Mrs Hollis screamed once when a goblin corpse twitched before becoming still and turning into smoke.

Zane and Tarni kept pushing them forward, switching between barking commands and encouraging the frightened.

"Stay close!" "Shields up!" "You're doing great, don't look at the bodies, look ahead!" "Three more minutes—then we move again!" "Eyes sharp! They're testing the flanks again!"

Tarni moved like a shadow, slipping between party lines, relaying orders and scouting ahead. Liam carried a limp teenage boy over his shoulder, never complaining once.

Slowly—very slowly—they were getting closer to safety.

Or what they hoped was safety.

Rumours travelled the line that the Riders had fortifications. That their property was elevated. That the creatures would avoid the open paddocks around it.

No one knew if any of that was true.

But hope was a powerful thing, even half-broken and bleeding.

The group pushed through another thicket, turned up a narrow ridge, and the treeline thinned—

—and finally, someone shouted:

"I can see the paddocks! We're close!"

Relief washed through the group like a tidal wave. Some people cried openly. Others stumbled forward faster. A few sank to their knees in sheer exhaustion only to be pulled up again.

They weren't safe.

Not yet.

But for the first time since the System arrived, safety felt possible.

And that was enough to keep them fighting.

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