When told that there are potentially more than two thousand enemies, and confronted with barely even 2% of that on a single wave, you could reasonably be forgiven for not understanding the scale you're working with, and writing it off as an inconvenience not worth talking about or considering dangerous. After all, expectations are often taken advantage of or just plain incorrect. They can be hard to manage when told about two extremes.

But when you're facing down that 'small' number, your illusions on the matter are quickly dispelled. Human perception is fickle like that.

So it is that we're contending with an onslaught of fur and teeth. Most get locked down and annihilated before they reach me and the rest of the frontline, as it should be. With the kind of numbers we're working against, Trappers and spellcasters with AoE are the most efficient at dealing with the problem, meaning that ultimately, our role is as much bodyguard as it is clean-up crew. Anything that makes it through the barrage of spells gets cut down by one of us or nailed with an arrow or bolt.

Smart as they are for animals, there's only so much that can do for them when we're in an advantageous position on the high ground. They have great speed, reflexes and coordination, but they're best at open-field engagements and lack any sort of ranged option or siegebreaking capability. Their best option, realistically, is to throw as many of their bodies as physically possible at us and hope to break the line through sheer persistence or by exhausting us. Assuming they even get close, that is.

It's actually kind of terrifying how efficient spellcasters can be at decimating hordes of fodder. Don't get me wrong, in my prime I could solo this entire dungeon by myself in less time than it takes to cook a pizza, but a spellcaster on the same level? Not even a minute. If that. They're not invincible, thankfully, but high-grade spellcasters are legendarily obnoxious to deal with if they see you coming and know what to expect, taken up to its logical extreme with Magic Trappers.

Speaking of which, Mr Fathom's particular niche is...interesting. He seems to be pretty short-ranged for a healer, needing physical contact for most of his spells, which are applied in the form of glyphs to the target with magical inks and activated with a short incantation or when a condition is met, like taking a certain amount of damage. Like this, he can effectively buffer his healing so it's applied instantly the moment it's needed, but reapplying it is something of a chore for him to do, especially in the middle of combat and especially amongst the melee contingent of a group. If he ever gets paired with a mobile melee like Miss Leovoldt, he's going to have a hell of a time keeping her alive, and tanks are always going to be directly in the line of fire, so good luck with that too.

I expect that as he progresses, he'll be able to come up with workarounds or gain new Skills that directly address the problem, such as, just as a guess, a weak form of telekinesis that lets him draw from a distance. I don't really know how his Class works, in all honesty, since he's chosen an extremely rare niche and the man himself faded into obscurity.

Well, if I have space to critique the pros and cons of someone else's Vessel build, I suppose the situation isn't really all that bad. Sure, the time spent getting up here meant that the second wave arrived on the tail end of the first, in addition to those we picked up along the way, but fodder is still fodder. The real problem starts when the first Beta arrives with that second wave.

Broadly speaking, there are two behaviour patterns that they can assume when a Beta is present. The first, is that they will just stop attacking entirely and wait for reinforcements or you to approach them. This can be prevented by just bombarding the Beta and it's minions out from range, either killing them or forcing them to resume the desperate attack. The second is that they'll implement sacrificial diversionary tactics. Adolescents will rush in first to tie up the attention of the enemy, while the Adults bring up the rear and attempt to either bypass the frontline entirely or finish them off.

For the first Beta, since the first wave should already be dead by the time it arrives, Pattern A is usually what happens, switching to B when the next wave arrives. The second Beta is almost always going to lead with Pattern B, with that condition in mind. Of course, this is all predicated on the assumption you're using this spot to hold out. Other strategies introduce different patterns specific to the circumstances presented to the Dire Wolves. It's the same every time otherwise.

Grunting, I kick the corpse of an Adolescent off my sword and assist the Warrior from Sober Morning adjacent to me in killing an Adult that leapt on top of his body. The Beta approaches, wounded by concentrated fire and slowed significantly by the crowd control debuffs applied.  There's basically nothing it can do except run away under the circumstances, but whether through sheer stubbornness or mindless determination, it's still closing in, giving cover to it's minions.

If it were a Beta from outside the dungeon, it'd be dead several times over by now. The tenaciousness of dungeon Elites really is something. Tragically, such a display of grit is meaningless against the rain of arrows, magic spells and crossbow bolts. Before it can even complete a single attack, it howls pitifully and collapses, dead. Undiscouraged, the fodder charges thoughtlessly ahead, turning the frontline into an abattoir overflowing with bodies. If it keeps up, the next wave will be able to climb a staircase of their brethren tall enough to leap over my head.

Ordinarily, there'd be a minute or so between waves where you'd be able to clean away all the Carcasses into your inventories, but right now we don't have that luxury. After a little over half of the second wave lies dead, I can already see the third looming in the distance, a soft vibration travelling through the ground as more than a hundred paws kick up dirt and dust.

"Third wave incoming! We're still too slow, put some effort into it or we'll be overrun!" I roar, wading downhill to meet more of the blighters by myself, "Clear these mutts out!"

If I have to do it myself, I will.

---

 

Breathing heavily, I feel like my arms and hands have gone numb from the incessant swinging of my sword. Spikes prickle my throat and lungs, and my dry tongue licks drier lips. Leaning on my sword, I marvel at the carnage around me, and realise that at some point I blacked out, not recognising much of it as my responsibility. Not a good thing. That's how a berserker operates,  not a duellist.

It's given us some breathing room though. With the rest of the melee fighters cutting loose from a purely defensive strategy, we were able to recover lost ground and deal with the fodder waves in good time, but the experience has left my Stamina significantly drained. I can't be the only one who feels that way either.

Exhaling, a fine mist of hot breath escapes from the slits in my helmet like steam from a boiling kettle, and I shakily walk back to the group, ignoring the stares. Fumbling with one hand at my inventory, a waterskin is proffered under my nose.

"Here, drink up," Angelus offers.

"Thank you," I drop my sword, catching it with my boot, then chug like I've not hydrated in weeks. It's difficult, like swallowing whole apples, but my body cries for more. I empty the waterskin entirely, easily two pints of water in one go, and groan, the adrenaline spike fading.

"Better?" he asks, taking the empty vessel back into his inventory.

"Yes," I correct my helmet's fit, kick up my sword and catch it, "Get a few people to clean up the Carcasses, I'm going to take a breather until Groti arrives."

"Sure," he agrees, then turns and yells with a hand to his mouth, "Hey! Gather the loot before the boss shows up!"

A little dizzy, I find a dry spot between what was once the frontline and the back, then take a seat. Closing my eyes, I go through some meditative exercises to calm my breathing and recover. I don't really know what made me fly off the rails like that, and I find it incredibly unpleasant that I did. Chewing my bottom lip, I consider what I told Henna about Class Philosophy, and wonder if there was more truth to some of the speculations I talked about than I realised.

I deny it pretty quickly. I've been under a lot of stress lately, and a lot of that tension seems to have coincidentally dissipated. Put like that, it isn't hard to match one and two together and get an answer as to what must've happened. Still, losing myself in violence like that is uncharacteristic of me, which brings me back around to the start.

"Hey, boss, are you sure you're alright?" Windy asks again, stood a little below me on the incline.

"Answer to that is still the same," I wave her off dismissively, "I'll manage."

Giving up, she shrugs her arms, "If you need to get something off your chest, you can talk to us. Just putting it out there."

I flick my chin off to the distance, "No time for a heart to heart. Groti's here."

Even at this distance, it's easy to tell. She is absolutely massive, twice the size of the Aberrant, just as scarred, and winner of 'angriest dog in existence' 4 years running, only toppled by an actual literal embodiment of the concept of anger in the shape of a 5 headed wolf demon. Her theoretically infinite damage scaling leads to a number of deathmatch memes between her and other iconic bosses.

"Groti team, get ready to intercept!" Mr Fathom calls it out.

"No rest for the wicked," I mutter, standing up with Windy's help, and offer some encouragement to Jade as she passes by, "Good luck, don't die."

"Yeah, I know," she huffs, sprinting downhill, jumping off a wall at the bottom and landing on a craggy shelf, joining a waiting Olrica, bow drawn and ready. In the barely ten seconds since the call went up, Groti has already crossed the distance at an approximate speed of 160km/h, more owing to her immense stride than her Agility. Made to run anything but long-distance cross country in a straight line, she slows down considerably as her size and stupidity works against her on winding paths and around tight corners. Meanwhile, if we don't draw her away and hold our formation like she's not a problem, that's a lot of wolf barrelling towards us, more living battering ram than monstrous canine.

Glancing to the left, my brain nearly stalls out, "Hey! Don't you dare attack the boss!"

Guilty, the offending Ranger puts down his bow, and gets smacked across the back of the head by a fellow next to him as well as a cold glare from his boss, Ms Maclona, "You were specifically told to hold your fire when the first boss arrives, idiot!"

"Sorry," he apologises hurriedly, drowned out by the incensed roar of Groti being tagged by Jade down below. Eesh, even with all my experience, that intense animosity rattles my bones. Shivering, it makes me seriously question what made her like this, because that level of abstract hostility is hard to come by naturally. Even when Enraged, her mate, Trastor, doesn't even come close to the same primal ferocity, even if she's still the weaker of the two without being allowed to scale.

The two former Scouts launch themselves hurriedly from their perch, as Groti slams her head into it, crushing apart the rock easily without so much as a twitch, her one good eye utterly deranged. Almost any living creature at this Level range hit by an attack like that would be pancaked against the stone, and her passive will ensure those that could survive won't do so later.

As directed, the pair, and their healer babysitter, lead Groti off down the trenches towards their home for the next half hour or so. The entourage, meanwhile, is upon us and our concern first and foremost. We need to ensure that all fifty are dead before Poril arrives to make the last struggle look like a pleasant morning workout.

---

 

Sherry

I feel like I finally understand what it's like to be one of those monster movie protagonists being hunted down by a kaiju or something similarly massive. As much as I've pumped into Agility, my...admittedly short legs don't make staying ahead of the rabid, 20ft tall slobberbeast that wants to make me her chew toy any easier. 'But Sherry,' you ask, 'if you're so upset about being short in-game as well, why didn't you make your character taller?'

Well, as it turns out, I usually don't care about it. Christ, I'm 20, I got over it five years ago. Not that it isn't inconvenient sometimes, sure, but I'm chill with it. Didn't see a reason to change it when I started, because as far as I'm concerned, being overly tall as a rogue-type character is a detriment anyway.

Y'know, until you find yourself having to kite this house-sized bitch for a while. Then the stubby legs come back to bite you in the ass. My very nice, very unbitten ass that I really really want to stay unbitten because with the size of this thing's jaws that's not just a nibble it'll take out if I'm caught. 

On the plus side, it lets me make some ballsier manoeuvres through the smaller roots in this area. Which is probably the reason he asked me to do it over the depressed assassin chick. I can duck and dive through narrower gaps, then take a moment to breathe while I get flecked with gobbets of dog slobber the size of my fist as the boss scrabbles, bites and growls at the opening. Something that is becoming less and less frequent as time passes and the intensifying rage makes it even more swole. Hidey-holes that could block her suddenly lose effectiveness, and obstacles that gave it a reason to go around get bulldozed through like she's channelling the friggin Kool-aid Man, may God rest his soul in the fires of shitty punch hell after the arsenic debacle with that fucking rainbow cat's 'magic fizz'.

Paint this fucker green and you'll have a lawsuit on your hands.

Stood atop one of the biggest offshoots, I call out to my healerbro, before dropping backwards off of it and continuing the chase, "Hey, how much longer do I gotta do this?"

"Until we get the signal!" he calls back patronisingly. Yeah, like I don't know that already. But I'm seriously running out of obstacle course to throw at this thing, and I'm getting tired on top of that. This is more exercise than I've ever had to go through.

"It's been maybe a quarter of an hour!" Olrica shouts, hanging off the thing's back like the world's deadliest bull rodeo, "The big boss'll be arriving at the main group any minute now!"

I duck and roll through a bush, dodging a wild bite, so close I can smell it's breath, "Yeah? They better fucking hurry up, I'm running out of steam and it's close enough it can smell my shampoo brand!"

---

 

Winfrey

Well. That is quite possibly the largest dog I've ever seen. I know it's name is Trastor, but considering how deeply crimson it's fur is, I'm just gonna call him Clifford the Big Pissed Wolf. Groti was a hulking monstrosity, sure, and my heart goes out to my girl for having to play fetch with her for however long it's been. Poril wasn't really that much bigger than the regular Betas, either, she just felt larger than life and oddly dignified.

Clifford? If this bastard blows, forget a brick house, the entire street is as good as gone. And I'm supposed to tank that?

Awesome! No joke either. That right there? That looks like fun.

"Windy! You're up, everyone else, carve her a path to Trastor!" Silver orders, I think doing better after his little uh...episode, earlier.

I'm already moving, though, from the moment that Clifford loped into sight, flanked by a lot of his offspring. I think they're his offspring, but frankly, they look tiny compared to him, so the bio nerd in me is seriously questioning what the hell happened in there or if the answer is the universal catch-all of 'magic i gess lmao'.

Barrelling downhill with my shield out in front, my body low, I barge through the furry tide with my allies at my back, picking them off where they can. I decide against caring particularly about whether there's a wolf directly in my path and either bowl it over and trample it, or give it an almighty backhand that their ancestors'll be feeling five generations back. Really am feeling the Strength boost doing serious work for me over the Tenacity forward approach. I don't feel like I wasted points, all the same, but I can get used to this feeling of power.

A feeling which promptly vanishes with a single swipe from Clifford's forepaw, which sends me immediately flying into a wall the moment I break through the wave of trash, like he was waiting for me. Probably was.

Rattled, I flop off the wall as gravity reasserts itself. Haven't been doinked that severely since Geronil made me an unintentional acrobat. But my equipment's held up even if a quarter of my health just evaporated, so, silver linings to dark clouds. Clifford doesn't seem all that interested in following up, though, eyeing the main group hungrily, hindlegs coiling in preparation to pounce over the entire wave. Seems optimistic, but he's a big boy, so I can definitely see him pulling it off.

Obviously, I can't let that happen, so although I was already going back towards him, I grit my teeth and push out more effort into my legs. I really miss having Rush as an option, but apparently changing classes locked that off. Which is a pain in the ass because this is one of those times where having it would be extremely beneficial.

Thankfully, my efforts pay off, and I manage to tag the boss with a shallow stab into his meaty back leg before he jumps, which immediately provokes Clifford into attacking me with a quick turn into a bite. A little surprised at the speed of his response, I'm undaunted by the huge, angry dog face lancing towards me with jaws that'd give a shark reason to blush, stabbing into it.

My sword only scrapes the roof of his mouth before he immediately recoils and turns the rest of his body around to try again, from an angle this time, that avoids my sword arm. I slide my foot back jump out the way slicing upwards at the extended neck in the same motion I dodge.

-189

Tanky fucker. After a few more exchanges, I start leading him back out into the fields, careful to make sure it's not too much at once and to keep the aggro building. We need to get him away from Poril's aura range ASAP, on the off-chance that Mr Trapper-I-Don't-Remember-The-Name-Of fucks up the timing and she gets her buff off. Haven't heard a peep out of her so far, so good job you. Keep doing that.

Gotta say, though. With how fucklarge Clifford is, it's both a blessing and a curse that the size difference is so severe. On the one hand, I can move under and around him in ways that make it awkward for him to retaliate, but by that same token, his effective attack range is so huge that I really gotta work for those blind spots. Which is an issue mainly because my Agility is starting to lag behind the curve and my Stamina isn't doing so hot after fighting the everything up until now.

Out of consideration for this eventuality, the other frontliners have been doing most of the work on my behalf so I can contend with Clifford when the time came, but even so...That was a lot of wolf to murderise.

I click my tongue in consternation once I notice the tell Silver warned me about. A faint wisp of smoke rises from his fur and the red colour deepens it's hue. Faster than I thought him capable, his claws streak towards my back as I'm caught mid-stride. This is absolutely going to fucking hurt. Can't dodge it, gotta block and hope for the best. Kind of out of range of the healers right now.

Twisting in the air, I present my shield hurriedly to the tankbuster and feel my arm buckle, slammed forcefully into my chest and carried away by the force gong through me like the bass of a metal band in a concert mosh pit. Winded and spitting blood, I get batted for a homerun, bouncing off the ground several times before stopping.

"Fuuuuck that hurts!" I moan, coughing some more. Startled, I roll out of the way of that same damn paw slamming down where I landed, and feel the heated breath of Clifford wash over me. Oh, he is not happy I survived that. I mean, one more hit like that and I'm pretty sure my insides will turn into gravy, but I'm still standing. Or, well, kneeling. Yeah.

I correct that quickly though, jumping aside as he attempts to crush me underfoot a second time. A string of colourful expletives goes through my head as I fervently pray for help to arrive in whatever form it may be. It's already lucky enough that I happen to be a high enough Level that he didn't just one-shot me straight up with that attack, so maybe I've already used up my luck for the day.

Help- Doesn't come. There's just too many of the little ones clogging the path for anyone to make it out here. I've got to hold out on my own. Come on, Win, you've got this. You haven't died yet, not gonna die now.

---

 

Grasping the Adult by it's neck and yelling with exertion, I toss the oversized mongrel gnawing at my shoulder off me and cut the head off of another. There's entirely too many of these things for the backline to make it through unmolested, but their numbers are still steadily dropping off even as tired as we are. Uninjured, of course, but there are only two Beacons in the group, and their Stamina restoration effect is both minimal and random. We're managing, and if circumstances weren't what they are, I wouldn't be especially concerned. We can definitely clean them out without losing a member, but Windy and the Pack Mother teams won't be able to hold out forever. Eventually, something has to give, whether it's our flagging Stamina or theirs.

Or even worse, Poril's buff goes through. It doesn't even bear thinking about.

In the distance, Windy takes a nasty hit and gets sent skipping like a pebble across a pond, and I feel like that might be the thing that breaks first. I have a fair amount of faith in her talents, she's yet to really disappoint, but she's definitely not capable of fighting a boss alone. Nobody, myself included, is here, save maybe Jade or one of the other archers if the terrain allows it and the boss has no way of catching them. But I hesitate to call endlessly kiting a boss 'fighting' it as much as it is vigorously exploiting it's AI.

"Jupiter! Grand! Go all out! Frontline, prepare for collateral damage! Healers, compensate!" I make a tough call, and take the metaphorical leash off my Wizards. They've been pretty careful about avoiding friendly fire so far, but that's about to change.

"Hell yeah!" Grand and Jupiter exclaim in unison, before sharing a high five and a manic grin.

My world is rocked by an explosion of fire, incinerating several Dire Wolves in my vicinity and knocking me away from the explosion with a few hundred points of damage as a souvenir. The damage is healed quickly, but the pain lingers a touch longer before redoubling as a second explosion shoves me back.

In short order, the pack of fodder thins out to a fraction of the original number, but I can't say that everyone is happy about it, after being caught up in it themselves. I'll apologise after, but for now, we have more urgent matters to attend to, namely, finishing this dungeon before it's too late.

"All Forward! Kill Trastor! We're almost done, keep your heads high!" I yell, charging ahead with Bull Rush. My breathing is ragged, heart thumping and my eyes sore from lack of moisture as I avoided blinking too often in the thick of battle. I'm parched, sore and singed, but despite it all, I feel a bit of the joy I used to feel long, long ago returning. The simple fun of struggling with everything you have against overwhelming odds and coming out on top in spite of it all.

There's clearly a difference between now, and the confrontation with Arevas. Although I can't quite put my finger on how best to describe it, it feels oddly nostalgic after a fashion. Hearkening back to my younger days, when I first started playing Astral Reckoning seriously, in a more innocent time before everything started to spiral the drain. It's a good feeling, but I recognise it as being a poison if mishandled. Those days are gone, and unless some more time-travel shenanigans reset everything, myself included, they're not coming back. I'm here to make them better, and for as long as I have the strength to maintain it.

Taking heart, all the same, I contract my legs, bring my sword in, and leap forward with the last second of Bull Rush's momentum, emulating a crossbow bolt leaving the stock and lancing into Trastor's neck with Brutal Strike before he realises what's happening.

True Strike!

-1578

Still embedded, I yank it down and out, leaving a bloody gash that douses me in the hot red fluid. Fortunately, Vanguard's Advance has been affecting him for a while, so in spite of the massive chunk of damage I dealt, he ignores me in favour of finishing off the persistent nuisance that is Windy stabbing at his ankles. At least at first. Perhaps noticing that a certain amount of opponents have entered his periphery, he swings his head high and takes a deep breath.

"Roar incoming! Back away!" I call it out immediately, and brace for impact. I'm not going to be able to escape it's range in time, but I don't need to worry too much about the stun after unloading a big attack already. The shockwave of sound erupting from his maw shakes me to my core, making moving, even breathing difficult for a moment before it passes. Evidently, I've partially resisted the stun, but I still feel greatly weakened, so the damage penalty still applied. My Willpower isn't really all that impressive for my Level, though it's certainly gotten a hell of a workout courtesy of Arevas.

Windy handles it better, probably thanks to her Tenacity picking up the slack, and manages to stay moving while Trastor is animation locked. The others arrive on scene with a few seconds of the roar completing, and join the battle, piling into the rather generously sized target dummy that's been presented for them.

Because realistically, that's what he is without his kin to assist him or the Enrage state being triggered. Oh, he's probably the second smartest out of all them, and the second strongest too, being the middle point between the two extremes presented by his mates, but his options are extremely limited on his lonesome, his main advantage being that he arrives so late into the fight that his opponents are greatly enervated by those that came before.

Feeling triumphant, I give my all in finishing off the Dire Alpha, for the first time in Astral Reckoning's long history, but certainly not the last, his eternal torment at the hands of the players set in stone. Thus, in the spirit of those ravenously greedy fools...

"Give me your loot you novelty pinata!" I hiss under my breath, and together with Windy, split open the bastard's belly.

Congratulations, your party has defeated Dire Alpha Trastor (Elite, Boss)!

Awarding 35000 Experience.

Bloodsoaked, I raise my voice in victorious cheer, pat the exhausted Windy's shoulder, and give the order for the signal to be given to the others. We're not done quite yet. Still got to clean up the other two bosses.

---

 

 

As Poril finally collapses, so do the majority of the squad. Happy as we are, it has been a thoroughly draining endeavour, and barely any of us can be said to have emerged with grace and aplomb from the frantic struggle to finish off both Pack Mothers. Since, while Poril was a complete joke once isolated, Groti was almost responsible for a lot of collateral damage and it isn't as though Jade could stop moving once we arrived, so us melee folks who were already running on fumes had to either try and chase her down or stay out of the ragebeast's way. Smart money was on just not going anywhere close because even just brushing alongside her at that point would probably kill a healer instantly, never mind one of us.

"It's finally fucking ovvveerrrr!!"

"Never...again...ughhhh..."

"Go team...wake me up in November..."

The mood is understandably mixed. As fantastic as it is to have prevailed, it was a lot of hard, prolonged work getting this far. And to top it off, we didn't even qualify for the B rating and extra reward. Hardly encouraging to think about what lengths might be required to do better than we have already on a second run, is it?

For my part, though, I'm probably not going to be running this place again any time soon after I've gotten what I came for. On that note, I...should probably get going. As much as my body protests against moving in my state, we don't have long before we're forcefully ejected, maybe an hour at most. And I really don't want to have to go through all of this again because I was lazy the first time around.

Raising my arms, and giving myself a quick inspection, I note that my gear has seen better days, and I don't just mean the clots of blood spattered all over me, fresh and old. Cleaning this off is going to be an utter bastard later on, and my sword's edge has dulled considerably to boot. Durability overall is under half, not to mention.

"Truthseekers! Form up, we've got somewhere to go. The rest of you, stay put until we return or we all get kicked out, as per the System Contract," I instruct tiredly, not caring if my tone of voice is in someway condescending, "I'll take a look at the loot once we're out for those curious about what drops here. Otherwise, great job everybody, this is a great achievement and you should all be proud of yourselves for overcoming it. It only gets more intense from here on out, so I hope that one day you'll be able to look back at how much you struggled today and laugh that you ever thought this was as far as you could go."

And I mean that sincerely.