The wolf bioform collapses dead at my feet. Blood drips from the tip of my knife.

Did I just do that?

I'm sure I did. Who else could have killed that bioform? But I don't remember fighting it, instead I was staring at a computer screen ... ?

"Mann! Stop daydreaming and pull yourself together!" my supervisor shouts over the din of battle, both hands hefting a bloodstained chainsaw. His muscles bulge explosively, tearing out of his clothes as the supervisor invokes his Warrior skills.

"Uh, yes sir!" I shout in affirmation, but the supervisor is no longer paying any further attention to me. He guns the chainsaw and clashes with several encroaching bioforms baring their teeth. Each wild swing of the chainsaw drives back the bioform hunting pack and a lucky strike sends a spray of gristle flying into the air.

"Combatant Department isn't holding the bioforms back!" the swordsman who I assisted with that recent kill babbles in barely concealed panic, "They are being torn apart!"

"We need to hold formation." I urge the group I had fallen in with, "Just stay on the sidelines like this. As long as we stay together and don't draw too much attention, we can handle any -"

"DIIIIIIIEEEE!" a young woman standing next to me shrieks as she blazes away at the approaching bioforms with her SMG, a manic expression on her face.

"No! Stop!" the swordsman howls in terror, "You'll just draw the next wave right at us!"

The woman's barrage rakes the incoming bioforms, tearing pockmarks all over their bodies. But the swordsman is right, this level of damage is nowhere near enough to put down one of those accursed creatures. All it does is enrage them.

One of the wolf bioforms opens its slavering maw and before any of us can react, sends its tongue firing out with the speed of a bullet. The grotesque organ extends like a rubber band and punches through the shoulder of the swordsman. Our comrade gasps in sudden agony, everything else forgotten. The swordsman's expression becomes almost thoughtful as he stares transfixed at the sight of the writhing tongue, dripping with saliva and engorging itself with the blood welling up from the fresh wound.

As the woman and I look on in horror, the bioform fiercely swings its head back and forth, tearing the swordsman's arm clean off its socket. My face is hit with a crimson spray before a red hot flash of pain strikes across my torso. The impact sends me staggering back, barely registering that the bioform had used its tongue as a whip. The woman's SMG thunders again as the swordsman hits the ground with all the grace of a bag of wet cement.

My eyes stop spinning and looking down, I manage to take in the damage done by the bioform. The flak jacket has been torn right through but in a stroke of good luck, the bioform only managed to score a glancing hit. A slashing wound had been scored on my gut, but my stomach was not in danger of falling out. Bleeding is not too bad either, as long as the wound isn't disturbed at least.

The woman pummels the horde with her SMG, reducing one of the bioforms into mincemeat. There's an empty click as her gun runs dry and she fumbles with the bandoliers strapped to her chest for a fresh magazine. I raise my casting focus, ready to take up the slack, though there's a lingering feeling of embarrassment burning in my heart. A rando with a gun is more dangerous on the battlefield than a sorcerer who spent years mastering his craft.

If there's some kind of commentary on this state of affairs, I most certainly don't want to hear it.

The matter is taken out of my hands when a crowd of Combatants slam into the bioforms, slashing away with their swords. The Combatants' reinforced steel breastplates have managed to keep them alive up to this point, but they've clearly been mauled badly. Can't fault them for trying to earn their pay though. Full marks for effort guys.

One of the Combatants fails to dodge the lunge of a bioform and he's swallowed as the creature dislocates its jaw like a python. With monstrous strength, the bioform bites down on its victim, chomping apart his breastplate like a cracker and severing the man's body at the hip. The bioform pitches its head back, swallowing the impromptu meal whole while the pair of legs flop about on the ground, not realizing they have been sadly divorced from their owner.

The woman now begins to make incoherent noises from her throat, her face growing increasingly ghastly. She begins pumping out rounds with her SMG, though I'm not sure if she's actually managing to hit anything. The battle between our Combatant rescuers and the bioform pack is worryingly even though. Both parties have slaughtered the other mercilessly, with only a pair on each side remaining.

Oh, wait. One bioform just did that trick with its tongue, head shotting a Combatant into oblivion. Our remaining colleague remains fighting rather manfully, but with the number of bite marks on his legs, he might not even be able to keep standing for much longer.

Time for me to shine.

"Soul Fire!" I declare in the most awe inspiring voice I can manage, unleashing a bolt of raw sorcerous energy at one of the bioforms.

Huh, that makes my rubbish attack spell sound more impressive than it really is. Power of positive thinking and positive energy there.

Soul Fire doesn't let me down either. The moment the spell strikes home, flames spread along all the wounds adorning the bioform's body. There's a guttural cry of alarm from the creature as it rapidly immolates, turning to flickering cinders in an eyeblink. The remaining Combatant almost lustily lunges forward with his sword, decapitating the last bioform with surprising élan.

"My thanks friend!" he salutes me before being swallowed up again by the churn of battle.

"WARNING." the PA system bellows over the din, "INCURSION PACK LEADER DETECTED. TYPE: PRIMAL APE. ALL PERSONNEL, HOLD THE LINE. REPEAT, HOLD THE LINE."

"This is it!" the supervisor waves his bloody, gore coated chainsaw in the air, "We take down that monster, the rest of the bioforms will scatter."

"That's a big one isn't he?" I comment to the woman, who nods mutely in agreement.

The Primal Ape towers over the battlefield, pounding both fists on its armored chest in challenge. Most of us stand rooted to the spot, our brains struggling with the thought of actually fighting something that huge.

The pair of Captains nevertheless don't miss a beat, rushing the Primal Ape in a well coordinated maneuver. The Gunslinger darts about the battlefield, dual automatics barking defiance at the titan. Using the covering fire, the Warrior begins his advance, muscles bulking up and doublehanded sword drawn.

"Let's go!" my supervisor hollers, gesturing at the Primal Ape. Not a single person responds though. Since everyone shares the same thought.

Hang back and let the Captains deal with the Primal Ape.

"Show no fear!" dear supervisor demands, but the stomach churning sight of all the corpses littering the battlefield and the scantiness of our ranks persuades everyone otherwise.

And then the Gunslinger Captain is sent flying over our hands thanks to a backhanded slap by the Primal Ape.

"RUN!" another rando screams.

And like a dam breaking, all of us begin retreating from the Primal Ape. Leaving the remaining Captain to his own devices. I momentarily catch sight of the supervisor cursing us as he's swept up in the stampede, powerless to resist. I pump my legs as hard as I can, squeezing out all the speed I can muster.

"Get to the trikes!" someone yells, "We can use them to ride out of the Rift!"

Right, the Rift portal is too small to accommodate full sized vehicles, so most of the expedition's supplies were carried using electric powered trikes. Small and compact but packing enough horsepower to haul supplies. There's only one problem. Most of the Guild staff marched into the Rift on foot, myself included. There aren't enough trikes to carry us all.

The woman's entire body blurs as she begins to pull ahead of me. A speed based skill. Casting my eyes about, I see the same thing play out again and again. Anyone who has skills which boost their speed starts racing ahead, leaving the rest of us behind. I ignore my burning lungs and keep running, despite knowing that its a vain hope. The ones racing ahead will reach the trikes first and abandon the rest of us.

As sweat soaks my clothes, a sense of foreboding creeps down my spine. My mind is afire with the vague notion that I shouldn't, no, mustn't join the rest of the Guild in retreating. I try to stifle this unreasonable sensation, but it's impossible. The more I run in the direction of the camp, the greater that sense of uneasiness grows.

Forget it. I drop to my haunches breathing heavily. Its not as if I can get to the trikes in time anyway.

"Noooooo!" I hear the woman cry from somewhere up ahead and look up. Just in time to see a pair of trikes peeling out of the camp at full tilt. Looks like some members of the support staff had gotten the same idea and hijacked the trikes first.

The trikes plow heedless into the madly stampeding herd of humanity, unceremoniously running over several people. The woman draws her SMG, taking aim at one of the trikes and blasts apart its front wheel. The trike's driver swerves to retain control, but all that does is to cause it to tip over and get T boned hard by the remaining trike. Acrid blue smoke begins to rise from both wrecks as they skid to a stop.

"Oh shit." I swiftly duck and cover, recalling my health and safety classes.

The battery packs of both trikes explode, unleashing a conflagration that instantly incinerates a good chunk of the Guild staff. I wipe off some of the cold sweat building on my forehead. If I had kept running, I would have been swallowed by the explosion for sure. Unfortunately the fire keeps growing, cutting off access to the camp. There's no way for me to retreat now.

I turn back, regarding the Primal Ape inexorably stomping toward us. My grip tightens over both the focus and knife with such intensity that my hands are shaking.

Or maybe that's just fear. Not that it matters now.

The only way out, is through.