On approach, I learned that Tiny had finally severed the tendril that I’d fought so hard to mutilate earlier. And the end of that particular threat had come not a moment too soon (although it was equally possible that the loss of one of its three remaining limbs had been responsible for sending the land shark into a frenzy in the first place). I searched out Medusa, hoping that the speedy swordswoman could be relied upon yet again to draw the big dumb mob away, this time into the clutches of my hastily prepared trap. But that hope was immediately dashed as I watched my fellow sword-wielder take a devastating blow to the side of the head from the wildly swinging tendril, knocking her clean off her feet. Despite Medusa’s dazed protests, she was immediately dragged to the safety of the chamber’s edge by an almost equally bloodied Pandora. I couldn’t read either battered fighter’s HP, but given the boss’s strength, I couldn’t imagine that the pair would be back in the fight for a while.

Crap. If she hadn’t leveled up in the battle with Nyx she’d probably be dead. Our weaker troops couldn’t hope to survive a blow like that. I need to get out there and draw some aggro of my own.

I ordered my apprentice to the swordswoman’s side then hastily deposited my recently gained mana into my thirsty blade. Meanwhile, the gun mage did his best to initiate our original plan, raining pellets of hardened mana into the hide of the angered boss in a desperate attempt to draw the beast his way. But if the land shark recognized its old enemy, it no longer perceived him as a threat: it only had eyes for the noobish barbarian it deemed responsible for its freshly mutilated limb.

Tiny and Kraitos grasped the severity of the situation and switched from tentacle-severing duty to outright damage-dealing, hacking at the creature’s sides, briefly drawing the ire of said stunted limb. It thrashed at the annoyance like a more conventional beast swatting at flies with its tail, but the duo’s attack wasn’t enough to shift the bastard’s focus: with its one free limb occupied, its colossal bulk continued to charge at its fixation: it was determined to kill the barbarian who’d had the audacity to sever its precious tendril, and the attempt was drawing it further and further from the balcony overhead.

“Shit! Tiny, Kraitos, hit it with something it can’t ignore, then pull back. Do whatever it takes to lead the ugly bastard to that fucking balcony.”

The two tanks broke away from the relative safety of their opponent's side and began to attack its infinitely more dangerous ‘face’, desperately struggling to draw the beast’s aggro and turn back its advance. Kraitos began to flag, his stamina finally succumbing to the battle’s brutal demands. But Tiny’s axe was still thirsty for the indifferent mob’s attention. He swung the enhanced weapon with a flash of crackling mana, shattering a massive tooth and ruining the land shark’s sinister smile in the process.

Yes, that got the bastard’s attention.

The beast seemed torn between the barbarian who had shortened its precious limb and the one who was currently trying his hand at epic dentistry. I couldn’t be sure if the impressive damage was going to be enough to draw the beast away, but if nothing else the creature’s indecision had halted its charge, buying me time to join the remaining fighters in their attempts to fend off the enraged tendril that wildly swung between them.

The weary barbarians looked relieved by the sudden reappearance of their hybrid-battling hero. Kriabal didn’t, however. In fact, he was giving me a very dirty look. I couldn’t be certain why he was giving me the evil eye, but there was no time to ask him. Much more concerning was the indecisive beast that could easily start to charge us again at any moment.

“They need more ammo,” cried Kriabal, fending off a wildly swinging tendril with a blast of pure force.

“What?”

“The half-orcs on the balcony. Even if we draw this ugly fuck over to them, they’ll need more rocks to let loose. What they’ve carried up there already will barely scratch the bastard.”

Dammit, he’s right. They haven’t had anywhere near long enough to prepare.

“Can’t you, I dunno, hurl rocks at it with earth-magic, or something,” I asked, somewhat naively.

“Sure thing, boss. Let me pull a few mob-eating rabbits outta my ass first, then I’ll get right on it.”

Yup, no question about it… the warlock was definitely giving me attitude. My perplexed gaze prompted my furry former cheerleader to speak again.

“Hell’s bells, fella, why does everyone assume the magic user has all the bloody cheat codes. Earth magic? Where the hell would I pull that from? I only serve three masters, force, fire, an’ ice, an’ that’s an impressive mix as it is. Last I checked, none of those schools o’ magic can be used to haul fucking rocks into the air and onto that damn balcony.”

Damn. Why so tetchy, though?

“I might be able to bring a rain of ice down on the bastard, though,” he continued, “if you give me a few minutes to charge the spell. Fallin’ ice should have the same effect as fallin’ boulders.”

“Do it!” I ordered, turning to the two noobish barbarians who were anxiously awaiting my attention. “You two, head up to the balcony and assist the half-orcs in their efforts.” I stopped to parry a blow from the swinging limb, giving thanks that it had so many targets to move between, then continued. “We need to drop as much weight on this thing as possible, the sharper the better. Go, I’ll cover your retreat.”

And hopefully the bastard will spot you running in that direction and follow, I thought to myself, coldly.

The barbarian noobs seemed more than satisfied with my suggestion that they retreat to the (relative) safety of the balcony. And I was pretty satisfied with the increase in my leadership stat that followed the order. But that relief was short lived as Samusk’s dwarven avatar finally rotted, creating a gaping hollow in the ice that had once contained him. The tendril he’d been impaled on (now finding itself with a lot more wriggle room) easily broke free, adding an even deadlier threat to an already terminal situation.

Another bone-tipped bastard to contend with. And an enraged one, at that. Wonderful.

Samusk began to rematerialize at my side, but I didn’t have time to stop and listen to his inevitable complaints. There was time for one final order before I engaged my vastly superior enemy close-up.

“Kriabal, change of plan. I need that spiked tendril weighed down, asap.”

“I have an attack to charg-”

“Fucking do it!” I cut in, “and that’s a damn order. That tentacle has too much reach compared to the injured one. If it gets to the troops on the balcony, we’re finished.”

“Got it, he grunted,” accepting my logic, before forcefully grabbing my arm and adding: “One more thing though, fearless leader. I noticed our war-party seems to be shrinkin’. So here’s a word of advice from a veteran to his noob general. You even think of cuttin’ me from the party before this battle’s ended, an’ I’ll shove my staff so far up your ass you’ll glow like a fuckin Christmas tree, got it?”

-[ The warlock has called you on your shady act and this has caused your reputation to suffer within your war-party. Penalty: you have lost your +1 rep buff. Warning: if this underhand act is discovered by your other troops the debuff may increase. ]-

Crap. Busted. No wonder the warlock’s so pissed at me. He must have been monitoring the party status screen.

Ashamed by my actions, I dropped my head like a scolded child. I’d justified cutting ‘TheGreatestSwordsman’ from the party to myself with the reasoning that he was zeroed out anyway: with a five-year level lock in effect, any combat XP that went his way would have been wasted on him. But CutThroatKeith had been a level 2, and he’d joined me on the promise of a share of the XP. I knew he’d probably be pissed at me for my actions afterwards, but I hadn’t stopped to think what screwing him over could do to the morale of my other troops during the fight.

Dammit, how could I have been so fucking stupid? I’ve let my greed blind me, and probably lost the warlock’s trust in the process.

I gave my ally a hurried excuse that was mostly centered around my being completely new to all this. It was hastily followed up with a promise that there would be no more cuts to our numbers unless the individual in question requested or deserved it. Then I made a promise to myself: CutThroatKeith would level up, even if I had to spar with him to grind his skills myself.

The warlock seemed placated by my words and got to work on his spell, casting ice upon the lethal bone-tipped tendril as it swooped in to attack. The shorter, mutilated limb meanwhile, was now firmly focused on Tiny and Kriabal. The boss had turned its mass to face the slash-happy pair of tanks but seemed frustratingly satisfied to hold position, striking at my rapidly shrinking number of allies with each of its remaining limbs. There was one silver lining, though: the strikes were growing noticeably slower. The enraged buff was clearly wearing off. And that gave me the perfect opportunity to cross the distance between us and bury my blade as deeply into the bastard boss’s hide as my powerful avatar could muster.

I charged at the advancing mob like a noob with a death wish, praying that my arcane blade would be enough to draw its ire and lead it to my trap. But to my surprise, someone else managed to beat me to it. A sudden blaze of energy erupted from the direction of the balcony, a neon violet fireball that I could only describe as a Street Fighter special. The burst of energy was capped with a wailing face, its trailing hair flailing behind it as the disturbing apparition sailed across the chamber, soaring over our tanks' heads before bursting against the creatures hide in a flare of energy. A deafening howl confirmed that whatever the bizarre attack had been, it had caused the creature excruciating pain.

So, the witch did have something impressive hidden up her baggy sleeves, after all. Well done, Agooma, or should I say Akuma. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.

The old crone smiled a toothy smile, swaying slightly as she half-heartedly proceeded to raise the roof. She looked dead on her feet, an exhausted status that was pretty much confirmed as she unglamorously collapsed to the ground in a heap. She’d drained her stamina channeling so much raw mana at once, but she’d succeeded where the gun mage had failed. There was just too much aggro coming from the direction of the balcony for the land shark to ignore. Finally, the beast began to advance upon the site of our final stand, causing Tiny and Kraitos to retreat the arcane contingent’s position.

At fucking last.

“Kriabal, I’m serious, pin that fucking tendril down or we’re done for.”

The warlock cussed me out in a way that reminded me of the conspicuously absent Samusk. Deep down, I knew he was doing his best. The problem was, I needed better.

“Gunner, keep up those ranged attacks,” I cried, rushing to join my arcane ‘bait’. “Half-orcs, get ready to rain granite down on the ugly bastard. Tiny, Kraitos, the moment the bombardment ends, we need to be ready to hit the thing as hard as we can.”

The axe-wielding half-orc nodded his agreement, letting loose a blood-curdling war-cry that made me glad he was on my side. Tiny grunted, unimpressed with my presumption to order him about.

“What about us?” asked the apprentice, returning to my side with a freshly-healed Medusa and Pandora in tow.

“I hope you’ve got something left in your mana reserve,” I declared, raising my sword to meet the advancing mob. “Because things are about to get bloody.”