The Last Experience Point

Chapter 94: Battlegroup 7

In the moment before waking, there was warmth. Zach did not know when or how he’d ended up in the specific position he was currently in. He could not even remember falling asleep. He only knew he could stay like this forever as he lay with his head on Kalana’s stomach, the two of them under the blanket while Fluffles purred on a pillow located to her opposite side. Right now, in a fleeting period of bliss, he didn’t care where he was or what was going on in the world. He could sleep for a thousand years, unmoving, if only everything could stay just like this.

And then came the loud, jarring, and deeply unpleasant sound: an ominous siren consisting of rising and falling tones that served as a far more effective rousing agent than any alarm clock, but one that was also far crueler and made the reality of what they were about to endure that much more terrifying. His eyes slowly opening, Zach could feel Kalana’s body tighten. “Already?” she asked.

As though directly in reply to her question, a freakishly cheery, upbeat pair of voices began calling out to them. “Rise and shine, boys and girls!” Zephyr shouted. “It’s time to wake your asses up and get ready to slay a dragon!”

“Everyone up!” Donovan yelled, blowing into a whistle. “Sleeping time is over. Up, up, up!”

Fluffles lifted his head, opened his mouth wide, and stretched out his paws as he yawned. “Donovan too loud,” he said. “Still tired.”

“I’m sorry,” Kalana said, making a pouty face as she rubbed his fur. She leaned over and kissed him on the top of his head. “You’re a sleepy kitty, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly.

Zach shook his head to try to wake himself up. He was a bit groggy, and his brain was a bit fuzzy. He hadn’t even realized just how tired he was until he’d actually lain down last night, and when he did, he’d crashed hard. The same appeared to be true for Kalana as well. The both of them had fallen asleep pretty much instantly the moment they’d entered the tent together. And despite having finally been truly alone with her, as Fluffles tended not to sleep until much later on in the night, Zach had been so drained that he hadn’t even attempted to find out if Kalana intended to go through with the evil “punishment” she’d claimed he’d be forced to suffer as a result of his “meanness” in one of their arguments yesterday morning.

I hope last night counts as time served, he thought to himself, suppressing a devilish grin.

Kalana, noticing him looking at her, lifted her hand and poked his nose with her index finger. “What awful thoughts are you thinking about in that dork brain of yours?”

“Nothing,” he lied. Then he yawned and struggled to resist the urge to lie back down and let everyone else worry about the dragon.

This is really happening, isn’t it? he wondered. I have to fight it again.

The thought of not only having to see, but actually engage in battle with the wyvern made him jittery, and it was only due to the terror that suddenly popped into the pit of his belly that he was able to shake off some of his weariness. With the exception of the few times he’d had to use nighttime cold medicine during a bad case of the flu, he couldn’t recall ever feeling this level of lingering drowsiness after a full night’s sleep.

Of course I’m tired, he thought. I basically had two yesterdays yesterday.

It was true now that he thought about it. He’d basically had a “double yesterday” due to the difference in time between Archian Prime and Galterra. He’d woken up, spent the greater part of the day in Archian Prime, then right before the early-winter sunset, he’d returned to the scorching-hot Galterran summer, where it was just before noon all over again, and then he’d had a “second” day, so-to-speak.

I should get two nights to make up for the two days.

Stretching his arms then rubbing his face, Zach crawled out of the cot where he’d slept with Kalana and Fluffles. He half-limped, half-walked his way groggily over to the chair in his tent where he’d haphazardly thrown all of his clothing and equipment, and he began dressing in a hurry, slipping into his robe and pants, tying the chains around his wrists and lower forearms, and sliding each of his hands into one of the snugly fitting gloves. Next, he bent down to pick up his scabbard, and he strapped it to his back and made sure it was secure. Having slept with the skull-shaped pendant still around his neck, all that was left for him now was to put on his cloak, which he did, pulling the hood over his head.

“You look spooky again,” Kalana said, yawning. “I don’t like that cloak.”

“What’s so spooky about it?”

She made a wry grin with her lips. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?” Zach asked.

Sitting up in the cot, she grabbed her phone from where it was lying on the floor and pointed it at his face before snapping a picture of him. “Kal, what are you doing? Why would you—whoah!” he exclaimed as she turned it around so that he could see it. “That’s so badass! Is that because of the lighting in here? Or does the cloak do that to me?”

“It’s definitely the cloak.”

“Is that really me?”

“Yes,” she said sourly.

“Wow.”

He had no idea that this was how he looked with the hood of the cloak drawn over his head. It appeared to have the effect of unnaturally darkening the area around his face so that only the bottom half of it was visible aside from two glowing orbs, which he took to be his eyes. He looked so evil and scary. It was amazing.

“Stop acting like it’s cool,” Kalana said. “It’s not.”

“Are you kidding me? This is the coolest thing ever. I look like some kind of evil, dark assassin.”

“Yah, I know you do, baby,” Kalana said, folding her arms. “That’s why I said it’s spooky and I don’t like it.”

Following a stretch and another yawn, Kalana grabbed her things and hurriedly got dressed. He was actually impressed by how quickly she was able to get her equipment on. In fact, this was the fastest he’d ever seen her prepare for something. Before all this adventuring stuff happened, whenever they needed to go somewhere, Kalana would take like two-and-a-half years to get ready. Zach supposed that when a deadly fire wyvern was on the way, even Kal could be motivated to hurry up and be ready on time. Though, to be fair, her gear was significantly easier to slip into than his was, since it consisted mostly of a pair of tan-colored shorts, a sleeveless shirt, and a belt designed to holster her two daggers. Her bracelets were also indistinguishable from the thin ones made of gold and silver you’d see in a jewelry store, and the gemstones in her rings looked like diamonds. Zach wondered: was that tiny hairpiece on her head also her “helm?”

“Kal, is that even equipment you’re wearing?” he asked her.

“Of course it is.”

“Oh. It’s just I was wondering…” He tapped his chin for a second. “How is it that you and Mr. Oren—and a whole lot of other people, actually, like Kesten—have equipment that looks just like normal clothing?”

“Transmutation,” she said. “Alixa’s great at it. She can either craft something for you from scratch, or if you really wanna, you can give her a piece of equipment like I did and she can turn it into something else. Um, not for anything plate, metal, or chainmail, though. Cloth and leather only.” Kalana eyed his cloak and pointed to it. “I’m gonna make her turn that into a beanie hat.”

“No fucking way,” Zach said, glaring at her. “My cloak stays exactly the way it is.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“Like hell we will. You’re not de-awesifying my cloak. It’s not happening.”

“Pfft. We’ll see.”

The sound of Donovan’s booming voice as he patrolled back and forth was seemingly growing in volume. He was also blowing more frequently into his whistle. “We better get going, Kal.”

“Yeah.”

As they began to turn towards the entrance to their tent, the sickening, terrifying feeling in his stomach returned. He really, really didn’t want to do this. Now that the moment was upon him, the fear was very real. He could actually feel it working its way into his gut. Even still, he wasn’t about to back down now. And besides: this wasn’t his first life-or-death battle. He could endure this. He knew he could.

I have to!

Outside, the sky was still mostly dark. Only a tiny sliver of light was to be seen on the horizon. Stepping out of the tent with Kalana, Zach heard the grass make a squishing sound under his shoes. Come to think of it, he thought he recalled the sound of a terrible lightning storm as well as a thunderous downpour of rain while he slept last night. Actually, he remembered briefly opening his eyes as one particular boom of thunder had been loud enough to rouse him for just a moment. But he’d been so exhausted he’d simply fallen right back to sleep. Now, however, the skies at least appeared mostly empty, albeit with a few patches of heavy clouds broken up by further stretches of clear sky.

Taking in his surroundings, one thing became immediately clear: the already huge raid camp was now a whole lot bigger. At some point between passing out last night and waking up this morning, an entire slew of new tents had been erected, likely to accommodate those Gods-cursed political guild sons of bitches who’d come all the way out here just to steal his and Fluffles’ loot. The thought really irritated him, and he came very close to muttering a few curses over it, but the sound of more grass squishing instead drew his attention to his left, where Mr. Oren was approaching with a somber, uncomfortably serious look on his face.

Actually, now that he could see the looks in the eyes of the adventurers emerging from their tents all around him, he realized that every last trace of their usual, jovial nature was totally absent. They looked just as fearful as Zach probably did. It was a relief to see he wasn’t the only one dreading this. But at least it would finally be over soon—one way or the other.

“Kalana, do you mind coming over here a second?” Mr. Oren asked. He was holding a clipboard in his hand and a pen. What was it with adventurers and using ancient shit like “pens” and “paper,” anyway?

“Uh, sure.”

As Kalana left his side and headed towards Mr. Oren, Zach felt someone tapping him on his shoulder. He spun around and turned his head to look at an Elf wearing a green cloak who was standing to his right. She was a young girl around his age who had both a sword and a bow on her back.

“I’m so glad to see you again, Zach,” she said, her smile bright and cheerful.

Zach recognized her right away. She was Saerina, the girl he’d saved with Phase Rescue during the fight with the Blood-Hunting Maneaters. She’d had her arm sliced off, and he’d whisked her away just before the mob had finished her off. He’d saved her mother as well. Taking in the sight of her, he was glad to see that her arm was back and where it should be.

“Saerina,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t expect to ever see you again, but I’m really glad you’re doing okay.” He nodded at her arm. “I’m also glad you’re back in one full piece, too. Did you use one of the stones?”

“Nope. We don’t need those.”

“Oh, right. I remember hearing Fylwen—ahh, Queen Vayra saying something about that.”

Upon the mention of the Elvish queen’s name, Saerina lowered her eyes shamefully. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you. I know it’s only been a few days, but my mom and I really agonized over it. I feel sick to my stomach.”

“Don’t be,” Zach said to her—and he meant it, too. “Me and Queen Vayra worked things out. And…and I know a little better now about what you guys went through. How it was probably even worse for your mom than it was for you. I’m never going to be ‘happy’ with what happened to me on Archian Prime, but at least I know that her actions weren’t truly from a place of evil: just paranoia.”

“I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am, but also how relieved I am that you understand,” Saerina said. “My mom told me stories about what would…what they’d do. And yes, it was even worse than my own experience growing up.”

Zach and her exchanged a brief look that seemed to communicate that getting any more detailed was not required. Instead, he decided to ask her a question that had been nagging at him since mid-day yesterday.

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Of course.”

Zach quickly took in his surroundings. Kalana was still busy chatting with Mr. Oren, and there was still at least a minute or two left before everyone would be required to have left their tents. Lowering his voice to just above a whisper, he asked, “Are you guys really okay with this? Meaning, coming all the way to Galterra and possibly losing even more of your people in a fight you could just avoid? Not that I’m not really happy you’re helping us. It’s just…I actually feel kind of guilty that you’re all about to be put through something like this.”

Her reaction to his question took him by surprise. Saerina became animated, and she raised her palm while giving a fervent shake of her head. “Oh, wow, you completely misunderstand how we view this raid,” she said. “Like, completely. Not only are we fully in support of fighting the dragon, but when the queen sent news of it back to us, I’m pretty sure that it quickly became the most popular, well-supported thing she’s ever done since establishing a new kingdom on Archian Prime. And that’s still putting it mildly. The fact she only let fifty of us come participate almost dampened how well the news was received to the point that several of us green-cloaks had to be physically restrained to prevent us from showing up anyway despite her orders.”

Shocked, Zach searched her eyes for any signs of deception, finding none. “Wait, really?”

“Absolutely. And I understand your confusion, too. I’d be skeptical if I were in your shoes as well.”

He laughed. “It’s just hard to believe that the Elvish would be so enthusiastic about saving human lives.”

“It’s actually not about that at all,” Saerina said. “I mean, okay, a very, very small part of it—from at least some of us, like me—is genuinely happy to help you the way you helped us in a time of need, Zach, but that’s only the tiniest part. There is a much, much deeper reason.”

As she spoke these next few words, she spoke them proudly, not even bothering to lower her voice. “I’m sure you figured out by now that those of us with the green cloaks were born here on Galterra, and those with the white are from Archian Prime, right?”

Zach nodded. “Yeah. You guys also talk really differently.”

“Yep, that’s true too. But the reason I mention it is that every Elf you see who’s older than thirteen years old but younger than fifty was born in the Whispery Woods region. Not the city, but the outskirts, where we were kept as prisoners.”

“I didn’t know that,” Zach said. “But what’s that got to do with it.”

She extended her arms, widely, as if to gesture at the world around her. “The reason we’re here right now, fighting and willing to die, is because we’ve already paid so much for the Whispery Woods region with our blood and our tears. And now that it belongs to us rightfully, we want to go home. Those of us with the green-cloaks want to live there, but this time not as captives, but as citizens. This isn’t about just fighting a dragon: we’re fighting for our right to exist on Galterra. And if we survive this raid, then Whispery Woods will be our home. The place we were forced to be born will be a sanctuary for us from now on. Every green-cloak is going to return, all three-hundred of us. Do you get it?”

Zach thought over her words. At first, they confused him, but the more he dwelled on it, the more sensible it became to him. “I do get it,” he said. “I really do. After everything you were forced to sacrifice, you’ve already invested so much blood into that region—even if not by choice. So now, you’re saying it’s worth it to your people to invest a little more to turn it from a hellish prison into a sanctuary. Is that the gist of it?”

“That’s exactly right,” Kalana said, surprising him. She walked up to him with Mr. Oren by her side. “When I found out my mom made a deal for the Whispery Woods region, I couldn’t believe it. There’s no way the humans know how…how important that region is to us. It’s where our ancestors lived, but it’s also the place where a lot of us were murdered.”

Zach looked off into the distance, where Vim Alazar, in an entirely separate portion of the camp, was exiting his tent looking annoyed and disinterested. “You don’t think they knew this when they offered it, Kal?”

“They might’ve ‘known’ it, but they wouldn’t have realized how much we cared. They just wanted my mom’s help and tried to give her something that’s no longer got any value to them ‘cause of how expensive it is to run. If they knew how much it meant, they would’ve tried to extract a lot more concessions and maybe even tried to make us pay them.”

Zach smiled. “Your mom played them pretty good, it sounds like.”

Saerina, who had gone eerily silent, now launched herself forward into a bow. “P-Princess Kalana!” she said. “Your Highness!”

Kalana chuckled. “You don’t gotta do that. Don’t bow, come on. You’ll make me blush.”

Saerina, awkwardly, stood back up straight. Then her face reddened as Kal held out her hand as if offering it to her to shake—which she did. “It’s such an honor to meet you. You’ve become so…so famous. I actually knew your dad when I was really little.”

“You did?” Kalana asked.

“Yep. Your dad and my dad were really good friends. Where is the king, anyway?”

“Right here,” Eldora said, squishing the damp grass as he marched up to Saerina with a smile on his face. Placing his hands on his hips, he looked the girl over as though barely able to contain his joy. “I haven’t seen you since you were this tall,” he said, kneeling down and placing his palm at her ankle level. “Your dad would’ve been so proud.”

She bowed to him as well, repeating the earlier routine. And once more, she was told that the formality was not necessary. This, as Zach searched his surroundings for any sign of Fylwen, who was nowhere to be seen. He wanted to coordinate when in the upcoming battle he should use his Unleashed Phase as she was the only one who could save him once he did.

“Where’d Queen Vayra go?” Zach asked.

“Mom? Not sure. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just hoping to use her guilt towards what she did to me to emotionally blackmail her into giving me more free things.”

Kal slapped him on the shoulder, hard. “That’s not funny!”

He winced; it actually hurt. “Ouch, Kal! It was a joke! But…I guess I deserved that one.”

“Yah, you totally did. You already got so much stuff from her including her most-prized possession. You can’t just forgive her then un-forgive ‘cause you’re mad about loot.”

“I wasn’t being serious, sheesh. But for real, where is she?”

It was Saerina who answered. “She went for a walk with Peter.”

“Brayspark?”

“Yep.”

Zach scratched an itch that had formed on his cheek. “I wonder what the deal with those two is. Do they hate each other or still love each other like siblings?”

“Both,” Saerina said. “Our view as a whole of Peter is a love-hate sort of thing. On the one hand, he protected us when no one else would and even called upon his closest allies like Sir Alistair to make sure no one harmed us. And my mom told me he’s the one who told the queen about the colony of our kin on Archian Prime. He even taught us how to get there. He’s the one who let us know that they existed and would welcome us with open arms and we’d finally be safe.”

Zach nodded in approval. “Wow, he actually seems like a pretty nice—”

“On the other hand,” she continued. “He’s also a denialist regarding the actions the Guild of Gentlemen took against our people, and he blames us for his guild’s downfall.”

Zach found her words puzzling. “Wait, he denies what happened to you?”

“Not quite,” Saerina said. “Peter doesn’t deny that the events that took place actually took place. How could he? He personally killed almost every human who raped or murdered us with his own sword. What he denies is that his father was the one behind it or even that anyone high-ranking in the guild played a role in it. He believes it was a ‘few rotten apples’ and refuses to accept his guild's responsibility.”

“I see…”

As the topic of conversation changed, and Kalana, her father, and Saerina began to retell happier memories from their past—which thankfully they had at least some of—Zach, still confused, whispered into Mr. Oren’s ear.

“Is that really such a big deal?” he asked.

“What?” Mr. Oren whispered back.

“That he denies what his dad and guild did. It sounds like he did the right thing and saved and helped them. So is it really so bad that he denies his dad is at fault?”

“YES!” Mr. Oren whispered back with such unexpected harshness. Then, with a touch more softness, he said, “I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand—nor should I expect you to just yet. But someone with your level of power needs to understand more about things like this.”

Zach tried his best not to become defensive. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I guess I’m only confused because it sounds like Peter V didn’t have anything to do with it, and he’s probably only denying it because it’s his dad. No one wants to think their dad is evil. If someone told me tomorrow that mom secretly did all these things, I don’t know if I would be able to accept it even if shown proof.”

“And that’s really good of you to admit,” Mr. Oren replied. He gestured at Kalana, who was still busily engaged in conversation. “Did Kalana deny what her mother did? Did she turn away from the truth?”

“No,” Zach admitted, understanding dawning on him.

“That’s right. Her mother isn’t even a fraction of a percent as evil as Peter IV, but what she’s done to numerous people is still awful. You might not realize it, but she’s working to hold her mother accountable and change her. And Queen Vayra, in turn, likely wants to be a better person for the sake of her daughter. But most importantly, Zach, if nothing else, remember this: denying the responsibility or truth of one atrocity often leads to another. That might not make sense to you right now, but you must learn this.”

“I’ll try,” Zach said, nodding.

With that, Donovan and Zephyr signaled for all raid members to head out towards the center of the camp. Mr. Oren’s expression became grim. “What’s going on?” Zach asked. “You look a lot less optimistic than you did last night.”

“There have been some…changes made to our strategy?”

“Changes?”

“Come on, my man. Let’s join the others.”

It was only just now, in this moment, as he began walking towards the center-most location of the camp, that Zach realized that the numerous informational printouts that had been attached to the backs of many of the tents had been altered. Or rather, not altered: they were missing entirely. Up until he’d gone to sleep last night, there had been several sheets on nearly all the tents that had displayed the current makeup of the raid, as well as everyone’s individual division and battlegroup assignment. Zach, for example, had been assigned to division 1, battlegroup 2—the main battlegroup assigned to dealing the heaviest damage to the dragon. But now, no matter where he looked, he noticed that only the very first page remained taped to the backs of the tents—the page that showed the overall raid composition.

ZIRAGOTH RAID: MEMBERSHIP AND ROLE BREAKDOWN

Adventurers: 172

Political Guild Members: 263

Elves: 100

Total: 535 raid members

Tanks: 60

Off-tanks / DPS: 54

DPS (Ranged): 180

DPS (Melee): 116

Support: 57

Healers: 68

A nervous pinch erupted in his belly as he began to wonder what was going on and why all the rest of the information was missing. As he gathered around with the more than five-hundred raid members who were now forming a gigantic, massive semi-circle around Donovan and Zephyr, he had a feeling he was about to find out.

“As I’m sure a lot of you are starting to realize,” Zephyr began, “we’ve had to unfortunately make some last-minute changes to our formations. Ziragoth will be waking up very soon, so we’ll have to keep this brief. Last night, we held an emergency meeting with Alex Oren after he discovered something very important.”

Zephyr raised his hand, in which he clutched the document that Zach had brought back from Archian Prime. “Almost everything in here,” he said, “is highly likely to be correct. Everything we’ve gone over in the briefings still stands. However,” he continued, “there is one important detail that slipped all of our notice.” He began to wave the documents back and forth in the air. “Everywhere on this document, the only name by which the boss is referred to is Ziragoth. Nowhere do we ever see the name Ziragoth the Awoken.”

There were gasps from nearly all the adventurers, a tiny number of the Elves, and basically none of the political guild members. Was that supposed to be something significant? Apparently, it was, because everyone who looked like they knew what they were doing began tensing up and, in some cases, biting their lips. Olivir and Kolona also appeared deeply troubled, but Kalana’s reaction appeared much the same as his own.

“I know many of you don’t want to hear this, but we might be dealing with a deviant spawn.”

More, louder groans came from the adventurers, and while looks of worry flashed across the faces of the political guild members, Zach thought it safe to assume that it was merely a reflection of the concern they saw coming from their adventurer counterparts and not based on any kind of deeper understanding of what that meant.

Mr. Oren gently tapped on the shoulders of several of the adventurers so that they would allow him to pass, and he joined Donovan and Zephyr in the middle. “For those of you unfamiliar with what this means,” he said. “Some bosses have incredibly rare ‘deviations’ that maintain nearly all the properties of their base spawn only with additional abilities. There are a number of reasons we now believe Ziragoth to be a deviant, beginning with the fact that he spawns adds. At first, we thought this was due simply to incomplete information. But we have revised this determination based on several factors.

“But first, let me clarify: it’s not unheard of for information to be incomplete when dealing with bosses that spawn very infrequently, but when dealing with mobs that spawn adds, it’s typically something that is highly likely to present itself multiple times over the course of battle, making it something you’d expect to see in the documentation—even based on just a single battle.”

Mr. Oren removed his cat-eye glasses, then produced a piece of cloth from his lab coat and began wiping each lens while he spoke. “When Zach first fought Ziragoth, it was in an enclosed area with many nearby buildings. Some bosses will not spawn adds when confined. That was why I did not find its lack of mention in the documentation so alarming when we encountered the dragon in a more open area and it began add-spawning. My assumption was that whatever raiding party had last fought Ziragoth and documented this information may well have simply encountered the wyvern in an environment that did not trigger this ability.”

Placing his glasses back onto his face, he said, “But given the discrepancy in the documentation regarding the boss’s name, I think it’s now more likely the case that we are dealing with a deviant version of the same boss. Especially since, upon more closely inspecting the report with an eye for any additional erroneously reported details, I discovered another discrepancy with regards to the shape of Ziragoth’s jaw. Our Ziragoth’s jaw is rounded, not square-shaped.”

He took a deep breath then paused as if to ensure that everyone was following along with him. “Deviant mobs typically have one or two enhancements compared to their base version. It’s safe to assume that spawning adds is one of them, and it’s also likely that its seemingly rudimentary form of intelligence and self-awareness is its other. If so, upon entering the second phase of the boss fight, it is highly likely that we will be forced to deal with a far, far greater number of adds than we were originally expecting, as well as a far more turbulent level of boss unpredictability. For this reason, we have shuffled around the battlegroups. Donovan?”

Donovan gave him one of his heavy-handed pats on the shoulder and began to speak. “So, like Alex was saying, the fucker’s probably going to try to overwhelm us with its defenders. And seeing as how much we struggled to deal with just a couple of them when there were more than thirty of us, we’ve decided to put a much greater emphasis on mob clearing this time around.”

He gestured, and Alixa began wheeling out a whiteboard with papers attached to it. She stopped upon reaching him. “So,” he resumed, “here’s what we’re looking at. We’re still gonna have our original three divisions in play, each consisting of two battlegroups. For Division 1, BG1 and BG2 will still be positioned on the frontlines and about eighty-to-a-hundred feet ahead of the fortification we built. And also as originally planned, BG2 will swap with BG1 in order to relieve pressure off one another. But unlike before, the swap interval’s been increased to two-minutes from the start of the second phase of the fight, ‘cause BG3 will no longer be on the frontlines with you. In fact, all of Division 2 has been moved.”

Before Donovan could say another word, a chorus of outrage and protests came from the adventurers—and even some of the political guilders who’d been assigned to BG1 and BG2. “You’re leaving us for dead!” one of them shouted.

“You expect us to tank that thing by ourselves? We can take one hit each before our shields break or we’re knocked out cold. There’s not enough recovery time there, Donovan. This is unacceptable.”

“Relax!” he snapped. “Let me finish, you whiny bastards.” He waited for everyone to be silent before he resumed speaking. “Now, because we think this son of a bitch is gonna behave more intelligently than a regular boss, all the archers and long-rage casters we put up on the wall are now compromised. Why? Because the fucker can shoot adds out of its body, that’s why. You think it ain’t gonna fire them on top of the wall? If we don’t have BG3 patrolling in front of and on top of the wall to peel off the adds, then there goes every ranged DPS we’ve got. They’ll be killed in seconds. No, we need to put some tanks around our casters and archers.”

“What about BG4?” someone else asked.

“BG4 is gonna be in the middle-ground between BG1 and 2, and BG 3.”

“Why?” demanded Reni Sarwin, his voice coming across as angry.

Mr. Oren was the one who answered his question. “Based on what we witnessed during our run-in with Ziragoth yesterday, we realized that the dragon cannot summon adds at close range. If it could, it would have. We know it targeted Zach with intent, but even still, it did not call down a single mob on top of Olivir and Grundor. The only mobs that ended up charging their way up the hill did so by happenstance. That’s why we need someone covering BG1 and BG2’s back. We cannot allow Ziragoth to summon adds behind our already overextended tanks and off-tanks.”

“Even still,” Reni said. “Even with over five-hundred people, it still feels like we’re coming up short. Once that thing becomes the equivalent of a level-570 mob, we need every tank we have on the frontlines. If you take away BG3 and BG4, we’re fucked. We don’t have enough to rotate. Each tank is going to need at least a few minutes to rest and heal after taking a hit, let alone re-equip, possibly put on fresh armor, etcetera. You might have the adds covered, but the entire frontline is going to be wiped out.”

Donovan grunted. “I told ya, I have a plan for that. Now shut your trap and listen.” He drew a breath then released it. “For Division 3, BG5 and BG6 will be playing almost the same role as before, but with a slight change to BG6. Both battlegroups are still gonna be either on top of the wall or spread out in front of it. And BG5 is still gonna continue to rain fire on the fucker all throughout, just like we originally planned. But BG6 is now gonna have dual priorities. Priority 1: fire on the adds. Priority 2: fire on the dragon when you judge the adds to not currently pose a sufficient threat, or when you’re ordered to do so.”

“So…?” Reni asked. “What’s the plan? That sounds a lot like before. It sounds to me like you’re still hanging Division 1 out to dry.”

“I’m not,” Donovan said. And now, he grinned. “We’ve created a new division. Division 4. And this division will contain BG7 and BG8. But I wanna start with BG8. This is the one Alex came up with. Now, I’ll be honest, I argued with him about it at first, but after listening to him, he convinced me on it. Alex?”

Mr. Oren bowed his head. “We’ve made some changes that might be…controversial, but I assure you, this is ultimately going to result in so many more of you leaving this raid alive.” Even before he said another word, Zach could see that he already had the political guild members on board, which he found humorous. “BG8,” he said, “will see Count Olivir Soloux, Kolona Vayra, Fluffles, Chumpkenwiffles, and Grundor reassigned into non-combat positions.”

“What?” shouted numerous of the adventurers, including Zach himself. Did Mr. Oren just say that Olivir would be given a non-combat role? Wasn’t he, like, the most-powerful spellcaster they had? And Grundor, too? This was insane. What reason could he possibly have? As though aware just such a question would be running through everyone’s mind, Mr. Oren held up his hand as if in a plea for people to let him finish, and then waited for the noise to die down before he continued to speak.

“Olivir and Kolona will stay out of fire range behind the fortification we’ve constructed. Fluffles, Chumpkenwiffles, and Grundor will move back and forth between it, carrying those who have been killed in battle. Essentially, BG8 has only one purpose: to return to life everyone who dies today.”

With just those words alone, Mr. Oren had somehow shifted the raid’s opinion to the extent that many of the adventurers around him did a one-eighty and now began nodding their heads in support. “I spoke with Olivir before making this decision. He informed me that the exertion cost of a non-vampiric resurrection is minimal and that as long as he’s somewhere safe, he can resurrect everyone who dies at least once, provided that it is done within twenty minutes and that there has not been any decapitation. Secondly, in agreeing to do this, he and Kolona are compromising the cultural beliefs held by vampires, so please appreciate it.”

“Believe me,” Reni said, “Nobody here’s not going to appreciate being brought back to life.”

“That’s not true,” one of the adventurers said. “If you bring me back, my wife definitely won’t appreciate it.”

Mr. Oren chuckled, and then so too did numerous adventurers and a fair number of those from political guilds. Even many of the Elves appeared to find this funny. It was a brief, but badly needed moment of levity. After it had quieted down, he finished his explanation.

“This leaves BG7. This is the most-important battlegroup. Based on the modeling I’ve been up all night working on, I genuinely do believe that BG1 and BG2 will wipe—but remember, you will be revived. For this reason, don’t hold back: don’t fight as if you’re afraid of death. And if any of you fear death, just know that Donovan and Zephyr have already died once fighting Ziragoth and are still fighting despite knowing they can’t be brought back a second time. So you all can handle a single death as well.”

There were a few grumbles in response to this, but nothing too impassioned as everyone—Zach included—seemed interested to hear what Mr. Oren had to say. “The damage we lose by removing BG8 from combat will be more than made up for if you fight without regard for your life. Give the dragon everything you have in you!”

Zach never imagined Mr. Oren could say something that inspired a round of cheering, and amusingly, even he seemed surprised by the morale-raising clapping and shouts of approval that greeted his words.

“Now, having said all that, let me return to BG7. BG7, which will be our smallest battlegroup, will stay in the middle with BG4 and help them deal with any adds. In fact, for as long as BG1 and BG2 remain on their feet, I want BG7 to consider themselves an extension of BG4.”

Now, he paused for a moment, and his eyes scanned the crowd. He stopped momentarily to meet the eyes of certain individuals, until at last, when he resumed speaking, he began to stare directly at Zach. This caused his stomach to rumble and his nerves to begin acting up. Yet he stood with his back straight and continued to listen.

“BG7 is a special unit compromised of Vim Alazar, Sir Peter Brayspark, Her Majesty the Queen, and Zachys Calador, who will serve as the primary tank of the entire raid. His role has thusly been switched from DPS to main off-tank. When BG1 and BG2 wipe, BG7 will engage the dragon alone, and every other unit aside from BG5 will focus exclusively on dealing with the adds.”

Zach felt his knees weaken and his heart begin to thunder in his chest as he fought to comprehend what his ears had just detected as words. Surely, there must have been some mistake. At the exact same time, Kalana furiously called out to Mr. Oren in outrage, screaming out her displeasure. The gasps and shouts of confusion from everyone, including the political guilds and the Elves, filled the entirety of the raid camp as just about everyone seemed to take issue with what they’d just heard.

“You cannot put our guild-leader on the frontlines!” Haisel Ragora, second-in-command of the Royal Roses cried out. “I will take his place.”

Kalana said almost the exact same thing, only with Zach substituted for Vim. “Absolutely not, Alex!” she shouted at him. “You want me to lose my mom and my boyfriend? I’ll take his place as well. And if you won’t let that happen, then you gotta put me in BG7 with him.”

“No, Kalana,” Mr. Oren said. “You’re too important to BG4. I can’t reassign you.”

“I don’t care! Either you put me with Zach, or—”

“Enough!” Queen Vayra said, walking side-by-side with Sir Peter Brayspark. Zach turned around to face her, as did several-hundred others. She had just returned from her walk, and the two of them looked every bit the royalty they claimed to be as a path was cleared for them and they approached closer.

“I accept my role,” Peter said, coming to a halt. He placed his hand on his chest and bowed. “For the good of humanity, I will engage the beast: even if I must do so alone.”

“And I accept, too,” the queen said.

Kalana scowled at her mother. “Mom, are you crazy? Were you even here? Alex just said he—”

“I know what he said,” she interrupted. “I was there when he came up with this idea. Do not second-guess him. You’re being disrespectful, daughter.”

Her brow furrowing, Kalana held her arm out protectively in front of Zach. “You’re asking him to fight the dragon with just the three of you. One of them being—um, no offense—but a political guild-leader.”

“Two of us, actually,” Peter interjected.

“Oh, right. Okay, but you’re like different. You’re somehow strong. But the Royal Roses' guild-leader is not gonna be able to—”

“Kid,” Donovan said, shaking his head. “You don’t know who that man is.”

“Yah I do,” Kalana said. “He’s with the political guilds. Everyone knows who he is! But he probably doesn’t even know how to fight a boss properly.”

“True,” Zach said. “And no offense to Vim, but even if he does know how, it won’t matter because he probably won’t be able to reach Ziragoth. I guess his strategy is to stab the dragon in the feet?”

The adventurers erupted with the single-loudest roar of laughter that Zach had ever heard, one that actually grew in volume the longer it went on. It lasted for nearly fifteen full seconds. There was even a round of applause. And yet, even before it ended, Zach regretted what he’d done straight away, because he knew that there was no way the man would not respond to that. For a brief moment, he became more afraid of Vim Alazar’s response than he was of the dragon. And boy, did he let Zach have it.

“Thank you so much for your concern, Zach,” he began. Every voice quieted, even the adventurers. “But my dear friend, I’m far more worried about your safety. After all, we’ve just been informed that this dragon possesses a small, but basic level of intelligence. So, right off the bat, we know it has at least one thing you do not. Personally, I recommend you wear earplugs. I’m worried that if this thing can somehow speak as well, it won’t even need to attack you: it’ll just trick you into killing yourself again.”

Having just been savaged, the political guilds all roared out in laughter and derision, behaving just like the adventurers as they cheered on the man. Mr. Oren gave Zach a look of warning, and Zach nodded. He knew better than to keep the back-and-forth going. He’d been hit pretty hard, but he oddly wasn’t upset, as this time around, he knew it was his own fault. And he also was far too worried about Ziragoth to be offended. Since he’d basically asked for it, anyway, he let it slide. But did some of the adventurers have to laugh at that too?

When everyone finally quieted, Donovan again tried to allay Kalana’s concerns. “Vim Alazar might be a prick, but he’s not gonna have any problems. That bastard is…pretty tough.”

Vim released a small, dark chuckle. “You know, don’t you?” he asked. “How?”

“I told him,” Olivir announced.

Vim shifted his eyes in Olivir’s direction. “The vampire,” he said, shaking his head. “It figures.”

Olivir gave an apologetic shrug. “You learn a lot when you’ve been alive for over two-hundred years.”

“Not when you’ve wasted one hundred ninety nine of them shopping for outfits that make you look like a used DEHV salesman. And who exactly do you think you’re fooling with that silver hair?”

Zach opened his mouth to defend his friend’s honor, but Olivir surprised him, releasing a bout of intense, delightful laughter. “Oh, dude. You’re just as funny as your dad was. I miss that mean son of a bitch.”

“Hmph.”

To Kalana, Olivir said, “Vim Alazar is of a blood almost as strong as the Elvish kind. The political guilds all keep this a secret, because it just so happens that this blood is not of human origin. Vim, like his father, is half Gnome. That’s why his guild has no problem letting in non-humans.”

"Olivir, are you sure about what you just said?" Zach asked, a rush of excitement flowing through him.

"Uh, well yeah."

“Yes!” Zach cheered. “He’s part Gnome? Oh, Gods, yes! This opens up so much! Oh, man, he's in big trouble now!”

“So, you’re a racist now, too, Zach?” Vim asked, tsking.

"W-what?" Zach immediately realized what he’d done, and he felt the blood drain from his face. “I…I didn’t…” Even Kalana was staring at him angrily like he’d said something wrong.

“That’s right, let it sink in, Zach. Every single time you’ve ever insulted me for my height—every single time. You were being racist.”

“Fuck,” he growled under his breath. He had absolutely no retort to that, and so he said nothing. The Gnomes were a race with a population that lived in two different continents: half of them shared Zatrakhar with the Orcs, and the other half lived far to the north with the Dwarves, to whom they were supposedly related. They were a bit shorter than the Dwarves and darker in skin. But unlike the Dwarves, the Gnomes still maintained at least some basic ties with humanity, as they were the one race that, likely through nothing more than sheer coincidence, humanity had no documented evidence of having ever fought a war against. Regardless, Zach had never met a Gnome in person before, and those he’d seen in movies or shows tended to be way shorter than Vim.

“Take heart, Zachys Calador,” Sir Peter Brayspark said. “Do not let this foul creature dissuade you into staying your tongue. It’s bad enough I must join forces with someone I am at war with. But like you, Zach, I too have nothing but disdain for this Gnomish half-breed.”

Zach scratched his head. “Uh, well, now wait a second,” he said. “I just want to make absolutely clear that I don’t hate or dislike Gnomes or think that just because someone is a Gnome it means they are—”

“There’s no need to be coy.” Peter eyed Vim Alazar with plain disgust. “This ‘thing’ is about as human as the dragon. Let not his accusations dampen your spirit. It is not racist to speak the truth of how vulgar and disgusting the Gnomes are. I'd sooner dine with an Orc than a Gnome. The untainted half of him must weep at the existence of the other.”

“Oh, boy,” Vim said, shaking his head and sighing. “Haisel, hold my coat. I’m going in.” He cleared his throat. And now, Zach braced himself. He knew the man was about to unleash a verbal Wave Slash so powerful that Peter would likely draw his sword over it. And it appeared that Queen Vayra knew this as well, because ultimately, it was her who shockingly ended up mediating things here before they got any worse.

“The dragon is set to wake up in less than ten minutes,” she said. “Is it really wise to be standing around here trading barbs? The fact of the matter is that the raid-leaders, myself, and Peter have all agreed to this plan. Kalana!” she snapped, pointing at her daughter, who was opening her mouth as though just about to interrupt her. “Not another word from you. You’re to remain in BG4.”

For the first time, Zach observed as Kalana actually listened to her mother. He couldn’t believe she’d actually managed to command her to do something. But then again, right now, her tone of voice left no room for disagreement or bickering. Fylwen appeared to have found her footing, and now it showed.

“Peter, whatever issues you may have with the Royal Roses, you must set them aside until afterwards. And if I hear you speak with such vile racism towards the man again, I’ll join the war effort against you simply as a matter of self-preservation. And Sir Alazar, as for you, if you provoke Peter, I will have my Elves destroy your shipping containers.”

Vim rolled his eyes as though unimpressed. “Your Majesty, while I—”

“Nah-uh!” Kalana shouted, glaring at him. “You’re gonna make a mean joke about my mom. Do it and I’m throwing you into the sun.”

“Throw me into the sun?” He drew a breath.

Oh, fuck!

“And Kalana’s off limits, too!” Zach shouted. “A single bad word about her, and I swear to the Gods I will lose my cool and murder everyone in front of me indiscriminately. I will join forces with that fucking dragon and burn everyone here. Not a Gods-damned word!”

Turning over his palms, Vim spun around and began to walk away. “Let’s get this over with.”

Now, as everyone began to make their way north towards the fortification, Zach knew that this was really it. The plan and stage were set. In just a few moments, they were about to finally attack Ziragoth. This nightmare that had begun while he was sitting in a little diner in a cute little town was going to either end here and now or result in every life on the planet being consumed by flames. He didn’t know why he’d been given such a dangerous role. He didn’t understand what the thinking behind such a thing was. But no matter the case, he was determined to perform it to the best of his ability, and for one reason above all: if Ziragoth was attacking him, it meant the dragon was not attacking Kalana. That alone was enough for him to agree to this insanity.

Even if he had to struggle not to piss himself.