“Most men are bad,” commented the newest head. “They don’t even deserve funeral rites. It would be an improvement if many were to kill themselves so we could dispose of their bodies.”
“While that may be true,” countered Chrysippus, “Mama is not a man,” he continued as he leaned into her scratching of his neck, “and Mama is not bad. Therefore, Mama should continue to pet us and should not be considered food.”
Other heads clambered for some good scritches; the newest of their members remained aloof.
“You fools are put into a flutter by every word. I am ‘scritched’ and not ‘scritched’,” he exclaimed with no small amount of scorn, “as you are, for we share the same body.”
“More for us then,” decided Aristotle as he jostled his newest brother out of the way.
Their newest brother jostled back, and through sheer coincidence or perhaps an error on his part, he just so happened to end up in a situation where his neck was optimally exposed for some scritching.
“My dearest Heraclitus, please, let me love you!”
Chooka exercised the Abilities granted by her Blessing as a [Courtesan] to slide her fingers over his scales just right. And if Heraclitus should have lingered in range of her caressing hands for more than a few moments, why, that was merely a coincidence, as his current posture offered him a unique vantage point to scout for potential threats and opportunities. Certainly, he was not intentionally indulging like the others.
Other nearby hydras observed the behavior, and in their own grunts, chirps, roars, and other vocalizations that accumulated into language, they contemplated the merits of engaging in such acts of affection. Some took it as a foregone conclusion, and their conversations had already moved towards which of the nearby humanoids would be suited to provide such services.
To onlookers that cannot understand the language of hydras, some became nervous that perhaps they were getting hungry. While hydras are intelligent enough to rival humanoids, they are still magical beasts, and thus, wild creatures. Just because they can understand concepts like dividend investing or how a sawmill works doesn’t mean that they care to act on those concepts. However, they do enjoy food and comfort, and with the former being unavailable, they were open to the latter.
A large, red hydra was the first to allow a nearby troll to administer affectionate scratching, and her trilling song of satisfaction opened the floodgates of hydras accepting or demanding similar treatment from those gathered. Many hydras soon flipped over to be belly up as a free-for-all of petting and singing the songs of contentment ensued. They were, all of them, waiting for the biggest raid in known history, and positioning that many entities so that they could all enter the raid in a timely manner was a logistical nightmare.
Everyone was here for the same reasons. The 1,000,000-man raid would soon begin. Hydras had been instrumental in the defensive efforts at World’s Hope, and since they had plenty of experience with it and familiarity with their handlers, they found this to be a rare opportunity. There have been documented cases of beasts banding together to make a run on a dungeon, for beasts are certainly intelligent enough to appreciate and utilize the rewards gained from such ventures, but seeing so many gathered in one place was unheard of.
There were not just hydras here, but also all manner of other beasts, not least of which included those of the dinosauric variety. The line between a dinosaur that is an animal and one that is a magical beast can be blurry to the uninitiated, but one could be fairly accurate at making such a distinction by saying that the “alphas” had evolved into magical beasts. Though relatively few saurkin had survived the planetary exodus from Crixtali to Gyldvir, their best and brightest did not shirk their duties in defending their new home.
Naturally, they favor the big carnivores that stand on two legs. Variations of Allosaurus, Therizinosaurus, Carnotaurus, Tyrannosaurus, and even one Gigantosaurus were among their number, each one just a different size or breed of the same creature to a layman. However, the saurkin took great care in painting their beasts and adorning them with ornaments, jewelry, and armor to both amplify their imposing nature and to show off their pride and culture. These beasts had been domesticated for millennia, and thus, were far more receptive and reciprocative when it came to petting and nuzzling.
Other people had their own beasts, with canines and felines being dominant. Anyone who had a beast that was technically classified as a [Pet] was given preference for the raid, for [Pets] do not count to the population limit of the raid. [Healers], all flavors of [Mages], especially [Artillery Mages], [Batteries] and other support specialists, and [Commanders] also received preferential treatment. It sucks to suck for everyone else. Common [Soldiers], [Warriors], [Fighters], and the like were low on the totem pole unless they had proven their usefulness time and time again.
And so, when I and the host of other dragons chosen for this raid arrive, we bear witness to a giant cuddle puddle of various beasts being pet and fed snacks before the big raid. Some sheepishly right themselves into a semblance of a formation while others shamelessly continue their pre-fight rituals until such time that the order is given to enter the dungeon.
Fortunately, the 1,000,000-man raid has many entrances scattered around World’s Hope such that we do not need to all stage in one location. This one just happens to be the one that contains the bulk of what beasts we will bring with us, as it is deemed safer (to our highly edible humanoid members) to keep the beasts in one area. Since I have many [Deeds] related to hydras by virtue of The Boys being my [Pet], I have been chosen to coordinate the efforts of the flights at this particular entrance.
Without fanfare or big speeches, the other dragons and I pass through the portal into the dungeon. Needless to say, the rest of those gathered take that as an inescapable and controversial sign that the raid should begin, and thus, I see them follow in behind me. Even with there being multiple entrances, it still takes a few hours for everyone to enter and to get into position.
Some particularly brave scouts had confirmed that the interior of [World’s Hope Dungeon - 1,000,000-Man Raid: Precipice of Obliteration] was much the same as World’s Hope before it became a dungeon. While the lesser version of it had respectable imitations of various defenders, this one was empty of such participants. In the lesser dungeons, they had been as ghosts fighting an eternal battle, with neither side making any headway. They were fully corporeal in appearance, but, like, they were just background ambiance and could not be interacted with in any meaningful way.
Ergo, it was just as true here as in the lesser dungeons that only those we brought with us would sway the battle in any meaningful way. If it held true to the lesser versions, we would be free as individuals to abandon this raid at any time, and also, for reinforcements to enter as people died or withdrew due to injuries. That being said, more than a million people would most likely partake.
Interestingly enough, our skellie boys counted as [Pets], with one being allowed per person that did not already have any [Pets]. Each skeleton was piloted remotely by our Bone Temple Pilots. As one skeleton became inoperable, a pilot would assume direct control of a fresh one outside and simply walk it into the dungeon. As such, there would be a delay in their arrival as there was quite a bit of walking to do travel from the entrance to somewhere useful on the field of battle, but we could reasonably rest assured that we would have an endless supply of them unless something went catastrophically wrong. We had some 20,000 pilots active at any one time, which doesn’t sound like much in the grand scheme of things, but every little thing helps.
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The 100,000-man raids had been enlightening in their difficulty. We had attempted different loadouts of how strong of a force we sent into each instance of those raids. Of the 12 attempts, only 8 succeeded, and we did have to scramble our reinforcements to prop up two of them from certain failure. So, while it may seem scummy or like cheating to use so many [Pets] and [Summons] and other such things to inflate our numbers, all evidence suggested we would need every advantage we could secure.
Besides sheer numbers, our formation matters. The biggest of hydras, our 12 9-headers, we arranged around the outside in a semi-circle. The rest of the hydras filled in, such that they had a clear line of fire to not accidentally hit each other with errant attacks. Our skellie boys were dispersed throughout the area, each primarily tasked with retrieving biomass from fallen friends and foes alike for the hydras to dispose of. It would be unlikely that such biomass would continue to persist after leaving the dungeon, but the hydras had Abilities to ensure that the disappearance of said biomass would not suddenly leave their bodies riddled with holes. They would primarily use the corpses of the fallen as fuel and not the substance of their bodies, but any errors on that part could be swiftly remedied by their natural regeneration.
The bulk of our [Mages] were high up on the battlements. Most anything capable of flight took to the skies to ensure that nothing could escape that way. If this dungeon held true to the mechanisms of the other ones, then this was a Hold-The-Line style of dungeon where we must prevent a certain quantity and quality of our foes from escaping within the time limit. For some, this would be a turkey shoot. For others, they would be living on the blade’s edge between glory and death.
Presumably, there would be different phases of the raid that would mimic what had been observed in our very real fight for survival against The Devourers. However, one cannot fit months of content into a few hours or days. Besides the mystery of which encounters we would face from a varied pool of possibilities, there was also the “weirdness” aspect to contend with.
Every raid seemed to have a randomly generated veneer of some stylistic theme overlaid upon it. Mechanically, attacks landed with the same punch and enemies posed the same threat, but their appearance and cosmetics would change. One of the 1,000-man raids reported that the enemies tended to have bodies made of smiling clouds and shot rainbows at people while also making cute sounds the whole time. People somehow managed to die just the same. Another reported that all enemies were replaced with strange, bug-like creatures reminiscent of ants mixed with praying mantises. Another said that everything was cow-themed.
The rewards that followed a successful raid seemed to be thematically related to what was encountered. For the two smallest raid sizes, some groups decided to “reset” by completely evacuating and reentering, with the process repeating until they got a theme that they wanted. Aesthetics matter, not just for personal preference, but also in shaping one’s reputation. Few want to walk around with an udder-belt as their loot. Some still whisper rumors that there was a cat-girl themed raid, but if such is true, the participants are loath to show off the spoils of their success.
For us, it would be logistically impossible and impractical to try to reset the raid just to change the cosmetics. There is no way that even half of the personalities and egos gathered here could tolerate such a delay, much less come to agreement as to what constitutes an acceptable theme. With there being no non-interactable combatants present, we had no way of knowing the theme, so we would just have to take what we got.
Like all raids reported so far, this one began when someone rang the gong. The 100-man raid had been limited to a single balcony, kill-room, or other such detached space. The arena of the fortress had not even come into play until the 10,000-man raids, and even then, only some of the time. Put another way, where one’s raid would be positioned and where the gong would be was a bit of a mystery until one entered the raid. However, since the entire fortress was at our disposal, our gong was (presumably uniquely) positioned about halfway between the high road and the central portal on the north side of the fortress.
My fellow Emperors and I had taken position around the gong. We stood ready to defend it against any fool, traitor, or overly-enthusiastic participant that would dare to ring the gong before we were ready. Fortunately, it required a rather noteworthy individual to ring the gong, with someone needing to be at least Diamond (on the scale that Adventurers use) to ring it. That didn’t mean that we assumed it impossible to bypass that restriction, and so, we continued our vigil while man and beast took their positions.
Now, some reports claim that the theme of the dungeon changed after the gong was rung, and there seemed to be truth to the rumors that a change in theme tended to match the person ringing the gong. As such, we had spent hours deliberating on who should ring the damn thing. In the end, we decided that we Emperors (and Bonpricha, now a Princess) would collectively hold the mallet. Now, striking with it in a conventional way would be impossible, but that didn't mean we couldn't use it like a battering ram.
When all were ready and our raid leader, Polemarch Kirov, gave the go-ahead, we rang the gong. The sound of it reverberated to all corners of the fortress, and by all counts, the volume of it was equally loud everywhere. When it finally ceased, we heard the localized System Announcement.
[“World’s Hope Dungeon - 1,000,000-Man Raid: Precipice of Obliteration” commencing.
Style: Hold-The-Line. 4 Phases.
Duration: 24 hours. 30 minutes for deliberation of options.
Reinforcements: 200,000/200,000
Theme: Fortress of Elemental Evil
Required Score: 19
Options:
- “I Ain’t Heard No Bell” (No intermissions between phases). 5 points.
- “Extra Credit Bonus Phase” (One extra phase). 5 points.
- “Trust No One, Suspect Everyone” (There are traitors in your midst). 5 points.
- “Trapped Like Rats” (No one can leave until the raid is completed). 5 points.
- “Pay To Win” (Offer up gold and treasure to prevent the difficulty increasing.) 5 points.
- “No One’s Coming To Save You” (Non-Pet reinforcements disabled.) 5 points.
- “Dragons Among Men” (Dragons may not assume their true form.) 3 points.
- “King Of The Hill” (Hold strategic points to prevent the difficulty increasing.) 3 points.
- “No One Lives Forever” (Critically-wounded participants will die in 5 minutes unless healed.) 3 points.
- “Personal Loot” (All rewards are distributed based on personal contribution.) 3 points.
- “Special Snowflakes” (Designate some individuals whose deaths would instantly fail the raid.) 3 points.
- “You Are Chosen” (Random individuals will become temporarily more powerful and specifically targeted by enemies). 3 points.
Attempts: 0
Successes: 0]
The other Emperors and I were about to disperse, but this list of Options, along with a Required Score, had been unprecedented, not just in these dungeons, but in any dungeons we were aware of across the world. We had half an hour to deliberate and confirm our Options, which sounds like a long time, but it is actually hardly any time at all.
We deliberated as quickly as we could, favoring a process of elimination to help narrow the list for what was clearly good and clearly unacceptable. “Personal Loot” was a clear winner since we were all likely to massively contribute. This option would mostly upset people with boring roles, like bodyguards, who may not actually contribute in a measurable way. It could also lead to people over-extending and thus dying in an attempt to gain more loot, and thus, it was a trap of greed.
Similarly, “Dragons Among Men” was something we were vehemently against. Our mortal forms can only bring a fraction of our power to bear, and, combined with our role of being heavy hitter and “Personal Loot”, we saw it as shooting ourselves in the foot.
The rest were ambiguous in practice. “You Are Chosen” sounds reasonable until it selects Fuckwit McGee who suddenly has to carry us. “Pay To Win” might be manageable, but we have no sense of scale for how expensive it will be. “Trapped Like Rats” targets our pride, for while we love the safety net of being able to retreat, actually doing so would be a huge loss of face. “Trust No One, Suspect Everyone” is something we are used to, but we also know that it can be absolutely devastating if it strikes us in the right spot.
With us needing 19 points, we would be best suited with 5, 5, 3, 3, 3 or 5, 5, 5, 5. Ultimately, we agreed on “Trust No One, Suspect Everyone” and “No One’s Coming To Save You” for our 5-point options. Likewise, we chose “King Of The Hill”, “Personal Loot”, and “Special Snowflakes” as our 3-point Options. We promised to reimburse those who have important roles that would not realistically contribute meaningfully as judged by the arbitrary metrics the dungeon would use. Naturally, we Emperors, as well as Polemarch Kirov, were chosen as our “Special Snowflakes”. None of us planned on dying, and we wagered that we would probably lose anyway if even one of us died.
Morale was high (despite the bellyaching that accompanied “Personal Loot”), and we were primed and ready. We had the practical experience, the best and brightest of our total forces, and a good amount of loot as obtained from the lesser dungeons. When our deliberation phase ended, Phase 1 began.