Boss battle!
You have discovered the lair of a Neighbourhood Boss! Put your game faces on ladies and gentlemen! Aaaand Here. We. Go!
Sheaman lamb!
Level 6 Neighbourhood boss!
The sheep shamans are a cowardly lot, magically enhancing the woolfs they tricked or forced into servitude while they cower and hide from the battle themselves. They are a merciless and creative lot, creating a whole bunch of sheep mutations that you may have had the pleasure of experiencing already! The ones you saw are but the tip of the iceberg though, the simple experiments of a young lamb don’t compare to the vicious monstrosities that the adults can mass-produce.
Darryl mostly ignored the announcer as they enthusiastically narrated the bio of this boss. Instead his eyes examined the details of the currently frozen room, as far as that was possible when the rest of his head was completely frozen.
They found the woolf and sheep-mutant boss room on the way back to the first safe room they found, and after some deliberation they decided to check it out. Defeating bosses was the best way to level, probably, and they would get at the very least a bronze boss box worth of loot each time. Beating a few would be a good means of putting some levels between them and the French, who probably wouldn’t risk fighting bosses with a split party.
The room before entering this one had grass and dandelions covering the floor, and walls painted to make the place seem like a meadow. Despite the photorealistic imagery, it had all felt fake and eerie when they entered. Goring the place with the woolves and sheep mutants crowding the room might’ve had a hand in that.
The hint the dungeon sent them was an easy one though, if you paid any attention at all. Volos told them before that there were almost always hints to beating the bosses around, and the Brothers Grimm book on a dead woolf had been rather on the nose.
Only one of the chapters in the first edition original release 19th century German book visually appeared Syndicate Common to them, while the rest was gibberish with pictures. The tale of the wolf and the seven lambs.
Rushing into the boss room after reading the story, Darryl noticed to his satisfaction that they’d gotten the dungeon’s hint correctly. There were six woolves in here and one lamb, all starting in the locations where they hid according to the old German folk tale.
The boss battle intro had frozen Thomas in place putting a torch between the two sturdy handles of a closet, and Ben doing the same with a cabinet. Darryl himself was in the process of toppling a large grandfather clock. One of the Woolves was already appearing from underneath the table while another jumped out of the fireplace.
Woolf, lvl5
Unlike their pathetic mutt siblings, these woolves are all fangs and wool! They’re feral beasts with a surprisingly high cunning and claws long enough to tickle your spine through your belly button! They lack a convincing disguise as sheep, only able to mislead particularly stupid people assuming it’s dark and their victim is at least somewhat tipsy.
Not that their lacking misdirection skills matters, woolves are pack hunters that overwhelm you after you were fooled into thinking that this one was alone and never noticed you approach. Oops, did I give away the surprise?
Time resumed, and the massive wooden clock continued its descent to embrace the floor with the shattering glass and breaking of mechanics. Something small shrieked in surprise and anger in there.
Darryl ignored it as he turned around and stabbed his spear into the leather armchair that was suspiciously crooked, almost as if it had been placed on a bump. His spear tore straight through the seat and found resistance underneath it, resistance that immediately shook as it shrieked in pain. Darryl jumped onto the chair and began to wriggle and twist his spear, eyeing the yellow dot that had appeared.
The dot quickly turned red, and after a few seconds of trying to stay steady on a rocking armchair howling in pain it turned grey. An achievement notification popped up in his peripheral, but Darryl ignored it as he rose his shield against one of the woolves lunging at him.
The woolf bounced off, and Darryl quickly tried to pull his Spear of the Heavens out of the chair. As it turns out, stabbing it in had been a lot easier than prying it out.
Darryl cursed and opted to jump off the chair instead of retrieving his spear for now. From their seven foes, three were restrained and one dead so he wasn’t a goner without a weapon to keep them at bay.
As Darryl turned to gauge the situation of the other two, he found that he had little to worry about. Thomas had struck one of the woolves in the face with a magic missile, and easily struck it again with his spiked whacking stick while it was disoriented and completely open. He already raised it again for another strike, which he’d likely land before the woolf would regain its marbles. Ben meanwhile blinded the other one with a flurry of Korean paperwork and pulled a sneaky on it as he jumped over the kitchen counter.
Darryl turned back to the one he was facing, readied his shield and slapped the lunging woolf aside with almost laughable ease. The +8 to his shielding skill was apparently as overpowered as Volos told him it was, because the woolf was as big as a real wolf and with a good thumb of girth on the Earthly creature in muscle. Yet it felt as if someone kicked a regular football at him, hard but inevitably hollow and light.
The woolf was knocked into the table, and fell ungracefully to the ground. Darryl didn’t wait for it to recover, and kicked it in the chest. The woolf snarled defiantly, until it saw the point of the kite shield come for his mouth.
Darryl heaved heavily as he felt the jaw break and the flesh give way, and after a few spasms the body went still underneath his boot. He had since killed a bunch of creatures, but it still stirred him somewhat whenever he felt them die. Killing something by putting it in his inventory made a world of difference to him. For all that there were hostile, alien and rather ridiculous creatures, they were still alive and this dungeon was still ultrarealistic.
He shook himself out of the thought, forcing himself to remain aware of his surroundings and the potential dangers that it could still pose. There were none. The closet and cabinet were still shaking aggressively, but the torches were holding them back without risk of breaking. Thomas took down his target already, and Ben backstabbed the last free woolf as Darryl turned to assess the situation.
The rest of the boss battle was anticlimactically simple after that, despite the blood-pumping music continuing to play loudly from invisible speakers. Darryl found his spear really stuck in his foe, only to then remember he could’ve used his gloves, or place it in his inventory and pull it back out again. After doing so, they’d freed the two woolves to be skewered and backstabbed from above before they could even escape their hidey hole.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The last little lamb proved only slightly more problematic, if only because the grandfather clock was really heavy and not as easily rolled over as it had been to topple. The ancient heirloom’s wood was thick and very sturdy despite looking well over a hundred years old, so stabbing it through with the spear wasn’t an option.
But they eventually managed to pull it on its side, and immediately something tried to free itself. By the time the lamb managed to kick open the door, it was already surrounded.
The lamb was as big as you’d expect a young lamb to be, but stood on its hind legs and was draped in a fur coat with a woolf’s head acting as the hood. It clutched a large shepherd-staff with a glowing green gem in the centre, and its bovine eyes were an unnatural meadow green.
Darryl grabbed it by the throat and lifted it off the ground, Ben pried the staff out of its hands and Thomas quickly covered its eyes with one hand while he held the other ready to grab one of the freaky-looking fingered hooves just in case it looked to be casting a spell at someone despite being silenced and blinded.
Four seconds later, the lamb disappeared into his inventory and Darryl heard the boss battle music end after declaring them the winners.
“Well, that was easy.” Ben said.
“It was two levels lower than the gecko lady I fought before, and we managed to overwhelm them with numbers where they were clearly meant to beat us that way.” Darryl said. “You’re right, fortunately this was a lot easier than the last time.”
As he said that, they all received a bronze boss box while the notifications in his peripheral opened up so the enthusiastic AI voice could narrate his achievements.
New Achievement! Rodeo Clown!
You killed something while riding it like a bull! That’s the kind of crazy showmanship we want to see from our crawlers! Who’s a good murderous maniac? You are! Yes you are! Good crawler, good… You should try doing this with a sentient foe, too, that would be even more fucked up.
Reward: You got a Silver Adventurer Box!
New Achievement! Mean mean bully!
You killed something before it had a chance to fight back, in a way it couldn’t even strike back at you even if it wanted to. That’s mean, man. Good job! You’re learning how to survive this place!
Reward: You got a Bronze Adventurer Box!
New Achievement! Well-oiled mean mean bully machine!
Your party killed three or more enemies in five minutes or less that were cornered and outnumbered to such an unfair degree that they couldn’t even get a single attack in. That’s some impressively optimised genocide you guys got going on!
Reward: You got a Silver Adventurer Box!
New Achievement! Boss Babe!
You have struck a blow against a dungeon boss and caused damage to it. Here’s a fun fact: For crawlers who make it through the tutorial this achievement is, by far, most often the last achievement they ever receive. Isn’t that interesting?
Reward: Let’s wait a few minutes before we decide on whether or not to waste a prize on you.
New Achievement! I-I-I-I-Instant Kill!
You killed a boss mob in a single attack. Damn, that’s incre- Just kidding, I know you used that damnable exploit we’ve yet to fix, you naughty crawler you. Still counts, though, as we want you guys to get the good stuff and survive to at least see the floors where you’ll make us some money.
Reward: You got a Golden Boss Box!
New Achievement! Legit Boss Exterminator!
You(r party) managed to defeat a boss plus minions without taking a single point of damage yourselves, despite it being a higher level than your party’s average level! Well, damn! You might actually manage to survive the fourth floor for more than five minutes at this rate!
Reward: You got a Golden Boss Box! This achievement locks you out of getting a box for the regular Boss Exterminator achievement.
New Achievement! Death Flag!
You (or someone in your party) spoke those three magic words that every sadistic dungeon master AI wants to hear, and they’re not “I love you”. Words that your society too knows a hero in the stories should never say out loud, lest they want the heavens and fickle writers to strike them down for their insolence.
Even better, you spoke them in a way that both narratively and mechanically enables us to call your bluff and raise you with nigh certain death! But don’t worry, if you somehow survive the rewards will be well worth it. Maybe.
Reward: You triggered a greater neighbourhood boss spawn event!
Special condition: Instant Kill achievement detected! Threat of the Death Flag event increased!
Special condition: Boss Exterminator achievement detected! Threat of the Death Flag event increased!
Threat threshold requirements met! The special greater neighbourhood boss has been upgraded to a Borough Boss!
“Wait…” Ben said. “Did they just really-”
His voice trailed off as the door opened with a slow but unnaturally loud and dramatic creak, four massive furred fingers covered in flour and ending in ridiculously long and sharp talons appearing and slowly pushing the door open further.
“Hello my lovely children, have you been misbehaving well?” A deep and growling voice said oddly, as if their throat had been recently salved and trying to pitch their tone more feminine. “But what mature voices you have, to greet me with?”
A large snout mounted by thick round glasses appeared from behind the door, nostrils flaring as they greedily inhaled the air in hungry sniffs while the lips curled up to show rows of massive teeth. “What wide eyes you have, as if you fear your own grandmother.”
The woolf’s head appeared in full, a predatory gaze immediately eyeing the three crawlers hungrily. Its wool ran in thick grey strands on its head, poking out of a pink polka-dot hairnet that combined with the glasses, rouge and frilled neck of an old-fashioned nightgown to make a poor grandmother impression. The ridiculing getup didn’t change the imposing danger that radiated off the massive werewolf baring its fangs at them with overwhelming murderous intent. “What strange weapons you wield in your soft uncloven hands, to backstab me with?”
The woolf opened the door fully to reveal their three metre tall muscular body, covered on the back in thick sheep’s wool and with the nightgown only reaching as far down as their upper tights to barely cover its hopefully fur-obscured genitals and hampering their movements none. Two massive bone sewing needles were jammed into the left shoulder, a ball of yarn impaled on them and a stretch of hand-sewn wool hanging from one end resting on their broad shoulder as an epaulette. “What a delightfully delicious scent of fear you emit, making me want to eat you up from head all the way to your cute little toes!”
The Big Bad Woolf!
Level 14 Borough Boss!
Woolves are pack beasts that rely on numbers, savage aggression, vicious cunning and a hint of misdirection to survive the merciless dark woods that they come from. This is barely enough for their species to cling on, as even prey they’ve already eaten has a nasty habit of clawing out of their bellies before being digested! Every once in a while a woolf is born much stronger, tougher and more intelligent than the rest of the pack combined, quickly abandoning the weaklings that are more a burden to their chance of survival. These Big Bad Woolves are feared as the biggest boogie men of their neck of the woods, until a real werewolf passes by of course.
Big Bad Bertha here is a very old woolf, and a bit coo coo in the head after too many bouts with sadistic hunters and murderous redcaps. She forgot she donned a disguise and never took it off, instead believing herself to be a grandmother whenever she looks at her own reflection. This has led to a vicious string of woolfs being adopted and coddled until she grows tired of them, tossing the poor woolves too fat and lazy to survive back into the wilds whose denizens eagerly gobble them up.
The woolf licked its lips, centred their attention on Ben and with a mighty howl it pounced.