A Survivor's Guide to Planetary Apotheosis [Postapocalyptic Survival, LitRPG, and Dungeon]

Unfortunately, Alexander was unable to share his jest directly, the adults were still talking, or so he was informed by the uniformed guards outside a tent. Siddiqua had then stuck her red and blue tie-died head out the canvas flap to shoo him away, pointing with her trident. She didn't even relent when he gave her the satchel containing the cores of her comrades, just scowled, teary eyed and snatched it. He was starting to get the feeling the possible Marid-Ifrit hybrid lady didn't like him so much. Ahh well, she was having a tough time, so maybe he wouldn't hold it against her.

But it did mean he had extra time before the rest of his family joined him inside so he started a classic bean suppah from the camp supplies. They had a kettle aboil, and a bean barrel for soaking was camp standard practice, so he could have something whipped up in half an hour or so. He'd bet the old ladies had forgotten how wicked good his specialty blend of seasonings was. Or, maybe not. He wasn't the best chef in the house, just enthusiastic about cooking for his family.

While the beans boiled, he followed an inspiration from his time recovering arrowheads and scouting the battlefield. No Mainer was truly complete without lobster. There was no lobster thereabouts, of course, but it was actually the steam wielding Marid red cloak who evidenced an aversion to his presence that inspired this stroke of genius: steamed Eximius. He'd harvested about ten pounds of the flesh of the monsters from their corpses, careful to shave off the poison glands first. A pot within a pot, a double boiler to make a steamer and he soon had tender white demon spider meat going full steam ahead, so to speak.

His partners, old and new found their way in and located him by the kettle, a white puffing aggressively, pouring out from the Slayer leg meat container. Sniffs from the two northerners and a shared look between them, before they advanced on him.

"Alexander Gerifalte, there is no way you have lobster, what is going on here?" Demanded Brig, scootching over next to him by the fire while he stirred the boiling beans.

"You couldn't have planned this, we let you think we were a week away, at least. Wanted to catch you in the act of being a hoochie so I could bribe some foot rubs out of you and despair out of her." Annita said, leaning over the steam briefly, that was a dangerous game, to take another big pull of lobster scented meat.

Grace went slightly green and a look of horror crawled across her face, remembering yesterday's combat.

"There's no fucking way!" She cried, the other two women mistaking her cry for excitement, but Alexander knew better.

"Yep! We gots us a Down East special, cah'tesy of the biggest lobstah you eva laid eyes on!" Alexander crowed, playing up the hick accent from the far north.

"It's a spider." Grace said flatly, "He's trying to feed you a spider."

Brig looked at the new girl and gave a sad shake of her head, "It's lobster if you let it be, don't be a sissy."

Granny kept her golden eyes peeled on little Durian, who was running from group of armed men to group of armed men, buzzing around like a mosquito to see what they were doing while she added, "We've definitely eaten worse. You haven't tasted anything until you've had a hit of dragon liver. It'd knock a buzzard off a gut wagon."

"Oh God, I got roped into a redneck harem." Grace lamented, staring at the three northerners who were intent on the pot of steamed monster.

They had nothing but time to kill, not until Mark and the rest finished the debrief with Marvin, so Alexander concentrated on the art of beans. A white onion, sliced then and chopped. Bacon, thin cuts to give up their flavor into the soup. Granny rolled up her sleeves and hammered out a quick camp bread, with cinnamon and sugar and butter to create a swirl, a treat. That got stuffed into the coals in a Dutch oven. While Annita handled bread, Brig, unbidden, peeled garlic cloves, three, and mashed them with her belt knife, sweeping the crushed cloves and oily juice into the kettle. Salt and pepper. Grace watched the maybe most beautiful creature she'd ever seen, sift through the kitchen supplies to find thyme and rosemary, each chopped even finer and added as well. Alexander kept a steady stir going, ordering amounts of ingredients in hushed whispers, as if preserving the secret to an alchemical concoction.

Damn, Grace realized, watching the domestic scene, that's how they leveled up their Woman-fu. They're actually housewives. Murderous savages, but also housewives. And he's their murderous little house husband.

If I'm going to compete, I have to get in there, she decided, having previously had no inclination toward the kitchens. She was a warrior, not a maid, and she'd long since moved past being assigned to kitchen duty as a noncom trooper.

"Okay, I'm not moving to Canada, but I don't see any reason we can't all get along. What can I do to help out here?" The red cloak offered, determined.

Alexander concentrating on the task of stirring, seasoning, and basking in the the ladies in his life said, "I got the beans, just do whatever those two tell you, they'll take care of you."

He was a little surprised to see the blonde giant go without complaint into the service of Brig and Granny. This might have something to do with that Woman-fu stuff she talked about. Anyhow, while he watched, they got her squared away, teaching her how to make a chowder base, in case anybody wanted their steamed Eximius in that form. He did, personally. Granny fetched Durian out from underneath some drilling soldiers and carted him back on her hip. He was holding a small sparring sword gifted by the amused men at arms, barely holding its weight but overjoyed to be part of things. They had to keep him from dashing dinner to the clay, but, after a brief scolding, he was set to attacking empty barrels with abandon, which would keep him occupied until he'd worn himself out.

Dinner was served before the big wigs got done with their meeting. Alexander was serving up ladles of beans, while Granny sliced bread to lay in the bean bowl to soak one end, as was her preferred way to serve. Grace was assigned to firewood duty after proving herself useless at the crafting of chowder, leaving Brig to finish. It was a refined art; they'd have to start the Peacekeeper's domicile skill training from scratch.

Impervious, not needing to be included in the planning, had occupied themselves helping the support classes to finish handling the bundles of cargo carried by each of the men and women of this small twenty-man advance team. Temporary shelters were erected, cook kits rolled out, and their own dinners started. The wagon train was still another week away, with more elaborate options and even more supplies, but this would do for now. Upon finishing, they stormed the kettle fire.

Nathan Smythe, dryad Anchor tank, Oaken Rampart, a specialized Soak buffer who could share his absorption and damage mitigation with those close to him, strode forward, a big man with an easy smile.

"Why, what have you got there, Commodore-President?" He asked, using the old joke when Alexander had been "mayor" of Falcon's Rest, of calling him by random titles and offices.

Alexander smiled at the man, and the rest of the team, Georgia Stephens, dirty blond farmgirl turned Morrigan, Chronous Bulwark, Bonnie Richards girl next door Dryad, Chimeral Sovereign, Cervantes De La Cruz, a reserved Djinn chevalier of latin blood, Reverberation Highlander, Van Richards, no relation to Bonny, a rather wiry, modestly sized Oread Talus Mage who appeared to live on a diet of lemons and paste by his dissatisfied expression, and, lastly, Riley Potter, a Bronx Italian specimen, a Marid Vacuum Fencer.

They were dear friends all, and Alexande waved them over enthusiastically.

"C'mon over here! We're doing chowder, Nathan. You and the folks are welcome to join, I think we can sort of string this along to cover everybody, if we mix in some camp rations."

"Hear that?" Nathan called, "It's a bean suppah, how about that? Bonny, you want to help out? Or you can sit someplace quiet and run your familiars, it's your call."

This last was delivered in gentle tones toward the mousy, brown-haired girl who had a hunched back-or so Grace thought, until a tiny draconic snout peaked out from the cloak covering her to snatch at an offered strip of raw meat from her belt pouch.

"Holy shit!" Grace yelped, "Is that, you know, a real one?"

Bonny nodded, smiling, but not saying anything, as was her usual. She was a shy girl was Bonnie Richards, and the founders of Falcon's Rest acted like Dobermans around her.

The Impervious crew gave her the same vibes as most of the red cloaks. High competency, tight knit, a well-oiled machine. They moved together by instinct, a pod of killer whales in formation, even in sleep. What was odd was the way they stamped over to huddle, shoulder slap, and joke with the Outsider on his stool, confident, powerful, ready for anything. Grace understood now a little, having seen the other team of mithrils, Getsome, and how they'd acted around her lover, along with these. She was looking at the red cloaks of Falcon's Rest. They'd sent their best. As they'd done when Alexander Gerifalte walked into New Chicago.

"Huh? How about that shit?" Grace pondered over a bowl of spider chowder, which was shockingly not bad eating.

Not bad at all. She'd retreated a bit to the side to think about the events of this morning, which had been many and not comfortable, by and large.

"So, you're Admiral Feathers' sidepiece?" A low almost smoky voice roused her from her almost empty bowl.

That had been a distinctly appreciative tone.

She looked up to see it was the Georgia person, a thickly built woman who would have been considered of only above average looks, but prime breeding stock for linebackers back in the day.

It was a direct way to be referred to. Grace Miller normally preferred direct, but she didn't swing the way this lady probably did. Not in a long, long time, anyhow, high school in midtown Chicago had been weird for her. Her appetites were distinctly hetero orientated these days. Even so, the animal appeal of the copper haired Amazon was obvious, and Alexander had made clear that her appetites were omnivorous. She was in danger, and shook her head to scare that thought away, something to deal with later.

"I'm upgraded to main piece, as of this morning, thanks." She replied drily, putting her cards on the table, wondering why it was her banging their friend that was the most important thing, instead of the monster across the way, "You can ask the little witch and that brute Amazon. And now I know why he talks about them that way. It wasn't lies, that's exactly what they are. Peas in a pod all three."

The feathered tattoos typical of Morrigans shimmered in the light, and the woman glanced affectionately toward her friends, who she'd had a hand in coordinating to wrangle the flighty Outsider.

"Yeah, they are." The Impervious offtank said fondly.

"Which makes you pea number four." Georgia said, directing blue eyes of her own at Grace, lighter sky color than the deeper blue of the Oread, "Don't worry, I'm not here to cause trouble. I just wanted to meet the lady that managed to snatch him up so fast. It took Granny and Brig both a pretty fair piece, you made the fast track. I try to keep an eye out for him, we go way back."

Grace was starting to think the Adventurer's of Falcon's Rest had a vested interest in keeping their Venator corralled.

"I'm starting to think that weirdo scares the shit out of all you people. You have to put him under a constant watch or something." Grace decided, saying that without concern for how it might be taken.

Georgia smiled, "Ahh, now that's why he likes you. And the red cloak, must mean smart or something. He scares the shit out of everybody who knows him well enough, that's what pulls in the thrill seekers like you and the rest. But we love him too. He's our weirdo. Like Ben. It takes weird to thrive. And those two, they're always there when we need them. Most people in Falcon's Rest owe at least one of the two a couple times for still being alive."

Another appreciative glance, "How about you, how many times our Falcon pulled you out of the grave?" Georgia added.

"Twice, probably, that I know. How do I keep that Brig lady from jumping me?" Grace asked, figuring her plain faced friend would know.

A low laugh, "Oh, you're in for some fun there. Don't worry, she'll break you in slow. It was fun watching Alexander run from her for about a year and change."

"Greeeaaat." Grace drawled.

"Yeah." The Impervious Morrigan sighed, wistful, remembering.

"Anyway, you're a hunk, you want to come to Falcon's Rest? Cervantes is thinking of hitting the road, him and Potter both, actually. Some notions of seeing the wild blue yonder, the knobs. We need an attacker and that sword on your back doesn't look like it does much blocking." Georgia Stephens offered boldly, an irreverent grin on her solid features.

Did these Northerners just saw whatever came to mind? Grace wondered.

"Thanks, but I'm a Peacekeeper." The Oread woman replied.

Georgia smirked, "And I was working on a dairy for a while. Things change, people change. Offer's open, you'll fit right in, once you learn to make a chowder."

Grace winced at that jab. Despite the blow, she was starting to think she liked this Georgia character. A straight shooter.

"We'll see. There's a fuck off huge escaped dungeon boss to kill first. Maybe we all die and it's a moot point." Grace philosophized, feeling sort of grim about the entire thing.

A laugh from the Morrigan farmgirl, "That's the spirit!"

Commotion from the command tent, Captain Marvin leading the guest Adventurer party that had assumed command of the out of towners from up north.

The short, heavily armored leader with the broadsword and kite shield waved to his fellows and shouted with enthusiasm, "Good news everybody! We're shafted! But I want you all to remember that adversity is the fire that hardens our mettle!"

The sort of jubilant negativity reminded her of Mason powerfully. It was the kind of thing her friend would have said, had said in similar terms when the Eximius invasion was discovered.

"Awe, buck up!" Georgia cheered from the side, noticing the long face, "He's just like that. Big kidder is he. Worst case, only half of us get eaten, the other half are probably fine."

Grace snorted, then observed to the tank, "It's the winters up there, isn't it? Turns you all into fatalists."

Georgia shrugged, "I dunno, probably. Maybe you need a minimum amount of sunlight to be an optimist. You Flatlanders seem kind of glass half full, so maybe that's it. You seem to have a nice acceptance of the cold beyond though, I'm sure we'll get along."

Still trying to sell her on moving? Persistent.

"Been hanging around Alexander too long, he's starting to rub off on me." Grace said, without thinking.

"Ohh, girl, you have to sit down and tell Mama Georgia about all the rubbings!" the farmgirl turned shieldmaiden gushed, "I get stories from Annita and Brig, and from the other, eh, more adventurous types. You should hear some of the stuff my buddy Lucy gets up to with her hubbies, and you can, if you read my books! My hobby is cheesy chick novels to give the girls the fizz. I'm always looking for material." Georgia begged shamelessly, but in a conspiratorial whisper to avoid giving out her secret.

They're all fruitcakes, Captain Miller decided. Not just the one she was starting to think had her by the ovaries, but every last one. It was just a matter of finding out where you had to slice to find the nuts.

Grace stood, firm in her convictions, to go join the milling crowd of Peacekeepers, conscripted Adventurers, and now these far north Yanks.

"I'll think about it. But I get free copies sent when you get finished." Grace told the salacious soldier and part-time smut peddler.

"Deal!" That one rejoined and they strode over to get the lowdown.

They might all die, Grace admitted to herself. Might as well enjoy the time they had left.

Alexander answered Mark's summons of impending doom, one of many he liked to use before they set out. It helped to keep people aware of the stakes. He was full of odd nuggets like that was Mark Ross. Overconfidence, the slow, insidious killer, the Anchor frequently said in a cryptic voice, appearing disappointed when no one else perked up when he said it, especially when he made everyone more confused with his beseeching supplication "Wayne, forgive them, they know not the tragic extent of their failings!" Those wild slogans seemed to give the Incandescent Triarii who led Getsome courage, and that was good, so far as Alexander was concerned.

Standing in the crowd of high-power warriors, it was hard to imagine that there was no hope at all of standing against the Eximius. Alexander wasn't afraid of failure. He was afraid of the cost of victory. How many survivors of the planetary apotheosis would this one cost them?

Brutal truth was that it would be less than failure, or worse, abdication of the duty.

Nobody ever said it was going to be easy to Walk the Path.

Now that all were assembled, Marvin Pruitt, as senior officer of the Peacekeepers, stepped forward to address the mill of monster slayers.

"Good morning. I hope you've got the sleep scrubbed from your eyes, because this is what we've got. Tier five, you all saw it. Saw what it can do, and how little we can do. When it catches us by surprise after we got done stomping its babies, anyway. Otherkin bailed our asses out, we aren't going to forget that, but it won't happen again. Round two is going to go a little different. We hired some exterminators, for one. Me and the other red cloaks are going to put our heads together to put an operation together. The rest of you, see Captain Siddiqua for your duties, they'll look mostly the same as before, but we need to put some teams together to make sure the road home is clear. A fighting retreat might have to happen, it's not impossible that the best play is to pepper that monster across the whole ass continent, and if that's what it takes to get it done, then that's what we'll do. It will not reach New Chicago, that is imperative. Now, get this fort in fighting order and get your shit squared away, we're on duty.

With that short, sweet speech, the men got motivated. White cloaked troopers, with the mercenary Adventurer parties under their command, according to the Contracts those signed to best use their diverse abilities, visited their grieving boss and she whipped them into order with barking commands that they obeyed without question.

Alexander wasn't certain where that left him, he wasn't part of the Peacekeeper command structure, but he also didn't have a duty overseen by Siddiqua given his unique freelancer status. If anything he belonged to the Falcon's Rest detachment, now that they were here.

Twelve of the hardest asses he knew, plus himself to join the cause. And it still might not be enough.

"Lucky thirteen." He said quietly to himself, hoping it was anyway.

Worst of all, they wouldn't get two chances. Whatever Marvin said, once they committed to the battle, the gargantuan speed of the matriarch, and its artillery, would guarantee that flight was just an invitation to get cut down from behind.

A pinch on his rump stirred him from thought, and he yelped.

"Damn you Granny Nguyen!" He cried, turning around to swat the grasping hand.

He'd forgotten how sneaky she was, when she wanted to be.

A cackle and a knowing smile, but the diminutive woman was departing to rejoin the support classes, ushering Durian with his little sword that he strained to use on anyone that walked by, because he watched his parents try to hit each other at home all the time. Annita wasn't a fighter, even though she could fight. Hers was a role in preparing herbal potions, poisons, and abyssal horticulture.

Grace Miller, striding to join her senior officer, couldn't help but greatly enjoy her tormenter getting a taste of his own medicine, and she pointed two fingers at her eyes, and then his own to make certain he knew that she knew that justice had been served.

Ben Grisham, seven feet of almost lustrous dark-skinned Captain America, bald, chiseled chin, strode over with footsteps that dented the ground from his mass, and offered his thickly muscled forearm, which Alexander gladly took.

"It's so damned good to see you, Ben. Things are hairy." He told the heroic soldier, trading grips.

"Ayuh, so I gathered." The laconic reply, martial focus on the fort and the crouched form across the river.

"Really had to kick the hornet nest, didn't you?" He teased.

Alexander shrugged, releasing the man's arm, "They were eating people. They had to go Bub, you know how it is."

Ben ducked his chin in acknowledgment, and the silver spear he bore, which was currently wrapped in loops of metal at his waist, courtesy of his metal manipulation abilities got a loving pat.

"They all gotta go. That's for sure. Well, we're on it. Got any ideas? I was thinking about climbing down its throat with a box of Saki's boomsticks." The huge soldier said, without a hint of sarcasm.

From a guy who tanked a cyclops and punched its eye out? The statement was a suggestion, not a boast.

"Keep that in your hip pocket." Alexander chuckled, and he revealed his budding plan, "I was thinking gliders. We can come down on top of it, I noticed it doesn't ever look up, even though it probably has some vision cause compound eyes are a bastard to sneak up on. Practiced the landing earlier one time, awesome, Ben, just so awesome, I can't tell you how amazing it was to be in the air again. Anyway, I think we can use that huge fucker as a landing strip. I'll make a hole, we go in, maximum murder inside, get out."

The Adamantine Knight, smiled at that, "Big ain't always better, huh?"

"Nope." Agreed the Outsider, "But we can't tackle it from the front or try to hit it direct. It's got big Soak, and a lot of armor, its little ones are tough as nails, so you can count on Momma being even tougher. It also has a big lightning spell from its pedipalps, or fangs, or ask Brig what those things are called, its mouth. Ripped a whole hillside to pieces and killed some really good people yesterday. If we duke it out, heads up, that thing wins."

"Roger Full-bird, so I heard earlier, well let's go see what we can come up with then, huh?" Prompted the warrior, and they went to join Getsome, Impervious, and the three Peacekeeper Officers.

When the brass and the big hitters were together, Marvin Pruitt pointed to Alexander and said, with a twinkle of humor in his eyes, "Well, you all know what's come before. Now, what did Ranger Alexander learn from his trip to review the battlefield, other than steamed spider is high cuisine?"

Alexander scrubbed a hand through his feathered scalp. There were a lot of people looking at him now, and he was reminded again that he really did prefer whispering in ears to this sort of thing.

"Right! Well, hello everybody." He started, lamely, "Sorry to drag you all out here, but things happened. I went across the river this morning, like Captain Pruitt just said, and picked up my arrowheads, can't just leave Styxian Ultimet laying around, ya know? Nobody makes tetanus shots for severed toes."

Knowing smirks from several of the fighters from Falcon's Rest began to spread, and Grace had her eyes covered. He didn't know why the hell she was embarrassed. Excuse him for not being a public speaker.

"Ah, well, anyhow, I figured out how the Queen got by without anybody noticing, and it's the same way the Dwarves and Gnomes did it: tunnels. Everybody here yesterday saw that piece of shit, er, the regional threat, slash the stone walls of the Missouri side of the fortress, easily as you might knife through potting clay. Stands to reason that the Eximius Hive Queen is capable of rapid burrowing. Anyway, seeing is believing, I followed the tunnel it made for a few miles, it was due west-east, then turned, aimed right for the fort. Probably, she's using her brood to way find and does most of the actual travel from below the surface. The tunnel was smooth, and really, really hard, showed signs of maybe being compressed with magic, and there wasn't any sign of material dumping, so I wouldn't doubt some kind of earth compression or Arcana involved to move the rock and soil. It wasn't deep though, just two hundred feet, at most, fifty feet in diameter, not so much bigger than her own body. I figure she can't dig under the river or she'd have tried it already. That means we have time, unless Rasatalan demon spiders know how to build bridges." The Outsider narrated, pretending he was reading the weather.

A gauntleted hand raised, mostly unnecessarily, Brig, because she knew he wanted to get out from under the attention on him and it was her pleasure to watch him squirm.

"Yes, Brig, dearest, what is it?" He asked, noting her triumphant beaming.

"Oh! Tell us why it's just sitting there next to the water like that! And what're you planning, I saw you over there with Ben hamming it up. I bet you two were plotting, I know that plotting face you make."

Alexander scowled at the trying to be obnoxious hussy, who was his dear wife, and harped, "Because it's thirsty? How the hell should I know? Or maybe it got so tired of kicking the geography's ass yesterday it decided to take a nap, what do I look like, its travel agent? And anyway, we should probably land some people on its back with gliders, drill a hole, and either blow it up or send people in who can rip and tear."

He fell silent. That was most of what he had to contribute, so he made to retreat into the crowd.

That same armored hand lifted, waving again, and the only person in the room who didn't need to raise her hand to get attention, chanted, "Pick me! Pick me! I got another!"

"For the love of--" Alexander cut himself off, pausing mid step, "Okay, Brig, sure, go ahead."

"How do we know that tunnel compression isn't some kind of force wave magic that'll smoosh anything that touches the spider's carapace?" She asked, not bullshitting, but using the exact same tone as when she was, which made it hard to tell sometimes, which was probably the point of doing that.

He didn't have to answer that one, fortunately, Captain Pruitt showed mercy, fielding the Gravity Spire's question, "We watched the Elves try to capture the Queen with ropes tied to trees fired from a volley of arrows. It cut the ropes with its legs, instead of using magic. Same story with the arrows that landed in its hide, it used its legs to sweep at those and didn't seem to be capable of touching its own back. Working theory is that's why it has so many minions, to keep things off it while it destroys from afar."

"That's lightning fangs, realm crystals on its back it feeds from the mana web, or, preferentially, Matriculated human cores, some kind of aether nullification of acid, stone shaping or cutting appendages, this thing is displaying way more diverse applications of magic than normal." Brig analyzed, catching the attending Peacekeepers off guard with the sharpness of her observation.

His Brig only played a meathead for fun, or to dick with people. She was one of the most competent destroyers of other worldly creatures alive. And she was right. Most things, humans included, had a theme, a scope to their abilities. Gaia and the other realms seemed bound up in concepts, each being consistent within a creature's suite of abilities. The Eximius Queen was breaking those rules with its wide array of different magical tools.

"Anybody want to bet it's got more to offer? The way I hear it, not even a couple thousand Otherkin pounding it from all sides put serious pressure on it. Nothing from Rasatala doesn't have a backup weapon, everything from that place we have data on has a hidden trick. It didn't use its webs yet. Looks like a weaver spider but burrows, no webs? It's probably got something awful with its silk that it doesn't use until it needs to." Predicted the copper haired Gravity Spire, who read encyclopedias on animal behavior and scouting reports on dungeon spawn at nights to anticipate how they reacted.

Alexander took the opportunity of his wife's distraction to impart bestiary knowledge to escape the center stage, and he hid behind Ben and Nathan, who were whispering tactics to each other. She couldn't find him when she looked for him, noting the empty space where he'd been.

Hah! Ninja skills to the rescue!

Getsome and Impervious reacted to that bit of news not at all. They had assumed there would be unexpected challenges. The men and women who had cleared the Belfast hyper dungeon corrupted zone of its inhabitants and second wave of dungeons from along the periphery of that region were experienced in dealing with surprises from the far realms' invaders.

"I wounded it, in an eye." Siddiqua said into the silence, "It can be hurt, if we can make it past its incredibly strong carapace. Perhaps we can utilize Ranger Alexander's wide area Arcana to blind it. Even if it possesses regeneration, which many dungeon guardians do, and I expect this one to be no different, temporarily blinding it may grant us a window to attack without being targeted by the lightning."

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Another good idea to put in the heap. If they got enough of those, they might just put them together into a refined raid on the dungeon spawn. A boss run, as the geeks responsible for much of the Adventurer lingo would have put it.

Grace Miller was racking her brains. Regeneration, overwhelming offensive magic, impenetrable armor, sheer size, how do you kill something that has all of that together? There had to be a cost to all of that. She directed her gaze across the river to the still form. She thought about the Outsider's comment, napping from kicking the geography's ass. What if the cost was that using all of those abilities was exhausting? There was always a cost to exercising your powers, even for the monsters.

"It's sleeping. It didn't get hurt by our, or the Otherkin's weapons, but it's been moving rapidly, using its powers constantly, and then it blasted a whole valley. It might even have to spawn more brood, most of them were wiped out yesterday. It has to rest after all that, dungeon spawn are aetheric animals with extra steps, not gods." She spoke up, hypothesizing the relation between the inert creature's sloth and the frenzied destruction of yesterday.

A dozen pairs of eyes focused their attention on her, but she was beyond used to it at this point. She was a Peacekeeper officer, she did this biweekly, if not more, with her fellow red cloaks in the Guild Hall, it was business as usual, just less comfortable.

"If it weren't vulnerable, it would have sent its brood out to continue looking for people to hunt, since opening those dungeons seems to be its primary objective." Grace reasoned.

"Think we can go over there and club it over the head while it naps?" Marvin asked, doubtful, but he was looking for any silver linings that might pop up.

She shook her head, "We're not that lucky, I'm sure its capable of defending itself. But if we give it time to recover, it will take that time. If we don't, there's got to be a limit to how much it can take. With four of us Mithrils, that wasn't a great plan. I'm not sure the Platinums can contribute a whole lot that won't wind up with them getting schwacked, which is why I think they should be deployed on support and add clear, provided we can keep that fucker from mowing them down from a quarter mile away." She replied, considering how to prevent the noncoms from suffering massive casualties.

Marvin saw the direction of her thoughts, "Okay, yeah, with four maybe not. But now? It's something to consider. Been thinking on that too. I think I might be able to do some damage, if we can get close enough for me to lay hands on it. These things don't like the cold, runic inscriptions to channel my mana have proven effective. There's no reason I can't carve that thing's hide with one of champ's arrows, galdur scribe some below zero fun into it. Whatever regeneration it has, trying to keep from having its guts frozen will challenge it."

"None of the little ones are magic resistant. Mom might be, but normally the adult confers the resistance to offspring, not the other way around. Maybe best bet is to hit it really, really hard, I mean unload on it to take it out before it has too much chance to respond." Alexander added, sharing that consistent piece of information from the Eximius' Scrolls, and then ducking back into the crowd before Brig tried to ask him follow ups to jerk him around.

A frown and a mouthed, "Shoot!" from her lips confirmed that suspicion.

"Okay, so we're on the clock, maybe, to have a window to use the Otherkin ambush that got it to expend its stamina. We have enough ass here to do serious damage, if Ranger Gerifalte can carve away that Soak and keep it from nullifying what we send at it." Grace determined aloud, "Long term, it absorbs mana passively to fill those shards, it just happens more slowly than seems to suit its needs. It wanted to fill the shards on the down low, pop the dungeons, and…fucking who knows what it wants? But, whatever the case, that's what it was doing and it spent years of doing it that way. Alexander cut a near complete shard, about a hundred people's worth, if we put all the losses Bastian tallied together to make that one near complete dungeon core. If it crosses the river, makes it to New Chicago, there's thirty-thousand souls there for it to eat. That's a lotta dungeon cores."

She quieted then, that was her piece. Someone else would have to fill in the gaps.

Alexander, still hiding from his wife's attempts to force him into public speaking, sat in a corner of the canvas room. This one had been a supply tent, as evidenced by the odor of barley milt. Losing the forward half of the base had cost them their shelters, as they hadn't had time to take those down before crossing in their longships. The musty grainy smell made his nose itch, and he scratched it while he pondered.

The Rest were still discussing, but he had the gist of it. Someone would fill him in later.

A window of opportunity, and closing. Poison was a nonstarter, Eximius were poison resistant, and he didn't have a dosage large enough to do more than inconvenience something that large. On the other hand, he never had gotten around to doing some alchemy with Horace using the Eximius venom, perhaps an answer there? Using some of its own goop against it? Venomous snakes were largely immune to their own venom, or so he'd heard from Brig in one of her National Geographic dissertations in bed, so maybe not. But that didn't mean some synthesis couldn't be done to produce something different enough to be effective somewhat. The point wasn't to kill the Queen that way, but to weaken it, and he remembered keenly the nightmare hallucinations and weakness that had come from his time exposed to their venom. Fentanyl could kill in the micrograms, if they discovered a potent enough substance perhaps…but unlikely, that kind of alchemical research took time.

He thought about his tools. Alexander could pierce Soak with his powers, so that was a check. Armor? He could probably dig through it with Talon, also check. Could he get close enough to do either? The last mental map of the Eximius Hive, much reduced said it would be extremely difficult, but not impossible. If he were able to approach from underwater, with a snorkel, he might just be able to use speed to achieve what pure stealth couldn't. But then he'd have to scale the monster without being flung off to certain doom or turned into paste by scraping limbs. Several iterations of his being instantly killed in the attempt flashed in his head. No, the big drop was the best way. Siddiqua had been onto something though, blinding it first would be a damned good idea, just in case it could turn its face skyward.

"Gotcha!" A hand clasped his feathers, then started gently petting, he had been found by Brig.

The Venator looked up at the grinning copper haired Amazon and saw that she'd brought Grace with her.

"How did you do that? He vanishes when I go to look for him." The blonde Oread asked her sensei, instead of directing that question to the man himself.

Brig leered down at him, still petting, "Like finding scorpions in the house. You don't worry about trying to see them, you learn where to look."

"And," his wife joked, "The first place you learn to look is under your foot, when the lovely little buggers teach you that by stinging it. Isn't that right, my little scorpion?"

"I invoke my fifth amendment rights not to self-incriminate." Alexander announced.

Grace looked a little leery at that exchange.

"When you say sting…" She left the unfinished question implied.

"Creeps up behind you and squeezes your tits while you do laundry." Brig told her new companion, warning her of the tricks and treats of life in the Gerifalte household.

"Why am I not allowed to have fun?" He asked, indignant.

Half the fun was because they didn't know it was coming. And being powerless to stop him from doing it. The other half was the knowing they were waiting, watching, and still catching them in the single moment they thought they were safe from a husbandly groping.

"Why indeed?" his spouse wondered aloud, knowing her mate's evil ways, and she took a pointed survey of the room's occupants and their rather focused occupation on matters dire.

"You know, Alexander, while those stuffy folks go round and round with each other, why don't we scamper off and go round and round? Eh, Eh? Just a quickie to get rid of the cobwebs? I gots needs Husband!" Brig propositioned, entirely serious, and increasingly wheedling in her tone.

He did a quick scan. They did look kind of busy over there. And what was the point of hiring experts if you were just going to backseat Adventure them? Another snapshot glance at Brig, slight flush to her freckled complexion, ever so slightly dilated pupils.

"Are you sure quick is what you want? Because I'm getting a different vibe." Alexander answered the much-missed woman.

Brigitte O'Connor turned to her rival-sister-newest toy and smiled brightly, "You see, this is why I love him. He really gets me."

Grace wasn't certain she liked how this was playing out. She was the star on the dance floor, leading the performance. But then, she'd never joined somebody else's dance mid swing. Seeing the pair so comfortable though, and recalling how comfortable she'd been just that morning, and the days before, perhaps now was the time to get more familiar with the situation.

Now whose got commitment issues? She mocked herself silently, knowing she'd come a little far for hesitation, but still not sure which direction she was being propelled. Time was running out to choose, but she could put the future off a little longer, there might not be a need to worry about long term.

"I got to have him last night, so you two can go first, but I want a turn after. We need a schedule." Grace Miller, suggested, not quite believing the words coming out of her mouth.

It sucked, but fair was fair, and this is what happened when unstoppable force met immovable object. Compromise. Punishment for letting herself get caught up in battlefield romance with a chaos agent.

A strong arm wrapped around the Peacekeeper's armored shoulders, squeezing, and Brig declared, "Don't you worry! I am a bountiful Goddess, with love enough to go around. We'll take him together. Bring a notebook, I'll go slow so you can jot things down. Class is in session."

She looked down at the cause of her problems, sitting there, pretending to be innocent.

"Well, anything to say for yourself?" The once dancer turned berserker asked.

"In my defense—" Alexander began, cut off by the thoughtless strength of an untamed war goddess as she hauled him up and dragged both her victims from the tent, leaving it to those in her path to clear it or be ground under foot.

Members of Getsome and Impervious looked up from their intense discussion with the Peacekeeper officers and shared a chuckle, knowing that had been a matter of time. Speaking of, the visiting warriors checked the water clock on the table for an official recording. There had been a pool, and money changed hands. Shiv took his winnings with humility, commenting in his lingering Ukrainian accent to the raised eyebrows of Siddiqua Mirzaei and Marvin Pruitt, "Is the way of things."

Then the professional soldiers sent a dragon hatchling to fetch their secret weapon: a witch with a diabolical talent for finding cruel fates in her cauldron.

It took three days to come up with a solution.

Twice, Peacekeepers and mercenary Adventurers crossed up river and raided, and twice the Eximius horde repelled them. They retreated immediately when the behemoth began to stir from its rest. Testing the defenses proved of little benefit, hatchling fodder by the scores were laid daily and it seemed to cost the Queen nothing in terms of energy to create these most minor of its brood. No more Puppeteers, or Slayers, or Infiltrators did it spawn, however, indicating that this required energy it could not spare.

Eximius did, it seemed, know how to build bridges and they were doing that very thing, streamers of steel cable strength webbing secured to rocks, driftwood, slug across the river to begin anchoring a woven bridge. A full detachment was on twenty four hour duty clearing the anchors, but an effort at a segmented bridge was taking shape as they did.

Almost the bridging was completed by a midnight gambit, a two hundred strong paradrop of wind sailing broodlings was attempted, each trailing silken threads from the other side to force the completion, held far more easily with the reinforcements of Getsome and Impervious.

The creatures were five days from having a crossing that could support their matriarch with their segmented structure, and, when it was done, they would come. All of them.

Today was D-Day. Grace Miller stood in the front of a broad, shallow drafted row boat, like a blond George Washington crossing the Potomac. Only there was no sleet, and she would have scared George and his men shitless at eight plus feet of armored berserker sharing a boat with them. Marvin manned the next ship. Siddiqua the next. Impervious were all aboard one vessel, with Dame Sanchez as a plus one. They had no oars, the hydromancer with Fantasia would propel the craft by her water wielding arts alone.

Marvin Pruitt, commanding officer by seniority, called the advance and the Fort fifty-one Peacekeepers, fifty contracted Adventurers, and a small host of Yankee monster hunters came to order. A single brassy note from a horn declared the assault begun, with a mid-morning's sunshine promising a hot, early summer day ahead. Either the noon would find them victorious or, very likely, all dead on the field. Half the equation was this frontal push, this obvious attack. The demon hive from Rasatala were granted full view of this action, and they seethed on the opposing riverbanks, not straying too close to the waters lest they be swept away and drowned in the muddy flood waters.

Grace, grim behind her full helm, a replacement from the one destroyed weeks ago, was ready. Things out of her control whirled around her. Emotions and implications she didn't want to think about. Before her though, was something she could deal with. Something to fight. Something to kill. A duty committed to for most of the only life that mattered since the Pulse took the one before and rendered it to an almost fanciful history. Red wrath stirred and the extraneous fell away, replaced by the purity of moments. The heaving rowers would have her upon the field in just a minute and she would fulfil her role in today's play, to be a tide of slaughter, culling the Slayers and Infiltrators, and whatever puppeted dungeon spawn might try to stop the landing.

Only once she looked up and wondered how the sucker punch planned by that little witch was working out.

Wind whistled through his scalp feathers as Alexander Gerifalte dove in free fall toward the face of Gaia, with a terrified exhilaration unlike anything he'd ever known. The feel of rushing air pressing his clothes tight to skin, where it didn't shed over the rigid plates of his armor, was balanced, the ground yawning up to meet him had stopped doing so at an increasing rate and he realized he was at terminal velocity. Far below, less far all the time, the back of the Eximius Queen grew larger and he could count the pocks in the creature's carapace from the arrow salvos of the Elves three days prior.

Calling to his core's powers he imagined the array of antimagic needles and held it ready, until the spider the size of a school stirred, its complex eyes finally seeing the descending Outsider. Too late.

A field of entropic needles poured down onto the head of the Eximius Queen, destroying the monster's Soak, each individual impact doing almost insignificant harm, but through repeated strikes chewing through the carapace where the monster's eyes had been a quarter second before. A blast of sound felt as the monster spider screeched felt like it might have slowed his fall by a tiny fraction, but that wouldn't be enough. His core emptied, Alexander unlatched the sealed pouch of his belt and took out four bulbs, almost losing the baseball sized things for trying to hold them against the howling winds of his dive.

The wounded spider was lurching into motion now, raising itself on long, thin limbs from where it had slumbered, recuperating from the expenditure of its powers. It turned, stepping away from the banks of the river and Alexander adjusted his body, altering his trajectory to intercept. Adrenaline soaring with the rest of him as the creature grew to fill his sight, Alexander prayed to all the gods above, below, and in between, that Crow Cries Under Moon kept her Contract, from her glider where the Morrigan was strapped to her newly tiered up protector Dick, who had chosen to take the plunge to advance to join her.

Eyes open, watching his death while he plummeted to the ground, as he had on the day Gaia awakened so long ago, Alexander released the Witch Kiss into the wound of the Eximius Queen, and hit the—

Alexander was back. It worked. It actually worked! He laughed like a maniac, the wind in his feathers again as he circled, strapped to a hang glider as he'd been just a minute ago, before he'd unclipped himself to dive bomb the Eximius Queen. The blind Queen that was screeching, blasting randomly with lightning from its fangs, and rending the earth around it with eight stabbing pillars. It was insane. Unthinkable. So, he did it again, this time with a crate of boomsticks passed to him by Ben, who slapped a gauntlet to his back and yelled over the sound of the flap of glider fabric and wind, "Give her hell! And don't miss!"

Crow reset his ticket, the last he would get.

Falling once more, Alexander tracked the form of the Eximius Queen as the tier five staggered, blind, away from the river that would drown even it should it fall into those rushing waters. He watched as he fell, the rowing longships almost flying above the surface of the river. On those longships rode Impervious and Dame Sanchez, who needed no boat but it pleased her to captain one as she led her vassals to war, as well as the Peacekeepers. All of the Peacekeepers, and too the Adventurers who had answered the call to hold this crossing. Oars pulled by tier three humans, by professional soldiers, by men and women hungry to avenge their friends shot the boats back toward the ruin of their old fortress, the one that had been surrounded by a moat expanded on from a natural side run of the river to make a tiny island on which to seat Fort Fifty-One Crossing.

Van Richards, bless the brilliant asshole had come up with the concept for plan A, initially, three days ago. Granny plan B. They combined the two plans, layered together. Two teams, in case one failed, two chances to end the threat. Neither needed the other to work, but both would help each other to guarantee no Eximius lived to flee this place. One to drown the giant bitch and her kids. The other give her an Adventurer aneurism and slaughter the broodlings by force of arms.

"Bitch isn't the only one that can move dirt. You hold her down, for five minutes, I'll sink that goddamned island and her with it." Van had said, in offering his proposal.

"I can hold anybody down for five minutes, keep them off me and nothing gets off that little island." Georgia, promised.

"This river will serve me, as is good and proper." The Dame, of course.

They and Impervious and the Captains had their part.

Alexander and the rest of Getsome had theirs too.

The once pilot turned Venator adjusted his arms and legs, using the Eximius webs that formed a kind of glider between his limbs to alter his approach. The crate on his hip dragged awkwardly, needed constant shifts in his form to account for changes in the air currents as he fell. Two days of practice had prepared him though, he was getting the hang of skydiving. With much satisfaction, he saw the tier five stagger when four pools of hyperacid started chewing through its armor, burning down into its arachnid brain. A flare of green energy, too late to stop a few feet of neurological damage, and the acid was obliterated by the monster's dispelling ability. Similar to Alexander's but not the same, it nullified the effects of the acid. Just in time for another Unweaver's Rain to rip into its head, this time, Alexander's second drop, a crate of lit Boomsticks, courtesy of a Pyroclastic Cannoneer's gifts, punched the monster like Thor's own hammer to the noggin, smashing it down. The shockwave rose visibly to hit him and he was back in the straps of his harness, gliding again with Ben, after having been killed a second time this day.

"Hahahahaha! Take that you bastards! Granny Nguyen wins again!" He screamed into the sky, watching the twice rocked Godzilla roster wannabe try to pick itself up. Sprays of lightning began to arc over the open plain as it attempted to vaporize everything around it in fury. Upward it tilted its head, but even its awful power couldn't reach up a mile through the air to hit the circling gliders.

More importantly, its greatest weapon wasn't aimed at the warriors locked in melee with its brood.

Devious, Cruel, Wise Witch that she was, Granny had determined that Alexander had to die, when she came to the tent she'd brought with her sister-wife to find her husband in bed with another woman and said sister-wife, even if she had been the one to give her approval for it. After sending her son away to play with the other helpers from Falcon's Rest, she assumed her place as reigning queen of the tent, and decided on her love's fate while they lay in marital bless.

She had just met a certain Morrigan time mage, a shaman woman and they'd immediately bonded, wise woman to wise woman. When she learned about the Clockwinder's powers, she suggested suicide bombing the Queen with as much ordinance as possible, until those immortality tickets were exhausted. She also suggested the one to do the bombing be Alexander, because he must die and once wasn't enough. Or so she'd said, but he knew she was joking.

From there, the Peacekeeper-Adventurer veterans had come up with a damned dirty trick, and a coordinated plan of attack to seal the Spider Queen's fate. All it needed to work was to get the first shot on the resting monster, and to make that count. So far, so good.

"You ready?!" He shouted to Ben, knowing also that that was a pointless question.

Before all humans, nobody was ready to slay monsters as was Benjamin Grisham.

"Born ready! Remember! It's gonna pull something!" the ultimate warrior called, as he unharnessed himself to fall.

Unlike Alexander, he didn't have a ticket.

Also unlike Alexander, he didn't need one. The glider Alexander now piloted jerked upward without the mass of the Adamant Knight dragging at it and he had to work the flaps to nose down, swooping, this time joined by five other gliders. Getsome was following his lead down, he being the most experienced flyer, with his flight time before the pulse included with glider training.

On the banks of the Mississippi, Impervious led their charge, alongside the Peacekeepers, their red cloaks streaming as they swept away the Eximius horde that skittered to protect their matriarch. A stream of blue-white napalm from a small brown haired girl's shoulder was joined by another, the mana duplicated form of a second young wyrm spitting its flames over the Rasatala demon spiders that were not immune to dragon fire. Dozens incinerated in a sweeping line cleared the way for the remaining ships to dock, for the remaining Peacekeeper troopers and Adventurer parties to disembark and begin hacking their way in formations through the Hive.

Slayer strikes that had effortlessly dismembered before, spearing Infiltrator limbs deadly as pikes yesterday were turned by armor, blade, and shield, their power robbed by the massive Soak distributing aura of Nathan Smythe, who covered his allies in his Oaken Rampart's durability. The Anchor of Impervious hacked and slashed, shield raised to intercept webs or piercing limbs, leading the legion of warriors from the front.

Van and his sappers, guarded by Dame Sanchez who peeled snakes of animate water to pulverize, crush, or drag beneath the placid surface of the Mississippi anything that came within reach of her, began their task, carving the channel that had created the moat, widening and drawing the flow of the river with a temporary levee into this small channel. While the water mage fought and guided as much of the river as she could to rip away the soil holding the island in place, Van was exercising his powers to their fullest, undermining the land on which they stood.

High-volume flow of the second longest river on the continent, in its peak season, did more work than twenty earth mages, digging violently away at the earth, carving the area of the fort away to join the bulk flow of the river. This work was encouraged by the hydromancy of Dame Sanchez who borrowed from this tremendous flow the hammers of water with which to crush the dungeon spawn that tried in vain to assail her with so great a weapon at her disposal.

Georgia Stephens escorted by the Peacekeepers red cloaks carved their way around the periphery of the ruined fort on its almost island, creating a perfect circle as they went. Gouts of steam cloudkilling dungeon spawn, Siddiqua took her toll from the monsters in droves. Captain Pruitt a polar juggernaut with his Rime Armor bolstered by Nathan's additional defenses, used the pick of his war axe to attach himself to the Eximius he encountered and grabbed hold of their heads, channeling freezing magic into them for a fatal moment, before leaving a brain frozen arachnid behind, brutal and efficient. Red streaks followed a blurring form as it crashed from group of dungeon spawn to group, a whirlwind of rage, and Grace sent pieces of the monsters flying her war cry pulling nearby dungeon spawn in to their deaths compelled to throw themselves into the blender of her wrath.

The Chronous Bulwark herself, with the space cleared by the Peacekeepers, was carving with her sword runes bearing latent power, like the hour hands of a clock ticking down, waiting for its moment to seal the fates of the enemy. If the sucker punch didn't work, Georgia's task was to guarantee that when this soon to be an island sank, it took the Eximius Hive with it.

Cervantes and Potter spearheaded a push toward the Eximius Queen, scrabbling with ruinous earth rending effect as it struggled to repair having its brains razed by entropic magic that refused efforts to heal then dynamited. This threat dragged her offspring away from the edges of the old Fort, where thundering reports from a zweihander pulped spider insides against their vibrating shell, and air currents creating pressure gradients equivalent to a small high explosive charge exploded the thorax of monsters at the point of Potter's rapier.

The advance of the circling Peacekeeper triad and the time wielding warrior quickened as resistance lessened. The noose tightening.

Alexander and company descended, a steep swooping dive that took them out a two-mile run to line up with the temporarily downed tier five. It was starting to get its feet under it, starting to rise when Ben cannonballed it across its back from his mile high hell drop, the Adamantine Knight temporarily invulnerable from his Golem Physiology, his eight hundred pounds smashed the creature back to Gaia's embrace.

A silver ribbon, the frost brand naginata, Winter's breath, unfurled, scattering afternoon light before cracking like a whip, its sword blade digging frosted trenches through armored carapace with abandon.

Lined up as they were, this was the moment of peril, if the Queen could bring to bear its lightning attack, they'd all be vaporized. But it couldn't see them, it couldn't feel them, and it had just had the piss knocked out of it by a man of steel who was running toward the gaping hole in its head, mauling its carapace as he went.

Flat now, running along the pockmarked back of the monstrous widow, Alexander freed himself of his harness one last time and dropped, hitting the armored hide of its abdomen, rolling, running, he was making best speed toward the monster's weakened head. Shiv landed next, staggered from the momentum, fell, placing both hands to the mega chitin beneath them. Unbothered by his less graceful touchdown, he shouted, while the rest of the party landed, "It is wounded! Partial paralysis, cognitive functions are compromised, regeneration is repairing nerve damages, we are killing it!"

Then the physician helped the patient along, using his powers of flesh manipulation to reach into the dungeon spawn and clip the blood vessel that would have been analogous to a human hepatic artery, causing a massive internal hemorrhage. When it sealed, weaving closed, he pinched the tree trunk sized vessel in two places, neatly removing a whole segment of the artery, which spasming and shrieking that tossed the landed members of the party to their faces indicated that this act caused it great distress.

Shiv remained where he was, using his Flesh Weaver powers to damage the dungeon boss through its armor, as only he could. The scale of the tissue rearrangements rapidly depleted his mana, but he was doing massive targeted damage to major systems that required its energy to heal. With varying degrees of dignity, Getsome arrived on the wide, wide, back of the dungeon spawn spawner.

While Shiv did his work, the opposite of his profession's calling, the rest of the party ran on, to rejoin Ben, who was knee deep in spider brain, savaging it with icy lashes.

They were nearly intercepted by a massive spear of black chitin, the Eximius Queen was trying to swipe them before they reached its head, and Alexander could only pray his faith in these men and women was well founded.

Brig stamped down on the monster beneath her and drove her lance into its back, unloading her full measure of gravity magic in one herculean smash that brought the monster crashing down to the clay of the old fortress interior.

From beneath them the monster's armored hide dropped twenty feet and they all fell, rejoining the smashed creature before it could scuttle to its arachnoid feet. The force of the gravitational thrust also finished Van and the Dame's work for them, shearing off the island to begin sinking into the great river, whose waters were boiling up over the bank side, leaving the longships bobbing as their mooring vanished beneath the running water. Those with feet planted on the island below staggered, but human and enemy resumed their combat with barely a hiccup in the violence.

Ben looked up at their approach, hand cocked back to deliver another frigid bullwhip, and said, "About time! You think it's tired of getting its ass whooped by now?"

Alexander looked back at the concentration on Shiv's face as he continued doing awful things to its insides.

"Ayuh!" He said, "Any time now!"

Mark Ross looked at the wreck of green and grey at the edge of the battered spider shell, "Ew. Gross. But here goes nothing!"

With that the Ifrit jumped into the flesh and lit himself on fire, his dragon fang broadsword glowing white. Mark thrust downward and concentrated his mana to the tip of the sword, began sinking as he burned his way into the creature, digging like a human laser down, which made the enemy keen and jerk, rocking its riders violently, but unable to shake them.

Melinda gagged at the smell, "Yeck! Gag a maggot! Brig, you sure it's got something else? We're in here pretty good like."

The Luminous Pathfinder was holding her powers in reserve. There wouldn't be much light inside a giant spider body, she would guide their way.

An armored thumbs up from the Amazon, her other gripping the huge lance, "Trust me, it's going to cut loose any second now."

Timely observation. The Eximius howled an alien cry of pain and anger and it all the Adventurers riding it felt the pulse of its core, the building mana.

"Nope!" Alexander yelled and he unfurled Greater Entropic Aura, wrapping the spider in his magic shredding field, draining himself to extend it, but the growing pressure of the tier five's magic winked out.

A shudder ran through the colossus, a rebound from its ultimate weapon being forcefully denied.

"Hey! Man at work down here!" Called Mark, who was too deep to have received warning about Alexander's rebuttle when his own ability fizzled.

Incandescence poured from the hole and their blazing anchor sunk himself deeper.

"Just like that?" He asked Brig, surprised at how simple it was.

"Just like that, Alexander." She replied, "Bet nothing in Rasatala prepared the fucker for an antimagic tick burrowed into its neck."

Genius really did lay in simplifying complexity.

Melinda covered her mouth and nose at the smell issuing from the smoke-filled hole, "Oh, Jesus-fuck, it's so bad. Do we have to?"

"Demigod slaying is tough sister, tighten up." Ben teased his companion, but not mentioning the brief conversation he'd had with his lady of the water the Dame earlier when he explained her anticipated role, with his head upon her lap in stately repose.

"Sir Benjamin, my consort, I will not be descending into that flesh pit. Forsooth, it is vile, and an insult upon my dignity. Up above I will remain, to shield these two louts who you favor should the foe try our courage." Dame Sanchez had announced, which was her way of saying "I think not, Jack."

A brief pause from the hero of Falcon's Rest, he chose the better part of valor, "Why don't you help Van with the river then? They'll need protection to concentrate on their job."

"A task worthy of nobility, Sir Ben, I will accept this burden." She had replied calmly, and that had been that.

Another pulse of magic, the beasty was trying its trick again.

Alexander hit the off switch once more, shouting a cheerful "Nope!" as he did.

Another shudder, the creature was no longer stirring beneath them.

"Fuck! Fine! Out of mana anyway. Phaw, it fucking reeks down here!" Cursed Mark from the bore, "Deep enough, Ben! This is your show now! Dig your way through, you can feel its core in here somewhere!"

Alexander pulled his Talon from its sheathe and handed the vorpal knife to Ben, adding "Do your thing Man of Steel, I'll make sure it doesn't cheat."

"Full send, Commodore. See y'all in a bit, come on Melinda, I'm gonna need a light."

He hollered down the hole, deep and sonorous, "Mark! Better clear out, I'm jumping down!"

With that, Ben hopped down the wound and a wet thud was heard a few seconds later.

"Stupid dungeon spawn mother lovers." Cursed the smaller black woman, climbing down the soft, oozy tissue to join her comrades below.

Shiv rejoined, sweating and eyes almost crossed, "Is all I can do. We wait now?"

"Ayuh." Alexander answered, looking out at the field from on high, his new perch on the matriarch they were about to slay.

Below, the combined efforts of about a hundred professional soldiers trained in their gifts, led by Impervious and the Peacekeeper Captains were almost done shredding the Eximius horde.

"Done!" Georgia shouted, carving her last rune, the Arcana completed that now enshrouded the entire island.

Any creature that did not bear her runes of passage would be locked in time for five minutes that crossed the threshold of her Temporal Ward. Unable to harm, or to be harmed. The Peacekeeper escorts who had guarded her while she cast her time trap pulled up, panting, covered in gore. Grace looked up at the Eximius Queen, its bulk twitching, but no longer attempting to rise, the wrath fading from her, leaving her drained.

"I'll be a motherfucker, it actually worked." She exclaimed, stunned.

"Ye of little faith, Padawan!" Captain Pruitt enjoined, tired, but unharmed, and he committed to owing the Impervious Anchor a great many brewskis for this day's work.

"It was insanity. I cannot believe we listened to that strange Dryad woman. She didn't look like a warrior at all. Or speak like one." Commented Captain Mirzaei, looking around at the decimated legion of dungeon spawn, "But I find myself unable to argue with results."

From his perch high above the field, Alexander had suppressed two more attempts by the Spider Queen to do something unfair, and he was just about out of juice. As Ben had said, slaying demigods was tough work.

"What are we going to do with these little mini dungeons?" Brigitte O'Connor asked, looking at the crystals jutting from the behemoth's abdomen.

Alexander shrugged, "Destroy'em, probably. After we figure out if they're good for anything but trying to cover the world in a thousand years of darkness or whatever. The Guild Master for our buddies down there found three empties and those are being studied, and I took a look at one, once, but it was trying to open a dungeon so I didn't have time to dick with it. I figure I'll bring Granny some home to make her happy and that's enough by me, I don't want to leave anything to chance on this one. This was bad enough, as is. If I'd known all this was going to come of Concorde's contract, I'd have told them to find somebody else to waltz around away from home for months and months."

"Bullshit." Brig drawled, "We'd have had to break your legs every three days to keep you from heading out here. And when the missive came asking for all who could fight to come and lend a hand, I know who would have been at the front of the line, Mr. Die for You or Kill others."

It was good to be understood by those you loved, he mused.

A pulse, this time not a growing pressure, but a fading.

The Eximius Queen died, not with a bang, but a wimper. Crushed beneath the might of humanity's combined champions.

"What the fuck? They did it? Because they did something, are you seeing this?!" Brig started, ebullient with the first sign of forward progress combating the invading realms since the Big Break.

Proof of a few wiser folk's theory that the natural limits of the number of dungeon's was that alien space safeguarding the "contested zone" to make it better able to grow, not Gaia shielding herself from the infiltrating domains. In biological terms, the Matriculated limit was an aetheric sporecoat of these so-called dungeon cores, not an encysting of Gaia. The Eximius had just learned why escaping the dungeon confines was a dangerous gambit, tier five or no.

Then a blossom of red gold light behind him, the same as the one that had flashed within the Notre Dame of the Peacekeeper's headquarters, and instincts compelled the Venator, he turned, unshouldered his Singer, drew an arrow, and fired at in a single motion at the spatial warping core that was trying to rip a path through reality to its home dimension. A red fletched Ultimet tip pierced the flashing core, which had been fed the energies of the Eximius Queen in her final moment. Four more flashing crystals there were, but Alexander's world turned white and his body vanished.