"What are we going to do, Olga?!"

"Olga?"

Some of her teammates also spoke up.

The clap still echoed in my ears when I realized my hands had stopped moving, sword frozen mid-guard. Minions pressed in from all sides, their bark-crusted jaws snapping at the tanks like dogs biting into a fence, but I couldn't hear them.

My throat dried as I turned toward Olga, waiting for her to say something, or else I'll take charge of her guild, and she didn't disappoint.

"Everyone fall back!" she bellowed, her voice ripping across the chaos like a whip. "We're not holding this shit here! Get your asses back toward Mok Town, cut our losses! Two hundred feet west!"

She clicked her tongue.

"But gotta think out the herd of bastards first otherwise we'll be running into each other's toes! Tanks, I want eight sides, thin yourselves out into a fucking whatever the fuck's a pentagon is but with eight sides! You're building a circle, backs turned but no touching. You hear me? No touching! Too close and the supports will die."

She started pushing and shoving everyone into place, womanhandling them, basically,

"We fight around those two trees there, the big ones side by side. Supports! Where the fuck are you guys? Ah, over here, you stick to the trunks, keep them between you and the ugly bastards, you have ears? You listening? Okay, any bastard slips close, you run, and someone will clean it up before it eats you alive. And I don't give a fuck about your kill counts, damage. You only purpose right now is to stick close and keep the tanks breathing, that's priority, everyone revolves around tank, we're going for a long war! If a tank goes down, we're fucked!"

She then turned towards one of the supports looking at up her with fear, probably a new guy.

"Do you see wings on me, you bastard?" She yelled at him.

"N- No ma'am."

"BECAUSE I AM NOT YOUR GODDAMN DEAD GRANDMOTHER, GET INTO POSITION!"

Harsh… Way harsher than even I would have done it.

It was like watching gears mesh in a great machine as thirty players scattered into position, some barely walked, still affected by the fog, and had to be carried.

The eight tanks got special treatment by Olga and was pushed and pulled by their shirt into their positions like she was placing dummies, shields raised and feet digging trenches in the dirt as the formation bent into a wide octagon.

Supports huddled against the trees as ordered, their hands glowing with the steady rhythm of buffs and heals.

Damage dealers, both melee and ranged, became wolves darting at the edges, striking down minions that slipped too close, darting back before the tide could swallow them, they were the ones constantly moving, including me.

Then the first wave hit.

The ground shook as dozens of minions hurled themselves forward, their weight and fury so much greater than the peasants they once resembled.

They fell on the tanks like a storm of bodies, claws scraping against steel, rotten-bark fists hammering shields so hard that sparks leapt from the edges.

Each tank had nearly thirty of the monsters crashing into them at once, the sound of armor buckling under strain mixing with guttural screams. The circle wavered under the weight, not breaking but bending with every push, like a wall of reeds against a river.

Through gaps, a few minions squeezed past, slipping into the heart of the circle, only to be cut down instantly by daggers, arrows, and spells before they could reach the healers. The plan held, at first, but it was clear what Olga feared, numbers were building… The minions weren't slowing, each tanks were holding 30, and before I could get 10 slashes in, it was already 40, and their knees started to bend.

I ran myself ragged weaving through the circle, shoulder-checking past the tanks to slash open the back of a monster here, darting across to intercept another before it clawed too close to the trees.

I could feel every enchantment still humming across my body, but even with all the buffs, my muscles screamed under the endless strain; my swings grew heavier, breaths louder, vision tightening until the world became flashes of wood and blood.

The others shouted in clipped bursts, "North side! Push there!", "Healer's exposed, cover him!", among other things, but I hardly heard them. All I could focused on was movement, filling gaps, cutting down anything that broke through.

And then it happened, just 30 seconds after a formation was formed and we barely took down 80 minions.

One tank, a woman with armor gleaming blue under the torchlight, staggered under the weight. Three, four, five dozens of the hulking minions slammed against her shield at once, and I could see her knees buckle.

Before anyone could reach her, she fell backward into the circle. The crash of her body hitting dirt was drowned by the stampede of minions pouring over her.

They trampled her flat in seconds, claws raking into her chest, digging into her flesh and bones like zombies searching for the loins, stomps crushing her ribs. She didn't even get a scream out as the circle snapped open, a wound bleeding panic into our ranks.

"RUN!" Someone yelled.

"NO, YOU STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE, YA BASTARDS!" Olga commanded.

Admist panic, a voice came through the chaos.

"Let me handle it!"

The voice came sharp and clear, it was the mage, the one I've saw before with the gilded gear and the spell Shield Breaker.

He strode forward without hesitation, sucking in a breath so deep his chest swelled like a bellows, that was when I knew exactly what skill he was going to use.

His mouth opened, and fire erupted in a wide cone, a torrent that scorched a thirty-foot swath clear of minions.

Filthy bastards of barks and woods shrieked and burned, bodies curling into blackened husks as the flame devoured them. For a heartbeat, the circle was saved, until I looked back down and saw the body of the fallen tank, crushed and unmoving. Too late, she had fallen, and the gap remained.

"Well done, mage!" I yelled.

I didn't have much time to celebrate when the minions surged again, dozens more piling toward the opening.

Olga screamed for everyone to try and close the hole left by the dead player, but already the formation was cracking under the strain. I felt as my heart hammerered against my ribs, my sword almost slipping away in my hands.

If we lost the circle, if the tanks started dropping, we were finished. Or at least, they're finished, but legally as a part of their guild for a one-week trial, this will look bad on my resumé if I don't try to save them.

Before I could think, I heard my own voice rise above the chaos, raw and ragged.

"Let me fill in her place!"

I will… Probably come to regret this.

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