Cards flew through the damp air of the grotto as Deckard darted toward one of two safe spots he’d found—a narrow ledge just high enough to put him out of reach of the snapping crabs below. He climbed quickly, feeling the rough rock scrape against his palms. Once on the ledge, he paused, leaning back to catch his breath. His stamina bar ticked upward, but his sweat-soaked clothes clung to him.
The crabs below clattered their oversized pincers, their frustration audible in the dimly lit cavern. It had been hours since Deckard started the dungeon, and what had begun as a test of his soloing abilities had turned into a real challenge. Deckard wanted to finish this dungeon on his own.
Clearing the first five tunnels had been grueling, but the rewards had been worth it. He grinned as he flipped through his interface, admiring the two new creature cards in his collection. He looked at the first card, a card he used against Ratu on his first-ever Terralore game.
Comforting, even if he already knew it well.
The second card was entirely new.
This card had potential in a crab swarm deck. Finally, there was the skill card.
“Not bad,” Deckard muttered. He now owned five crab-related cards, and his attack was at 2.7 points. Sadly, AstroTerra didn’t round up. At 2.7 attack, his cards still dealt only two points of damage per hit. He needed a clean three to make his cards hit harder.
Deckard finished the last remaining crabs, picked up the loot, and resumed his attempt at a solo dungeon clear. The first five tunnels had gone without a hitch, but now he faced the sixth, and something about it unsettled him.
For one, he had pulled more than six groups of crabs from inside it, more than what he’d found in the other tunnels. It wasn’t just that. The air here felt heavier, the shadows darker. He couldn’t hear the faint clicking of crabs ahead, and the silence was unnerving.
He marched confidently at first, trusting his memory of the cleared sections. The stone walls were pocked with shallow pits, and water dripped steadily into puddles that rippled at his passing. But as the terrain shifted—walls narrowing, the path angling downward—he slowed. From here on out, it would be unfamiliar ground.
Rounding a corner, he froze. At the far end of a cavern, a massive crab stood motionless. Its shell was a deep, glossy black, polished like obsidian. Its size dwarfed the others he’d encountered; it was at least twice as large as a crab enforcer.
But it wasn’t just the size that made his heart race. This crab exuded power. Its shell, thick and ridged, gleamed under the faint light, and its claws flexed once, producing a sharp crack that echoed through the tunnel.
Deckard inspected the creature.
Crab Bulwark (Elite)
HP: 200
???
An elite. His stomach dropped. Its health pool alone made it clear this wasn’t an opponent he could take on head-to-head. But there was something positive about the creature’s stillness. It hadn’t reacted to his presence.
Deckard crouched, carefully studying the room. The floor was uneven, with jagged outcroppings of rock and shallow pools scattered throughout. He noted a series of ledges along the walls. Unfortunately, some were either too tall for him to reach and others too low, allowing the elite to reach it.
He didn’t have the firepower for a direct fight, but maybe he didn’t need it.
“Alright,” he whispered, gripping his cards tightly. “Let’s see if my plan to deal with the elites and the boss works.”
Deckard sat down cross-legged. The crab remained unaware of his presence, its dark shell gleaming as it shifted slightly. A notification appeared moments later:
You observed the Crab Bulwark.
Your understanding of the Crab Bulwark has increased.
He let out a deep breath. Even if he didn’t fight the crab, the system was still rewarding him for observation. With enough patience, he should be able to remove this obstacle. If he observed the Crab Bulwark long enough, he could capture it directly, just as if he’d defeated it in battle.
Capturing the elites and the dungeon boss this way would let him clear this challenge solo. There had to be some sort of reward for that. Maybe a title. Who knew? But the cost was steep: time—endless, grinding patience.
“Good thing patience is my middle name,” he muttered, shifting to get more comfortable.
He remembered his days playing Nova Cardia. There was this one season when fatigue decks ruled the meta. They weren’t glamorous, but they won. Deckard had thrived in that season, playing the long game and watching opponents burn through their resources while his own deck outlasted them. One match in particular stood out—a grueling hours-long stalemate against another fatigue deck player. They’d battled until sunrise before his opponent was drained and, defeated, conceded.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Deckard grinned at the memory. “I’ve done this before. I can outlast you, too, little crab.”
The Crab Bulwark didn’t respond to his quiet taunt. It stood still for a moment longer, then began to move—slow, deliberate steps, each one a heavy thud that reverberated through the cavern floor. Deckard tracked its movements, careful to stay hidden. Another notification blinked into view:
You observed the Crab Bulwark move.
Your understanding of the Crab Bulwark has increased.
He glanced at the clock in his interface. “I’ve been playing for days,” he muttered. His stomach churned with a mix of guilt and exhaustion. “I really should get out and visit Mom.”
The reminder hit him harder than he’d expected. Wednesday was their day. Even though she didn’t always recognize him anymore, he’d kept the tradition alive, clinging to the hope that some part of her still remembered. Missing a visit wasn’t an option.
“Just this one,” he promised, shaking the thought away. “Then I’ll log out.”
*
It had been almost two hours of observing the crab elite.
His focus sharpened as the Crab Bulwark roamed in his direction. Its pincers clicked once, a deep clack that echoed ominously. Deckard tensed, ready to retreat if it detected him, but the crab moved on, oblivious to his presence. He let out a slow breath, allowing himself a moment of relief.
You observed the Crab Bulwark.
Your understanding of the Crab Bulwark has increased.
Deckard checked the repository. The creature’s drawing had become sharper, its once-faded lines now detailed, with hints of color filling in its glossy black shell. A grin spread across his face. In his experience, this was the system’s way of signaling that his understanding was sufficient for capture.
“Alright, big guy,” he whispered, standing up. “It’s time.”
He stepped forward. As soon as he came within aggro range, the crab reacted, rearing up with a hiss-like screech. Its enormous pincers snapped in warning.
“You don’t scare me!”
Subdimensionalize!
Deckard activated the skill, his heart racing. The air around the crab shimmered as the capture process began. A faint glow surrounded the creature, growing brighter. But just as the glow intensified, there was a sharp, discordant crack—like glass shattering.
Capture failed.
“What?” Deckard exclaimed, staring at the message in disbelief. His fingers trembled as the shimmering light around the crab faded, leaving it unharmed and angry. It reared up and charged, its massive claws raised like battering rams.
Deckard bolted, heart hammering. “I watched it for over two hours, and that still wasn’t enough?” he shouted, glancing over his shoulder. The Crab Bulwark was closing the gap, each step sending tremors through the rocky floor. Despite its heavy armor, it still moved fast, much faster than any other crab he’d faced so far.
Frantically, Deckard threw a few cards in its direction, hoping to slow it down.
Null!
Null!
“No, no, no!” he yelled, panic rising.
The crab lunged, its pincer slashing through the air with terrifying speed.
-60
Deckard stumbled, his mind reeling as the notification flashed. Sixty damage in one hit? One more like that, and I’m done for, he thought, legs burning as he sprinted toward the nearest safe spot.
The creature hissed behind him, claws snapping menacingly. With a desperate leap, Deckard hurled himself onto the ledge, clawing at the jagged rocks until he managed to pull himself up. He collapsed onto the platform, gasping for air, his hands trembling as he peered over the edge.
The Crab Bulwark glared up at him, its claws clashing in frustration. Deckard’s pulse thundered in his ears. Elites weren’t just stronger—they were smarter, more aggressive, and utterly relentless. He’d underestimated this crab. Dealing with elites had seemed so simple when those three guys had carried him through Gull’s Rock. However, it was entirely different to face an elite alone.
“What now?” Deckard whispered, staring at the crab. It wasn’t going to stop. It clawed at the rocks, testing its reach, then began pacing below his ledge.
My only hope is to weaken it somehow—to make it vulnerable enough for capture.
Determined, Deckard hurled cards at the creature from his perch. Each throw struck true, but the notifications were disheartening.
Null!
Null!
The crab remained unharmed, its glossy shell deflecting every attack. Deckard shifted his aim, targeting its joints or the small gaps between its armored plates, but nothing seemed to work.
Null!
Null!
Deckard gritted his teeth. “What should I do? Can I even deal any damage to this thing?” Frustration gnawed at him, but he refused to give up. He threw a card at the crab’s eyes. The crab used its claws as a shield and fended off the attack.
What about this? Deckard challenged. He threw two cards simultaneously, one from each hand, aiming for its eyes with one and the legs with the other.
The crab moved faster than expected. One claw intercepted the first card while its armored shell blocked the second. It was maddeningly efficient, but something caught his eye—a tiny fragment of its shell had fallen off where the second card struck.
“Aha!” Deckard’s eyes lit up as realization dawned. “The shell’s not invincible—it just takes a lot to crack it.”
The mechanic became clear: part of the challenge was stripping the crab’s armor before it could take damage. He tested his theory, throwing another volley of cards. After ten more hits, another fragment of shell came loose, clattering to the ground.
Excited, Deckard zeroed in on the exposed areas. This time, his efforts paid off. A notification flashed as his next card struck the exposed flesh beneath the armor.
-2
He exhaled sharply. It’s not much, but it’s a start.
He continued chipping away at the creature’s defenses, targeting the vulnerable spots. The Crab Bulwark swiped at his projectiles with its claws, but Deckard pressed on, each successful hit gradually exposing more of its soft underside.
You’ve seen the Crab Bulwark fight.
Your understanding of it grows.
-2
-2
Deckard smirked. “You’re tough but not invincible.” Slowly but surely, the crab’s health bar began to shrink.
When a significant chunk of the crab’s shell had been stripped away and its health bar dipped below half, Deckard decided to risk another capture attempt. It wasn’t like he had a choice. He was running out of cards, and if he let the crab be, it would recover. It was now or never. He steadied his breathing, pointed a card at the crab, and activated his skill.
Subdimensionalize!
The vortex opened, swirling with an otherworldly pull. The Crab Bulwark thrashed violently, snapping at the energy as it tried to resist. Deckard clenched his fists, watching intently. The strain was visible—the creature’s massive claws scraped against the floor as it dug in, struggling to stay grounded.
But the combined weight of Deckard’s understanding, the damage dealt, and the fragments of armor he had stripped away proved too much. With a final screech, the Crab Bulwark was engulfed by the vortex, disappearing into the glowing card in his hand.
Capture successful.
Deckard collapsed back onto the ledge, holding the card in his trembling hand. “I actually did it,” he whispered, a grin breaking across his face.
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