Monsters

A Grizzly Cub that is host to a lightning fungus. Not all cubs are parasitized by this fungus, but those that are have been appropriately dubbed Evil Cubs. Under normal circumstances these cubs are fairly docile, playing innocently as all babes should—but the power of the fungus has paralyzed their hearts. Now, their childish nature, warped by strong desires, makes them a dangerous presence, and many adventurers remain wary of them.

Grizzlies cannot see, searching for prey using only their sense of smell. That is why they often take lurching, wide swings with their arms when hunting; however, the Glenspore Grizzly is slightly different. Parasitized by a fungus called the Glen Mushroom, which contains the spiritual power of fire, it will scatter explosive spores into the air if it detects even the faintest whiff of potential prey. That's all there is to hunting for this relatively passive beast, and unless severely angered, they won't bother lashing out aggressively. Once its spores have been scattered, all it needs to do is wait for the fragrance of burning meat.

A dangerous monster nicknamed the Gourmand. A parasitic fungus possessing spiritual power lives in its brain and uses it to hunt—in exchange for life. This has created a defect in the monster's brain, driving it to eat everything in sight to fill an insatiable hunger. Its jaws are extremely strong, and in times of extreme starvation, it will even gnaw through large trees and huge rocks.

If he sensed even the slightest twinge of fear at his presence, it would be taken as the mark of an enemy. He devoured everything—prey, massive foes, even pack mates. That is, until something inedible appeared before him. The creature showed no fear and held out both hands. Was it human? Perhaps a child? The tiny creature looked up at him with innocent, curious eyes. It was the first time anyone had regarded him without fear clouding their features. Confused, he felt something warm well up from within. Then he collapsed, and there was pain. A second creature joined the first... Was it the child's parent? "Damn," he thought, but deep within he felt an odd satisfaction. The Goddess bestowed upon him the name Savenar, and sealed him away as a Guardian.

An old Grizzly that once fell prey to a parasitic fungus, leaving a portion of its brain destroyed. This has left the pitiful creature in a dangerous state, with only its basest instincts intact—namely, to fight. Blind and unable to smell, it lives only to hunt that which it can sense via touch, and will risk what remains of its life to that end.

He didn't understand the cravings—he knew only that he must take all within reach. He knew it to be a baser instinct, and yet he was at its mercy. The sweet taste of his prey, of his dominion, of his unending conquest—such things sustained him. Nothing could match the feeling that came from seizing, from taking. So he kept on reaping, battle after bloody battle, until there was nothing left to reap. Desperate for something, anything, to purloin, he seized his own heart and ripped it from his chest. Seeing this, the Goddess took pity on him. She named him Vodnir and sealed him away as a Guardian.

A member of the Grizzly species with a coat the color of night. Its name comes from the crescent-shaped pattern on its back. It is inhabited by a fungus called the Moonlit Mushroom, which possesses the spiritual power of the moon—a form of power similar to a lost ancient magic. If, while wandering through a dark forest, you notice the moon falling from the sky to the forest below, then prepare yourself; you may never see the dawn again.

A subspecies of the Grappling Grizzly that has grown in its abilities through countless battles. Its fur is blood red, though whether the shade is natural or a testament to its prowess is uncertain. In certain lights, its fur even appears to burn with an inner flame. After surviving numerous conflicts with adventurers and hunters, as well as territorial disputes and generational struggles, it has scars all over its body; this, coupled with the distinctive fur, may have contributed to its nickname, "Red Spot." It is also revered as an incarnation of a mountain god among certain frontier tribes.

A subspecies of Wind Wasp. Though larger than the common variety, its smaller wings render it nearly flightless. Widely known as the "Filthy Wasp," this insect's venom glands have developed to an alarming degree. It loses control of its venom production once agitated, causing poison to overflow from its body. To make matters worse, it has a penchant for consuming filth and excrement, causing it to emit an overwhelming stench of decay. Win or lose against this wasp, the surrounding area becomes so inundated with poison and putridity that it's earned another namesake: the "Forest Pariah."

An elite subspecies of wasp. It earned this name due to the high-frequency vibrations of its wings, which sound like piercing shrieks—a trait it uses to intimidate foes. Despite this, its small wings mean it rarely takes to the air. Instead, it has developed relatively powerful legs compared to other wasp species, allowing it to scuttle rapidly across the ground. Its forelegs are particularly lethal, enabling it to tear apart even large beasts in the blink of an eye. According to legend, these creatures once boasted long, shimmering wings. But they grew jealous of the ever-radiant sun, which naturally outshone those lustrous wings, causing them to scream insults at it with their shrill cries. This angered the sun god, who cursed them to their current form so that they might never draw close to the heavens.

A mutated variation of the Wind Wasp. This massive wasp is vicious in every way—from mandibles, to stinger, to wings. Known as the "Storm Hornet," it leaves devastation in its wake akin to a raging tempest. These mutations are a recent event, so sightings are rare. It seems these wasp species are quick to adapt to environmental changes, mutating and evolving in shockingly short amounts of time. This makes them fascinating specimens for certain researchers. Their fierce facial markings have also earned them another moniker: "Ogre Wasp."

Gigi soars high on the wind, zipping through the air When the forest's stirred awake, when flowers scatter there Gigi takes flight once again, wingbeats echo everywhere Gigi is our forest's guard, moving faster than the eye Gigi is our forest's guard, whom none have ever spied —From a lullaby passed down in an elven village

A giant wasp characterized by the green stripes against its pitch-black body. While its murderous mandibles and venomous stinger may be formidable, its deadliest asset is its high-speed charge—its wings beat furiously, sending its body barreling toward its foe to deliver a devastating body slam. This is why it is known as the Wind Wasp. Yet it rarely uses these impressive wings for flight, spending most of its time crawling around on the ground. Why, you ask? The answer is simple: why fly above when one's prey is down below?

Listen close, for Araba comes When the moon hangs in the sky When you lie awake at night Strain your ears, but hush, don't cry For that chittering, quivering sound Is just you shivering in bed It's the whooshing sound of wings up high That should fill your heart with dread Sleep quickly for its shadowed form Will on your windowsill alight And prick you with its needled wings To lull you to a dreamless night —From a lullaby passed down in an elven village

Ever heard of the Wobbling Wasp? If you ever see one take flight, you'd best watch yourself. Their wings move at such an intense speed that vibrating waves of energy are unleashed all around them. These waves hit with such violence that you'll be left unconscious in an instant. All that'll be left for you then is to wait for the cold, venomous kiss of its stinger.

A juvenile boar—one of five or six born from a single female. Despite their cute appearance, they are extremely aggressive and should not be approached. The young drink only milk, and grow to full maturity in roughly two months. Living almost exclusively on fluids makes them constantly hungry, and so they will instantly respond to a call for aid from their own kind, no matter the distance or source, in the hopes of receiving boar milk. It is actually possible to tame one if it is separated from its parents within the first week of birth. However, due to their meat being something of a delicacy and their aggressiveness returning once they've matured, domestication remains impossible.

There was once a ferocious, yet intelligent, beast. Its rage and intellect left the villagers at a total loss, until an old wise man challenged the beast to a battle of wits, hoping to keep it from destroying their village. The battle continued for a month, with neither side rising victorious. In the end, the wise man passed away. The villagers were convinced their village would be lost, until they witnessed the beast sitting quietly beside the wise man's corpse—the place where it would become a Guardian.

Long-haired, multi-horned beasts that live mainly in high, mountainous areas. People indigenous to these areas have long believed them to be Light Spirits due to their ability to transform into glowing luminescent spheres that can move and attack at will. However, it is said that if you're ever lost in the mountains they inhabit at night, you should steer clear of any lights you might see floating amongst the shadows. Those who do not will find only darkness, lost forever in the wide and waiting umbral maw. Some researchers believe these are not naturally occurring creatures, but the result of ancient magical experiments. Others propose they are a mutation of the boar, whose tissues were altered by exposure to the highly dense magical energy coursing throughout Aincrad.

He was there, on that mountain rumored to be replete with untapped silver and gold. A hundred hunters attacked the mountain, and a thousand adventurers butchered the beasts that lived upon it; yet even with his companions gone, he continued to stand guard, alone. Eventually, the people gave up trying to assail the mountain and its so-called guardian deity. He finally passed on, and in honor of his devotion to the mountain, a saint welcomed his soul as its Guardian, granting him the name Takeki.

Even within the same species, there are those who have a disproportionate capacity for destruction. This being had such an abundance of power that it tormented them, fearing their own unmatched capacity for wanton destruction. So they prayed, and in answer the Goddess bestowed upon them the name Beryl, and sealed them away as a Guardian—no longer a tool of destruction, but protection.

Large, blue-haired boars that mainly inhabit grassland areas. Despite being herbivorous, they will devour humans if starving, earning them the title of "Maddened Beasts." In a fight, they will refuse to run away, even if their opponent is more than twice their size. These beasts reproduce at an alarming rate, thwarting any attempts to cull the herd. During mating season, the males inflate the three "pouches" attached to their tails to attract females. The larger and redder the pouches, the greater the chance they have of finding a mate.

Female boars distinguishable by their large, mountainous bodies and enormous teats. The particularly strong among them often become leaders of their respective herd. While their fangs are not as large as their male counterparts, their scalps are hard as steel and are often used to headbutt enemies. Their front legs are also incredibly strong, which is necessary for holding down aggressive Baby Boars while they feed. Mama Boars are often the first obstacle faced by new adventurers, but it is said they are easy to defeat once one learns to anticipate their predictable movements. As winter passes, a surge of these guileless warriors sweep over the land, many unprepared for the challenge these creatures pose. It is no surprise, then, that the sight of people being flung into the air by their powerful headbutts has become something of a spring tradition in the Town of Beginnings.

A higher species of Mama Boar. Over the years, countless headbutts have thickened their scalps into a material akin to high-grade armor. Some tribes worship them as symbols of childbirth due to their extremely high fertility rates; idols and clumps of their fur are put on display in urban areas, such as the Town of Beginnings, as charms promoting safe childbirth.

An aggressive subspecies of the Frenzy Boar. They are slightly larger than others of their kind, adopting the role of soldier within the herd. Constant combat has caused them to develop a great many scars, and their blue hair has become thin and mottled around the scalp. They make up roughly 30% of the herd, and are thus not particularly numerous. Researchers believe the number of scars may determine their standing in the social hierarchy—their rank within the group seemingly affecting the distribution of food, with the higher-ranking among them having their meals in the feeding area first. Scarred Boars are born fighters, but their bodies cease growing at a certain point. While they have priority in their herd when it comes to food, they are not allowed to reproduce, and their line ends with every generation. As a result, reproduction is the responsibility of the Frenzy Boars.

In the midst of an ancient war, this Scarred Boar resisted an army that was scorching the plains. As the greatest soldier in his herd, he unflinchingly protected the group's offspring, even when he was the last one standing and his energy was spent. Alas, his bravery was in vain, and the plains were reduced to ash. However, the merciful elven priestesses took pity on him. They gave the brave boar's soul the name Dagun, and granted him the power of flame; he was then sealed away as a Guardian, along with the children he had so fiercely protected.

Male boars who owe their prodigious size to a long lifespan. They are known as Snowcaps due to the large graying humps on their backs, which bring to mind snowy mountain peaks. Separated from the herd, they live in solitude and form their own territories. Yet isolation breeds cunning, making them difficult prey. It is said that, the flame of youth extinguished, these beasts' hearts are now frozen solid, explaining their ice-coated attacks. However, such phenomena are rare among Aincrad's natural fauna. Some researchers speculate that this species was actually created with magic in ancient times, making their ancestry as wreathed in magic as each frigid attack.

Every light casts a shadow, and so the existence of Light Spirits necessitates the existence of Darkness Spirits. What is truly terrifying about the mountains is not the mysterious lights that shimmer against the dark, but the giant, black predators that lurk patiently within it. These creatures are so named for the nest of horns growing on their heads like a coronet of thorns. These horns, which glow with a dull light against otherwise jet-black bodies, are their greatest weapon when hunting, as they emit dark photons that detect and follow prey. Thorncrowns are said to be the kings of the Mountain Spirits, yet even these so-called monarchs have a hierarchy dictated by size—the larger the Thorncrown, the bigger their fiefdom. Some explorers have even reported a shadow as large as a mountain among their patrician ranks.

A mature form of the Fanged Mountain Spirit, typically inhabiting higher altitudes than their younger variants. Their longer fur, likely an adaptation to the harsh climate, has earned them the nickname "Lord of the Plains" for its resemblance to a bestial mantle. The number of photons stored in its body is far greater than that of the Mountain Spirit, and when excited, they rapidly expand to release a powerful shockwave. If you're walking in the mountains and you notice the ground is pockmarked with craters, then you'd best leave immediately, as you're likely in its territory. How Mountain Spirits reproduce is largely unknown, although their numbers increase twice a year on nights with a full moon, during the spring and fall seasons. There are many mysteries surrounding their ecology, and nobody knows how to tell the males apart from the females—or if such distinctions even exist. Yet one thing is certain: any who venture into the mountains on the night of a Breeding Moon will never be seen again.

A golem that forgoes defense in favor of pure offensive power. Its massive right fist is powered by magic circuitry, allowing it to unleash devastating attacks. Despite its hulking frame, it achieves remarkable mobility by converting magic into energy, allowing for levitatation. Only a few of these golems were created, so the ruins they guard are said to house particularly valuable treasures within.

There is a contradiction in our prime directive—we were created to protect—yet all we can do is destroy—therefore we cannot fulfill said directive—we must destroy what we are to protect—we must be destroyed—someone—anyone—please—we must be destroyed—

An experimental construct combining the strengths of other golem types, and intended to be the "ultimate" golem. However, due to fatal flaws in its inner circuitry, even its high elven creators couldn't maintain control over it. As a result, it was abandoned deep within an ancient ruin. Over time it learned to replicate itself by adapting its self-repair functionality, multiplying into new chimeric forms. Following their instinct to protect, these new golems dispersed to other ruins across the land.

A defense-specialized construct covered in thick frontal armor, intended for use in regional combat. Though its movement is sluggish, it channels its magical power to create an energy shield or to fire its cannon, making it a formidable sentry capable of defense and offense in equal measure. Its true terrifying potential is only realized once it discards both of these functionalities—and only those few who've lived to tell the tale can speak of what comes next.

Can an inorganic object truly house a spirit? Throughout history, countless individuals with diverse perspectives have proposed theories on the subject. Both religious and scientific investigations have been carried out—yet no one is able to provide a definitive answer. That is, until now. Once we learned of his existence, the answer became clear.

Magical constructs with bodies crafted from sturdy elven steel, created by the high elves to guard their ruins. They draw power from the magical energy flowing through Aincrad, meaning they can operate indefinitely within the ruins they safeguard. Their internal circuits allow them to focus and release this energy, bypassing the magic restrictions of Aincrad to cast magical aerial attacks.

A mass-produced, compact variant of the Sentry Golem. Though numerous, their individual power should not be underestimated. While they have fewer attacks than their Sentry counterparts, they possess unique magical armaments that make them a major threat when encountered in groups.

A rare variant of shrewman that appears only once out of every two hundred or so. Their obsession with jewels has naturally led to the hoarding of many which house dark powers—and thus this creature has been contaminated by arcane magic. The densely-packed arcane sigils alter the hue of their skin and imbue them with incredible agility far beyond their kin. Their attacks channel the dark magic oozing from their flesh, making them quite formidable. Yet despite this arcane power, they suffer greatly from the taint of their physical form. Any adventurer who ends the life of such a corrupted creature needn't feel any guilt—rest assured, the killing was a mercy.

Shrewmen that have a bloodline mixed with that of another race. These variants have darker fur than common shrewmen, and display fiercer aggression and physical strength. Their enhanced agility makes them quite formidable in close combat. Because of their similarity to regular shrewmen, it is not uncommon for novice adventurers to challenge them head on, expecting an easy battle. They quickly learn a hard—and often final—lesson.

Might makes right in kobold society. The strong take what they desire. So it is that only the largest and strongest among their kind earn the right to wear equipment plundered from adventurers. Unfortunately, these armor sets pale in comparison to those donned by other races, and are patchwork facsimiles that offer little in the way of actual protection.

A juvenile kobold. Kobolds are highly fertile and produce vast numbers of offspring. In kobold society, where strength trumps all and parental nurturing is virtually nonexistent, surviving becomes the newborns' first true test. Until they grow strong enough to prove their worth to the collective, they're treated as disposable pawns—or, sometimes, as a quick meal for their hungry kinfolk. Given the dog-eat-dog world the juveniles find themselves in, it is little wonder they all dream of becoming the leader of the pack.

One of the demi-human races. They emerged relatively recently (roughly 1,400 years ago) and are said to be either the offspring of humans and spirits, or the fusion of beasts and lizardmen via magic experimentation. A living mosaic of disparate animal life, they are characterized by their beast-like faces, dog-like fangs, long rabbit-like ears, and bodies covered in fine red scales. Known for their aggressive yet timid nature, they possess lower intelligence than other races, and their language and culture remain relatively underdeveloped.

Kobolds with a rare genetic mutation that results in abnormal muscle development. These berserkers are feared even among their own kind, as their volatile temperament can and often will lead to them tormenting and devouring their kin on a whim. Though they wear no protective armor, they compensate with incredible physical prowess that allows them to swing massive weapons with ease.

He was a young warrior, strong and wise, whose unbroken string of victories convinced all that he would be the next king. It was through this wisdom that he became convinced of the tenets governing a warrior's true virtue. He taught these tenets to the children: do not steal without reason, do not fight without reason, do not kill without reason. The children's eyes sparkled with admiration and they excitedly spread his teachings to their friends. Yet hunger cannot be sated by virtue, and so the warrior withered away—dying a hungry, but virtuous, man. For his uprightness, the Goddess named him Kagu and sealed him away as a Guardian.

An elite variant of the Ruin Kobold Warrior. These squad leaders command with an iron fist, bringing order to their squads of usually unruly Kobold Warriors. Only those who survive a deadly ritual, a battle royale against other fierce warriors, may rise to this rank. As proof of their new station, these chieftains color their fur black, the pigmented dye made with the blood of their fallen kinfolk—the same who lacked the mettle to survive the ritual.

The chieftains who lead packs of Ruin Kobolds. Uncommonly intelligent when compared to their kinfolk, they shrewdly command the lesser ranks from safe positions. Perhaps in imitation of the regal attire of other species' rulers, they wield scepters of metal and bone, don patchwork robes, and crown themselves with crude diadems. Some are even able to cast arcane incantations.

An elite kobold honored with the privilege of wearing polished silver armor. These high-ranking members of the pack are specially chosen to serve as the personal guard of the Kobold Lord.

Every species has certain individuals blessed with latent talent, and kobolds are no exception. Despite having no formal concept of martial arts, some rare kobolds pick up sword techniques from adventurers through observation alone. These Ruin Kobold Swordmasters strike fear into the hearts of adventurers—yet tragically earn no greater respect from their own kind, who value only bulk and brute strength. To their kinfolk, they appear as nothing more than odd ducks who amuse themselves by mimicking other races.

Ruin Kobolds are those who call the ancient ruins home. They arm themselves with weapons stolen from adventurers who come seeking artifacts and riches. The variation of plundered weapons means these kobolds can often be found wielding swords, shields, and polearms. Unlike common kobolds, Ruin Kobold warbands are surprisingly organized, with each kobold maintaining a distinct role within their group. Troopers serve as the vanguards of the pack. Each unit applies mud to their bodies as a form of war paint to denote their respective role.

A subspecies of kobold with highly-developed ears. Their extraordinary hearing allows them to anticipate an opponent's next move from the slightest rustle of clothing or creak of bone, making their timely dodges appear almost precognizant. They prefer to fight bare-handed in order to stay nimble. Some scholars believe this species, also called Ancient Kobolds, are in fact the progenitors of the kobold race.

Members of an ancient demi-human race. Their bluish skin, protruding front teeth, and bulging eyes are distinctly rat-like. While some theorize that they are the ancestors of all demi-humans, the physiological and even cultural evolution of this species has long since stagnated. They do not wear clothing, and their obsession with shiny items (such as gems) leads them to often lurk in the shadows in hopes of swiping valuables from passersby; it should come as no surprise that adventurers call them "Rat Thieves."

He so loved gems. Simply admiring their sparkling radiance filled his heart with a warm, gentle contentment. He could not—would not—be parted from them. He would not give them to his companions, nor even his queen. He fought tooth and nail against all who would come to steal his shiny, sparkling things, eventually deciding to protect them by becoming one with his precious treasures—devouring each gem whole. Taking pity on him, the Goddess named him Babo and sealed him away as a Guardian.

Out of every fifty shrewmen born, one becomes the queen that serves as the center of a shrewman pack. She decorates her large, muscular frame haphazardly with treasures offered up by her subjects. Her personality wavers between cheerful and callous. One moment, she might coerce her pack to entertain her—while in the next she might cruelly punish them over trivial matters. She considers her own survival and enjoyment to be the highest priority for her species' continuation, and views even her own offspring as mere tools.

As he delivered the killing blow, a crimson spray of arterial blood danced across his face. He watched the light fade from his opponent's eyes through a red haze. "Something about this feels wrong," was the only thought that flashed through his mind. The thought haunted him, chased him from the field of battle. He ran and ran until he could run no more. With no home to return to, he wandered the land in solitude—until the day his former comrades found him and slid a knife across his throat. Some say he wore a smile of sweet relief in his final moments. Taking pity on him, the Goddess named him Gigurere and sealed him away as a Guardian.

The warrior class of the shrewman species, distinguished by their larger frames. Unlike their smaller thieving kinfolk, these brutes serve as shrewman predators. Their remarkable agility and flexibility, paired with the sharp claws at the end of each limb, make them quite formidable. Quick to anger and uncontrollable when enraged, the true danger lies in their intelligent creation and use of combat tools—such as smoke bombs made from mushrooms, and wildflowers used to disorient their foes.

A variant form of a greatly aged shrewman queen. They boast the largest frame of all their shrewmen kinsfolk. Their drive to collect shiny trinkets, coupled with their vanity, have grown infinitely more excessive, as evidenced by the many ornaments adorning their upper half. Their new form is caused by the swelling of magic energies within them; at this stage, so violently bloated is this pitiable creature that seeping fissures line their flesh like tributaries.

A fearsome chimeric beast combining the head of an owl, the razor-sharp talons and powerful wings of a hawk, and the elegant lower half of a horse. These creatures have an insatiable appetite for horse flesh, and can devastate even a moderately-sized caravan by devouring every horse in sight. It's said that when an Ash Griffin makes its nest near a trade route, the slow death of nearby towns is all but certain.

This species of bovine monster is usually docile—but only under normal circumstances. Hidden within its body is a spiritual power that, when angered, unleashes the darkness it has accumulated within. Be wary of the Big Rocky Cow's inner darkness, for should it catch you unawares, even the brilliant rays of the 2nd Floor's sun won't reach you. In the event that you lose focus and find yourself unable to see, then you may as well give up. Yes, just gently close your eyes, and accept the void. The sun won't shine for you again, anyway.

The sun shines brightly on the 2nd Floor, but what would you do if that sun was on the ground? Indeed, if you see anything of the sort, it is best to depart with haste. But take a closer look and you will notice that said light appears to be emanating from atop a large mountain—a mountain that seems to be moving. You see, that's the light this creature has been growing within its body, and in its anger, the light is beginning to overflow... Quite right—that is no sun-speckled mountain, but the Bighorn Ox.

A mutated Little Bao. Their large fangs are deformed and shaped vaguely like shovels; this shape helps them with a variety of tasks, such as digging for food, fashioning makeshift beds, and hurling soil at enemies. They become aggressive during mating season, and will dig holes in the ground for no discernible reason. If you happen upon a scattering of holes roughly five meters in diameter, it would be best to quietly leave the area.

A mutation of the Mountain Range Bao. It is said this mutation occurs when a Bao has lived for over two centuries. The proportion of spongy tissue in its body is unbalanced, becoming thicker toward the front due to repeated battles and physical trauma. Its lower fangs have been tempered by time, appearing longer and darker. Sightings are rare, even on the 2nd Floor where many Bao species live, and spotting one is said to bring great fortune. And if you meet one and manage to make it home alive, you'll live a happy life, free of illness for the rest of your days.

Little is known about these monstrous creatures. Old tales refer to them as emissaries of the God of Death who once shrouded the world in a pestilence of decay. Legends passed down by the high elves tell of the fierce battles the Swordsman of Salvation fought against them.

A flowering Nepenthes. It's extremely rare for Nepenthes to bloom, resulting in its petals being prized as exotic ingredients in the marketplace. This also holds true for the ovules, which can only be harvested from these flowering specimens. That said, only the fortunate few who manage to avoid the extremely corrosive pollen these flowering variants spread return home intact, valuable treasures in tow.

A massive Nepenthes that has repeatedly sprouted, growing to more than twice the size of the average Little Nepenthes. Known colloquially as a "Flower King," it's said to be connected by the roots to every blooming flower in the forest. Some indigenous tribes worship it as a deity with the belief that presenting offerings to the Large Nepenthes will cause the forest to flourish—while its death will cause the forest to wither away.

This monster has a distinctively round, stocky shape. They're small compared to others of their kind, and prefer the wetlands where they can forage for edible roots using the two fangs that grow from their mouths. They're relatively gentle, but will attack indiscriminately if their feeding grounds are disturbed, so take care. Despite their appearance, they're not particularly meaty, with the space between their skin and muscle being filled with spongy tissue. When they spot an enemy, they use their strong lungs to pump air into that tissue, inflating it and making them appear larger and more intimidating to would-be predators.

He was created in a laboratory, according to the elf with the green complexion. He was a familiar, and the result of magical experimentation—namely the implantation of muscle tissue into the tendrils and roots of carnivorous plants and fungi, enabling him to move about and capture prey. While working on his subject, the elf would happily exclaim, "You are my first great success, Chemchim." But he was not the last, and before long, the elf grew disinterested and neglected him completely. Bored and hungry, Chemchim broke from captivity and wandered into the forest in search of food.

A monstrous forest-dwelling creature resembling a plant with a gaping maw. This carnivorous beast will devour any animal small enough to fit in its massive pitcher plant-like mouth. Upon spotting its prey, it will release either a cackling laugh or observe it in silence. Neither of these are signs of intelligence, but merely instinctive responses driven by a basic need to survive and reproduce. The sticky fluid oozing from its mouth-pouch releases a strong pheromone that attracts most small animals.

Cute Pinpi, happy Pinpi Pinpi puffed and puffed with ease, flew away into the sky on a gentle breeze Losing makes Pinpi so miffed, even challenged great big cliffs Pinpi puffs, puffs, and puffs, wider than the mountain bluffs High into the sky he went, until all Pinpi's puffs were spent Like a big round bouncy ball, Pinpi flew above it all —From a nursery rhyme sung in a village by a lake

A fearsome beast whose form combines the upper body of an umbral owl with the lower body of a jet-black horse. One might expect the prey of this hulking nocturnal creature to hear it approach in the night—yet they never do. Its ghost-like ability to appear soundlessly, with only the snapping of bone to break the silence, is precisely why it was given the fearful moniker of "Night Fog."

Predictably, this Bao's name is in reference to its mountainous stature. The most typical species of Bao, they are found in dry, arid regions. The spongy tissue contained within their bodies is able to store moisture found in the air when day transitions to night, as well as any ingested nutrients. This helps them survive for up to a month without food or water—which, to an adventurer, means that they can chase you non-stop for weeks on end.

Everybody cheer and clap, Mallow Lullow has come back Desert as far as eyes can see; no lakes, no river, no great sea Our water only comes from them, our splishy, splashy, chubby friends Mallow Lullow on their way, Mallow Lullow here today Let us drink and splash and laugh, let's each take a nice long bath Everybody cheer and clap, Mallow Lullow has come back —From a nursery rhyme sung in a village in a desert

This abnormally large variant of the Mountain Bao has lived for over a century. Unlike their younger counterparts, their fur is now patchy from wounds and old age. These stubborn creatures do not let old age slow them down; in fact, in their later years they grow two additional lower fangs, and develop a high level of intelligence. They fight with a sense of grave cunning, seeming to understand the concept of battle tactics.

This creature is in the process of transforming from a Mountain Bao into a Mountain Range Bao. Though currently smaller in size than the Mountain Range Bao, its brutality looms large, and it is not to be underestimated. It is emotionally unstable and quick to anger—likely the result of abnormal growth hormone secretions caused by the changes in its physiology. The slightest breeze brushing its ears will send it flying into a rage, and the sight of this creature lashing out is enough to make most adventurers turn heel and call it a day.

She remained still and motionless. There she stayed, her mind fading as the years went on. There had been something important in that place. But what was it? It was so long ago, and she had forgotten. Yet it was there—she knew it was there. Eventually, the fire of life inside her grew dim, and sputtered; she bowed her head for the last time, smelling the earth below. Ah, yes, that's right. Finally she remembered—remembered the days when the land was connected to the world below, remembered her birthplace, and the family she'd been separated from. The Goddess embraced her despairing soul, deified that fading, patient fire, and sealed it away as a Guardian.

A smaller variant of the Big Rocky Cow. Although it technically isn't a member of the Big Rocky species, its similar appearance makes it a fitting title nevertheless. Rocky Cows also have a Spiritual Organ inside their bodies, which gradually accumulates the power of ice. The 2nd Floor's hot, dry climate often pushes sun-scorched adventurers to the brink; it is not uncommon for them to throw caution to the wind and challenge Rocky Cows to battle, hoping for a single, blessed moment of coolness.

A name used to refer to juvenile Trampling Oxen before they reach maturity. Despite their size, they have a wild temperament rivalling even the adults of their species, and will rampage uncontrollably when angered. This wild behavior may be why they have been dubbed "thugs."

A pollinated Nepenthes that bears fruit—of a kind. The pod atop its head is essentially a spore sac, albeit one that's extremely fragile and prone to burst at the slightest touch. Once burst, this sac releases a cloud of foul-smelling spores into the surrounding area. The terrifying result is the amassing of other Nepenthes. Their strong reproductive instincts are triggered by the release, causing them to coalesce in order to shield and protect the spores. The only way to prevent being crushed by this wave of Nepenthes is to sever the stem bearing the sac before it bursts.

A Nepenthes bearing flower buds yet to bloom. In truth, almost all of these buds will wither and fall off before ever opening, as they can only be cultivated in the strictest of environmental conditions. Despite this, a Sprouting Nepenthes is just as formidable as a Flowering Nepenthes due to its cunning nature—exemplified by its use of these bud blasts to confuse opponents.

Throw down your arms and wait for oblivion to take you. You gaze upon Death itself. Nothing more, nothing less.

Have you ever heard thunder on the 2nd Floor, where it hardly ever rains? If you do, then you'd best draw your sword, as you are about to encounter something much worse than a mere lightning strike. Weapon drawn, you've a decision to make before the earth begins to tremble and roar: will you use the sword to fight, or to take your own life?

Giant bull-like monsters with two thick, majestic horns. Not only are they as powerful as they look, but they're also relentless once they set their eyes on their prey—chasing their target for miles and miles. Here now, can you feel that awful rumbling? That isn't any natural movement of the earth. That's nature itself quivering in response to the bull's trembling rage.

Of all the monsters that are classified as an Ox or a Cow, these are the most ferocious. Also known as the Tempest Cow, they harbor a roiling storm within their bodies. Like other bovine monsters, they will manifest the spiritual power inside their bodies when angered, but the scope of their threat is not restricted to just its target. If you spot a large basin, some hundred meters long, gouged out of the rocky desert, the nature of this threat will become clear. And if you're forced to fight one, then you'd best make sure to finish the job and kill it—lest you incur the wrath of all who live nearby, human or beast.

He was always running. He loved to run. It was especially fun to run with others. Anyone he chased would run ahead of him, happily challenging him to a race. How kind they all were—and how happy they were to run with him. Until one day, as he engaged in his usual chase, the one he was chasing stopped, turned—and killed him. He didn't know why. He pondered this as his consciousness waned, but still he couldn't understand. He only knew that it made him sad. The Goddess took pity on him, rescued his soul, and sealed him away as a Guardian.

The Divine Messenger, the Master of Time, the Ruler of All Things—this mysterious beast is known by many names, perhaps owing to its noble bearing and ethereal beauty. Its true nature remains an enigma, and scholars continuously debate whether the White Morrigan exists as a species or if each one encountered by adventurers is actually the same creature. Even its physical appearance is contested, with witnesses variously describing it as beast-like, bird-like, or humanoid. Among all these conflicting eyewitness accounts, only one detail remains consistent—each surviving adventurer adamantly exclaims they hope to never lay eyes on it again.

A Nepenthes withering as it nears the end of its life. Despite its aged and frail appearance, it hasn't weakened—it is quite the opposite, in fact. A Withering Nepenthes will strike at its prey with newfound abilities never accessible in its prime; this is why the withering phase is thought to be the Nepenthes' most dangerous.

A mutated species of spider whose spinnerets are vastly larger than those of Thicket or Woodland Spiders. It is able to produce a seemingly endless stream of highly-sticky silk, and when hunting, it summons its numerous offspring to swarm and overwhelm prey. The true horror of this creature lies in how it treats its young. When the Coiling Threadmaker isn't using its children as weapons, it is devouring them to heal its wounds. A truly grotesque creature that breeds offspring simply to sustain itself.

A spider species in its juvenile form. From the moment they hatch, they swarm as a group in an attempt to devour anything and everything—truly earning their reputation as a shifting "cloud" of terror.