Everyone else gets to be the hero. You get to keep them alive.

Lifebringer turns the survivors-like on its head. You don't swing the sword, you don't throw the fireball. You're the healer, and the swarm is coming for the people you're protecting.

Your squad fights on its own. Villagers, guards, monks, mercenaries, each with their own skills, their own stubborn ideas about where to stand. You watch the chaos unfold and make one decision after another: who gets the shield, who gets the heal, who gets a Battle Cry to turn a rout into a charge. Lose track of one ally for three seconds and the wave rolls over them. Keep them all up, and ten minutes later a ragtag mob has become an unbreakable wall.

Every run rewrites your kit. Level up mid-fight and pick from a growing pool of heals, buffs, barriers and bizarre twists. Rain healing pretzels over the battlefield. Throw rum puddles that mend wounds and get everyone drunk. Hand out placebos. Raise skeletons with your own life force. Some skills are hidden behind achievements so strange you'll only find them by playing weird.

Then step into the long night. Endless mode drags your squad through forests, drowned cities, dead woods and graveyards, every run seeded, every run cursed with a different handicap, every tenth wave a boss with its own rolled set of tricks and phases. How far can one healer carry a team?

And there are stories in the dark. Collect scattered pages, complete a book, and step into its tale: a lantern-bearer in the fog, a monk's slow fall into necromancy, a night of twelve strokes where the ghosts can only be healed, never killed. Lifebringer lives in the world of Tales of Landor, and its chapters grow with it.