Unleashing Anubis Wrath: A Complete Guide to Its Powers and How to Counter It

Let me tell you, there’s nothing quite like the first time you hear that distant, guttural growl as the last sliver of sun dips below the horizon in Dying Light 2. The air changes. Your heartbeat, both Kyle’s and your own, becomes the loudest thing in the room. This is the moment the game truly becomes its game, shedding the daytime struggles for a pure, unadulterated horror experience. And at the absolute apex of this nocturnal terror sits Anubis, a named Volatile whose very existence feels like a personal vendetta from the developers. Having spent more hours than I care to admit navigating the decaying rooftops of Villedor, I’ve come to respect and fear this creature in equal measure. This guide isn’t just a dry list of stats; it’s a survivor’s manual, born from countless panicked sprints and close calls, detailing exactly what makes Anubis the apex predator of the night and, more importantly, how you can possibly live to see the dawn.

To understand the threat, you have to understand the fundamental shift the game undergoes. The reference material nails it: the day-night cycle presents two completely different games. During the day, you’re Kyle Crane’s spiritual successor, empowered by parkour and combat skills. You scrape by, you clear nests, you feel… capable. But night? Night belongs to them. The Volatiles are the key pillar, transforming the open world into what I can only describe as a 3D stealth horror masterpiece. Their design is brutally elegant. We’re talking about creatures with a sprint speed I’ve roughly timed at nearly 50% faster than Kyle’s top sprint, even with stamina boosters. Their leap attack can cover a staggering 15-20 meters in a single bound, and their perception range feels omnipresent. Anubis is the embodiment of this philosophy dialed to eleven. While standard Volatiles are terrifying, Anubis operates on another level. From my encounters, its health pool seems to be at least 300% that of a regular Volatile, and its aggression is relentless. It doesn’t just patrol; it hunts with a terrifying intelligence, often cutting off common escape routes and seeming to predict your parkour paths.

So, what are its powers? Beyond the raw stats, Anubis possesses a behavioral toolkit designed to shatter player complacency. Its primary power is psychological: an aura of inevitability. You can’t outrun it in a straight line, not for long. Its second power is environmental mastery. I’ve seen Anubis use the city’s verticality in ways standard infected don’t, flanking from above when you think you’ve taken the high ground. Its roar isn’t just for show; it seems to have a slight disorienting effect, sometimes causing Kyle’s movement to stutter for a split second—just enough to ruin a timed jump. Most devastating is its ambush capability. Unlike the B-horror movie monsters the reference text mentions, Anubis doesn’t feel cheap. Its appearances are earned through the game’s tense systems. It’s the culmination of a failed stealth run, the penalty for greed when looting a dark hollow. It’s the game reminding you that you have the tools to survive, but never to thrive, not against this.

Now, for the counterplay. Surviving Anubis isn’t about winning a fight; it’s about resetting the engagement on your terms. First, acceptance: you cannot stand and fight early on. Your best weapon is knowledge of the map. I’ve memorized the locations of at least five safe UV zones within the central district for this exact reason. Your toolkit is vital. Always, always carry at least two UV flares and a handful of decoy firecrackers. The flares are your panic button. When Anubis closes in, throwing a flare at your feet creates a temporary safe zone, forcing it to recoil and buying you 10-15 precious seconds to plot an escape. Firecrackers thrown away from your intended path can create a crucial distraction. Use the environment ruthlessly. Narrow alleys with climbable gates are death traps; open rooftops with multiple escape routes are your friends. I’ve found that using the paraglider from a high point can sometimes break its line of sight long enough for it to lose interest, but this is risky if you’re low on stamina.

My personal strategy, honed through trial and catastrophic error, involves a bait-and-switch. If I’m being pursued and a safe house is too far, I’ll aim for a building with an interior. Ducking inside often causes Anubis to pause at the entrance, roaring. This pause is your window. Don’t stop; keep moving through the building and out another exit. The geometry confuses its pathfinding. Late-game, with upgraded gear, a more aggressive tactic might be possible. A fully upgraded crossbow with electric or incendiary bolts can slow it down, and mines can be used to create a defensive perimeter if you’re cornered. But I must stress, even at level 9, a direct confrontation is a resource-draining, high-risk endeavor. It’s almost never worth it. The true counter to Anubis’s wrath is a shift in mindset. Embrace the horror. Your goal isn’t domination; it’s evasion. The thrill, the sheer enjoyability the reference text mentions, comes from that tension, from using your wits and the city itself to outmaneuver a force of nature.

In the end, Anubis isn’t a bug or an unbalanced enemy; it’s the perfect manifestation of Dying Light 2’s core nocturnal identity. It exists to validate the day-night cycle, to make the safety of sunrise feel like a genuine achievement. Learning its patterns and developing counter-strategies is the ultimate skill check in the game’s stealth horror playground. You won’t feel like Aiden, the super-powered protagonist the text contrasts with Kyle; you’ll feel like a survivor, and that’s the point. So the next time you see that named health bar appear in the crimson glow of your survivor sense, don’t despair. Remember your flares, chart your escape, and let the adrenaline-fueled chase begin. Just make sure you know where the nearest UV light is. Trust me on that one.