Never Die Twice

A dance of dragons.

Few of these creatures could fly, but when they did, they often danced in the skies; which was a pretty way to say they fought to the death. For territory, for mating, for gold. They fought with claws and flames, devastating the countryside until a single victor remained.

Tye never imagined it would happen to him though; that he would become a dragon, engaged in a deadly dance of swords and spells as the universe burned.

He and Medraut circled one another, the [Death Knight] hastening himself and his mount. Gone was his already thin mask of sanity; his fury and madness came through in full display.

“Life is a battle, Walter!” Medraut snarled, charging at Tye with his Calamity-powered Claymore. The weapon that killed his own niece and nephew. “A battle that never lets you breathe! Never let you rest! Never stops spitting in your face! Life is a constant war that only ends when we die!”

“Then kill yourself and spare me the trouble!” The embers of their old friendship had died, leaving only mutual disdain.

Hastening himself back, Walter maintained as much distance as possible before answering the charge with a chilling blizzard. If Medraut channeled his power from the fire lord Surtr, then he should be naturally vulnerable to the [Frost] element.

While his mount clearly struggled, the undead knight powered through the cold, a white rune appearing on his armor. The symbol of Calamity Hrym, the Winter Queen.

Instead of faltering, the [Death Knight]’s blade cut through Tye’s chest with supreme skill. The sword’s flames bypassed all of the necromancer’s protections as if they didn’t exist, including his intangibility. Its unholy steel cut through Tye’s thigh, darkness, and screaming souls spilling forth instead of blood.

With a snarl, Tye teleported a few meters away, but Medraut immediately pursued him; like any experienced warrior, he knew not to give a spellcaster the benefit of distance. Tye attempted to slow the [Death Knight] down with explosions and magical arrows, but his attacks bounced off the knight.

The two Fianna at Medraut’s back were no slouches either. The wyvern rider of the duo had switched weapons to some kind of holy axe, managing to wield it even in his undead state; he always attempted to flank Tye and reduce his margin of movement. The Pegasus rider turned out to be a spellcaster, attacking from the side with sharp winds and lightning bolts. Tye naturally resisted these elements, but he wasn’t immune to them either.

Since he couldn’t heal easily either and had to manage his SP, the necromancer focused on dodging with his superior flight ability, but this proved impossible. Like a single being spread over three bodies, the undead trio converged on the necromancer; the Fianna flanking Tye to allow Medraut to close in.

“[Clock Stop]!” Tye snarled once out of options, freezing the world, the armies on the ground, and the Fianna alike.

Yet through some miracle, Medraut and his dragon mount continued moving in the stopped time.

“I tried!” the death knight ranted, the symbol of Fenrir the wolf appearing on his armor. Fang-shaped spears of ice materialized around Walter, a magical jaw closing on its prey. “I tried so many times! Do you think my undeath is a gift, Walter? It is my punishment! Separation from the one I love most! An eternity of bitterness, and misery!”

Remaining silent out of contempt, Tye raised his scepter, Apophis, and channeled a new spell before the ice jaws could close on him. “[Styx].”

A flood of swirling, ghostly waters materialized around the necromancer, shifting into the form of serpents. The liquid constructs spread in all directions, a thousand snakes hungry for souls; they shattered the ice jaws, hit the Fianna, and swarmed Medraut. The dragon mount unleashed a torrent of flames to push them back, but some hit it in the belly, making the beast scream.

Medraut’s armor made the projectiles bounce off harmlessly. “Are you happy?” he ranted, summoning a burst of blue flames that evaporated Walter’s waters. “Are you happy to exist in your current state, you rotting snake? To feel no pleasure, no happiness, no nothing?”

“I live,” Tye replied, which beat the other alternatives. “That’s all that matters. Undeath is not a static state, but a dynamic one! It can be improved! My magic can make you whole, Medraut!”

“I see the years haven’t dulled your wizard arrogance!” Medraut replied. “There are some problems you cannot solve with spells, Walter!”

“I actually created quite a few, just for you,” the necromancer replied, targeting everyone with his scepter [Apophis]. “[Walter’s Skinflayer].”

The effect started just as time resumed.

The skin of the Fianna, of their mounts, and Medraut’s dragon mount, was flayed off their flesh. Scales, feathers, everything that covered their blood and veins, flew away like cloths blown by the wind; they gathered around Tye and fused with his ethereal cloak, forming flying tentacles. Some he used to sew back the wound at his thigh, preventing more souls from spilling out.

The mounts, the only living creatures among Tye’s enemies, let out wails of agony loud enough to drown out the explosions and artillery bombardments. However, something else bothered the necromancer. His spell range included Medraut, and while he lacked skin, it should have at least registered him. It didn’t.

Why didn’t any of his spells work? He could cover his weaknesses to some elements and schools of magic, but not all of them!

Unless...

“Impossible…” The necromantic light in Tye’s eyes faltered, as he realized the truth.

“Case in point,” Medraut said, channeling dark energy through his mount to keep it ‘alive.’ “My divine immunity to magic.”

Impossible. “There is no obstacle magic cannot overcome, given time!”

“And your time has run out, Walter,” Medraut said, directing the wounded Fianna to abandon the attack and switch strategy. “This is the end.”

The [Death Knight]'s two undead commanders flew down, towards the hole leading to Nastrond below. Apparently, Medraut could settle on his lieutenants damaging the root, rather than doing the deed himself.

Tye immediately flew after them, preparing to cast [Meteor Rain]. However, the pegasus rider immediately counterspelled him, covering her wyvern partner as he descended towards the hole.

If only they had blood he could manipulate!

Extending his harvested skin tentacles, Tye managed to close the path for the duo, forcing them to dive up to avoid the animated limbs. However, Medraut chose that moment to spellcast himself, the symbol of the Midgard Serpent Jormungandr flashing on his armor.

“[Rune of Disruption],” Tye retaliated by drawing an invisible sign in the air.

Instantly, Medraut’s magic fizzled out, much to his shock. His pegasus rider cohort attempted to summon a lightning bolt at Tye and cast him down like a fallen angel, but the rune disrupted the spell too.

“As I thought, you are only immune to magical damage,” Tye said, quickly inscribing a second rune in the air. “You can still be affected by magical effects. Not all, but some. [Craft Yellow Sign]!”

A golden, sickly eldritch symbol shone amidst clouds of ashes, its light bathing every fighter in vile energies.

Medraut wasn’t immune to everything, but he had too many defenses to fall victim to mental domination. His control over his undead thralls also protected his stooges from Tye’s control.

Their mounts though…

While Medraut’s flayed dragon resisted the mind-control attempt, the Fianna’s beasts fell under Tye’s command; the sign overpowering their primal minds. The necromancer immediately ordered them to fall into the infernos their forces had started in Lyonesse.

Obeying his mental command, the mounts flew away, dragging their riders with them. Like arrows, they drove the Fianna into their funeral pyres, vanishing from Tye’s sight.

Medraut looked at the scene with anger but didn’t let it affect his resolve. Instead, he ordered his flayed dragon to charge straight at Tye, who considered his options. Casting accelerated Tier VIII and Tier IX spells consumed double the usual rate, and while his Perks optimized his magical efficiency, his well of power wasn’t limitless. Even his blood rings had mostly dried up. He had to make every attack count.

Medraut thought he could defeat any spellcaster, but magic wasn’t the only weapon in Tye’s arsenal.

He was a Calamity, after all.

Drawing upon his innate racial abilities, Tye inhaled and unleashed a poisonous cloud at his old mentor. The breath started consuming the dragon mount’s flesh so fast, the bones became visible. But Medraut, confident in his own undead immunities, powered through. Unable to dodge nor teleport away fast enough, Tye reflexively raised his scepter Apophis and skin tentacles as a defense.

Medraut’s claymore cut through everything like butter.

It shattered the dragonbone scepter, bisected the tentacles, bypassed all magical protections, and finally cut into Tye’s cloak and flesh. The sword went through the left shoulder, continued through the torso, and might have sliced him whole had his momentum been better.

Meanwhile, Tye’s weapon detonated in a blast of necromantic energy, pushing both enemies back. Medraut’s sword left flames in the necromancer’s wounds, blue flames soon extinguished by the cold darkness pouring out of his body.

Yet, although furious at his weapon’s destruction and feeling intense physical pain for the first time in months, Tye couldn’t help but laugh.

For rot had started spreading on Medraut’s burning bones.

“It cannot be… [Poison]?” the [Death Knight] hissed, looking at his shoulder. Decay spread on his body, his flames unable to prevent anything. “I am immune to this!”

“You know what is the difference between us, my old friend? You are a pessimist, while I am an optimist. You believe some problems cannot be solved; I think nothing is beyond me.”

As Tye spoke, he ordered some of the skin tentacles to swirl around the bisected parts of his body and stitch them together. He managed to become whole again, although his health had taken a hit.

“Every problem can be solved with judicious application of existing resources,” the necromancer declared with confidence. “Like how my natural [Breath of Decay] downgrades [Poison] Immunity to Resistance. A venom so terrible, it poisons even the soul. Even the undead my old self created to feed upon.”

Realizing the danger, Medraut ordered his dying dragon to back off before trying to heal. “[Loki’s Dark Miracl—”

Predictable. “[Kiss of Nidhogg].”

The spell, which wasn’t designed to inflict direct damage, managed to affect Medraut. The [Death Knight] had protected himself from effects like the frozen time because he expected a high-level spellcaster to use a spell like [Clock Stop].

But no undead would have expected an ailment-based attack.

Medraut can no longer undo the [Poison] ailment. [Poison] damage will be doubled.

The Pale Serpent had invented the spell for this combination, and it worked perfectly. Medraut’s divine magic failed to purge the poison consuming him. Even the other Calamities’ powers couldn’t save their champion from one of their own.

“Like Thor will kill the Midgard Serpent, only to perish by his venom,” Tye said. “So too, will a great warrior perish by poison today.”

There could only be one lord of the undead.

The insane [Death Knight] let out a snarl, his bones burning, rotting, and regenerating in a constant cycle. Even if he took damage, Medraut possessed an advanced healing factor, bestowed upon him by his dark masters. He clearly lost more health than he recovered, the rot slowly spreading, but it would take a while for the venom to destroy him.

[Naglfar] might have exorcised his undying spirit, but the conditions weren’t right. The stone on Tye’s forehead wouldn’t help.

Feeling he couldn’t win a prolonged battle, Medraut switched strategies and ordered his bleeding mount to dive towards the hole, gambling everything on reaching the root before the [Poison] could finish him off. Walter pursued him, grabbing the dragon’s wings with his remaining skin tentacles and breaking them with a loud snap.

At the last moment, Medraut did something unexpected.

He jumped.

The knight leaped from his mount, but not at the hole. Instead, he aimed at the surprised Tye, who had become a little too close.

“[Accele—”

Medraut’s blade drove through Tye’s chest, right where the heart should have been before he could teleport away. The enchantments on the sword disabled Tye’s own buffs, canceling his flight and intangibility.

The necromancer let out a snarl of agony as he felt flames burn him from within, he and the dragon falling in different directions. The beast was now a rotting corpse, crashing on Tye’s shop and the nearby houses. Whether it was a coincidence or a morbid joke from fate, the necromancer didn’t know.

But it made him furious.

Tye managed to control the flight course to a degree, trying to crush Medraut’s head with his bare hands; but the insane knight kept twisting the sword, refusing to let it go. The two undead crashed on the ground near the edge of Nastrond’s hold, blowing dust and ashes in all directions.

Warning: You have fallen below half your HP!

“Annie, teleport away and open the box!” Tye contacted his apprentice through a mental message. He attempted to cast a spell and force the knight off him, but Medraut stomped on his head with his iron boot. The necromancer felt his jaw break with a sinister crack.

“Already on it!” she replied, not contesting her teacher.

“So you can still feel pain, even as a god,” Medraut noted, removing the sword from Tye’s chest, before swiftly impaling him through the chest again, and again. Like the poison he infected him with, Medraut’s flames spread within his body, consuming even the souls making up his Calamity body.

“Less than you,” Tye hissed back like a serpent, his reason overcome by primal instincts.

Flames erupted from Medraut’s rotting skull, as he raised his claymore above Tye’s head, intending to crush his skull this time. His voice transformed, from that of a twisted man to a furious demon. “I feel nothing but pain!”

Answering with a reptilian roar, Tye sent a telepathic message to his reinforcements.

Before he could land the finishing blow, a Linnorm Demilich teleported right behind Medraut.

The [Death Knight] barely had the time to glance at the newcomer before the dragon’s jaws closed on his neck. Due to his spell enhancements, Medraut was the same size as the dragon, so the sudden attack didn’t kill him instantly. It did, however, force him against a pile of debris, and gave Tye space to recover.

The necromancer rose back to his feet, leaving Medraut to struggle with his mount as he cast more spells on himself. He glanced at the edge of the hole, and Nastrond below. His lair was intact, and the cathedral still stood.

Tye then silently ordered all his remaining skin to surround his body like bandages, trying to hold himself together. He looked more like Spook did than Asclepius. “Here is my final gift to you, old friend!” the necromancer said, muttering spellcasting words while his Linnorm kept Medraut busy. “The peaceful oblivion you crave so much!”

And then, the skies shattered like glass, lava falling from the heavens like droplets.

[Calamity Surtr] activated [Calamity Force (Age of Fire)].

Worldwide temperatures will rise by four degrees per hour, while infernos will spontaneously start. [Fire] effects will downgrade Resistance to Weakness, and downgrade [Fire] Immunity to Resistance.

Tye glanced up, at the rift opening where the sun should have been.

A massive, armored fire giant the size of a small mountain, had managed to force his arm through. His hand was larger than a street, and the fiery sword he wielded...

Tye had never seen a weapon that large. The claymore was the size of Lyonesse’s bridge, shining brighter than the sun itself. And as it radiated heat, its wielder let out a war cry, his voice the echo of a cataclysmic volcanic eruption.

“BURN THEM ALL!”

The sword of Surtr descended upon Lyonesse and set the world ablaze.

Hagen enjoyed killing.

Some thought he liked to fight, but they were wrong; while he appreciated contests of skill and weapons, his true calling was tearing others apart. The criminal delighted in casting down ‘honorable’ knights, slowly stripping them away from their illusions of a just universe. When you lived as long as the Dullahan, you picked up strange hobbies.

So he found no joy in fighting dead, soulless men.

His mace clashed with a fiery spear, his shield with a cold one. The skeleton he fought used to be one of the Fianna but had now become a mindless killing machine; one that simply kept attacking without a word, forcing both warriors in a deadlock. His bones were black as charcoal, his chest covered by golden armor which not even Hagen’s supernatural mace could smash through. The warrior moved with swift agility, never leaving the Dullahan any room to recover.

The battle had moved from the city’s gates to its streets, as the Fianna led Medraut’s troops into the city. Hagen even had to banish his phantom mount and fight on foot, due to lack of space. Everywhere he looked, Tye’s best friend could only see burning houses, piles of corpses, and rifts in space. Fire giants emerged from them by the dozens, the titans stepping down on warriors like ants and crushing barricades with their fiery blades.

While Hagen led a squadron of undead on the ground, trying to contain Medraut’s commanders and elites, Lady Yseult protected the rear. Drawing upon Nidhogg’s dark magic, she had summoned giant purple, undead worms larger than dragons. The creatures attacked fire giants and enormous winter wolves both, while the priestess supported them with rays of purple light.

Spellcasters. Always such show-offs.

Still, the battle was going surprisingly well. Thanks to the teleporters hidden in the city, the defenders had managed to summon an adamantine golem and slime cauldron right behind the enemy lines. The giant machine had torn through swarms of attackers, before engaging an axe-wielding Fianna in a duel.

Hagen didn’t know with whom he should be more impressed. That a mindless golem could match a legendary warrior, or that a single warrior could confront a giant, nigh-indestructible machine on his own.

Channeling unholy power through his mace, Hagen managed to push back the spearman, the commander retreating with a bunch of hooded Calamity cultists. Considering the situation, they probably decided to regroup with other forces and return en masse to overwhelm Hagen’s position.

Ghostring chose that moment to appear, phasing through the soil.

“Asclepius broke their road with meteors,” the specter explained, quickly providing a report before telekinetically hurling a giant wolf against a group of enemy mages. “Their dead have risen, and sow confusions among their ranks.”

Finally. They had reached the tipping point when the dead would outnumber the living. If they could hold for a few more hours... “The princess?”

“She came from the east and flanked the troops having blown up a hole there.”

“It is time then,” Hagen whispered. “The stage is set.”

“The chief is still busy with Medraut though.”

He would be fine. Hagen glanced at the heavens, trying to locate Walter amidst the smoke.

Instead, he watched the sun falling on them.

No. Not the sun. A shining sword of titanic proportions.

The Fianna hadn’t retreated to regroup. They had fled in abject fear.

“Holy…” Lady Yseult whispered at the dreadful sight, unable to finish her sentence.

“Take cover!” Hagen shouted, but too late.

Surtr’s colossal sword hit Lyonesse’s center, blasting it all in flames and light.

First, a quake shook the entire city, and then the following explosion razed it. A titanic wave of flames, debris, ashes, and pyroclastic fumes spread around the point of impact, vaporizing every building in the vicinity; then it spread further, casting down houses, incinerating monsters, shattering windows, and even collapsing the city’s outer walls. Tons of dust and debris erupted in the atmosphere as if a volcano had exploded in the city’s middle.

While far away from ground zero, Hagen and his cohorts were still hit head on by a flood of pyroclastic clouds. Undead turned into ashen statues, Lady Yseult’s worms and their foes were blown away like straw, the Dullahan was thrown backward, crashing against a pile of burning corpses.

The attack had cut the city in half, a wall of flames separating both sides.

Slowly, Calamity Surtr raised his sword, for a second strike. One that would pulverize the city and annihilate every survivor.

“[Ragnarok]!”

A mighty thunderbolt hit the almighty Calamity’s arm, deflecting his sword.

A rift in space opened, one different from the portals created by the Convergence; a rainbow bridge that cleared the smoke and illuminated the darkness. A cavalry raced on it, aiming to challenge Surtr himself.

A one-eyed giant riding a horse with more legs than it should have, wielding a spear of lightning and leading a flock of flying shieldmaidens.

The Allfather himself had taken the field.

“Ghostring!” Hagen shouted, recovering. His armor had started melting, his shield fused to his arm. “Ghostring.”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The Dullahan couldn’t even pick up the ghost’s lingering presence in the area.

Even ghosts burned.

So could immortals. The blast had burnt the right half of Lady Yseult’s body, to the point Hagen could see the bones beneath. Her robes had caught fire, leaving burns all over her body. Previously a vision of divine beauty, she now looked more undead than alive.

Fitting.

The chief hadn’t properly covered up the regeneration’s weakness to fire; it wasn’t an innate ability, but one granted through tattoos and spells. The fire had bypassed it, preventing her from fully recovering.

The fact that this woman breathed still at all was impressive though. Beneath her apparent frailness, the priestess was a tough one.

“I feel numb,” Yseult admitted, her voice raspy and her breath exhaling smoke. The flames must have wasted her nerves and lungs.

“Can you walk?” Hagen asked, unable to touch her without splattering her with melting steel.

“I lived through worse,” she whispered, managing to rise up; although she needed a flying spell to help. She glanced at the skies, only one of her eyes still functional.

The Lord of the Aesir and his troops tried to push back Surtr through the gate, but his mere proximity caused a few Valkyries to spontaneously combust.

“Odin… he cannot win,” Yseult whispered, "Surtr is the strongest of the Calamities, fated to kill the Aesir, set the World Tree ablaze, and perish in his own flames. Why? Why is the Allfather here?”

Hagen couldn’t care less. With the damage done and more fire giants coming, survival came first in his list of priorities. “You still have SP left?”

“Precious few,” she admitted.

“Then escape through the teleporters and evacuate,” Hagen ordered, knowing her importance. While he cared nothing for the priestess, Walter did; both for her person and the elixir in her veins.

“What about you?” the priestess asked with a frown.

Aww, she cared. “I will try to gather as many of our own as possible and rejoin you,” the Dullahan said. “But if we don’t appear within fifteen minutes, assume we are dead.”

“But—”

“Run,” Hagen ordered. “The city is lost.”

“Run where?!” she asked angrily. “The world is burning!”

“Do you have faith in him?”

The remark silenced the priestess, who had no good answer to that. Without waiting for a response, Hagen summoned his ghostly mount to his side and ran north, where Percy and other immortals had last been located. The priestess gave him one last look before flying away in another direction, trusting Walter’s plan.

Hagen rushed as fast as he could, the Fianna and fire giants pursuing him on foot. They had identified him as a key target, a commander among the defenders; and they wouldn’t rest until they had him crushed. The Dullahan could outspeed them though. He was good at running away.

But then, another familiar group barred his path amidst the flames.

“Betrayal...”

Hagen stopped, a demented prince frothing at him like a rabid dog.

“Looking for them?” Morgane Sieglinde raised the lifeless, charbroiled heads of Percy and Mockingbird with both her hands.

Their blood was still on Ryoma’s sword. Apparently, the Sacred Weapon, empowered by Hel’s wicked magic, bypassed even the immortality and regeneration granted by Walter’s elixir. The swordsman glared at the Dullahan with undiluted hatred, clearly intending to intimidate him.

“Hey, it’s dumpboy,” Hagen mocked his previous victim instead, unimpressed.

“You…” the swordsman hissed, raising his blade while the possessed Arthur simply charged at Hagen like a wild boar. Only the archer was absent from this gathering, perhaps looking for a position where to best snipe the Dullahan.

“It’s over,” Lil’ Morgane said, tossing the two heads away before channeling the foul energies of Helheim through her fingertips. “For all of you undead, it’s time to return to your grave.”

“Just as you will?” Hagen replied, appraising his odds. The Death Heroes at the front; the Fianna at the back. No reinforcements in either case.

He was cornered.

It was the fate that awaited hoodlums like Hagen; you fight the law, the lawmen corner you. It didn’t matter whether the law was mortal or divine. He could still run though. Make a final, desperate rush, try to break the encirclement.

…

No.

They would go after Walter next. Hagen knew the plan, but his forces needed more time to pull it off. The fate that awaited him should he perish now would be horrendous, but the alternative was worse.

It was the most pragmatic decision available. If he escaped and Walter died, then Ragnarok would happen and all of Hagen’s efforts would be for naught. If Walter survived, he would find a way to bring the Dullahan back later. The necromancer always found a way.

That woman Yseult thought Hagen to be a godless man… but he wasn’t a faithless one.

“I have no regrets, Walter,” Hagen said. “It was wonderful.”

He raised his mace and ordered his horse to charge, the Death Heroes and Fianna converging on him like a pack of wolves ganging up on a bear.

“I had fun.”

When Surtr’s sword hit and cut Lyonesse in half, it collapsed the hole around the buried city.

When Tye recovered his bearings and presence of mind, he was face-down on Nastrond’s plaza; his body covered in holes and open wounds. Tons of rocks had fallen upon its streets, crushing the ancient buildings and serpent statues. Surtr’s flames had started spreading to it, although the mists of Helheim slowly extinguished them.

The Linnorm Demilich was dead at Tye’s side, for good. Its charbroiled bones blackened by flames and ashes. Not even dragons could survive the fury of Surtr the destroyer.

At least the cathedral was still standing, its ancient wards shielding it from the devastation.

But so was Medraut.

The [Death Knight] was half-rotten and limping, but he still climbed the stairs of the Cathedral with ferocious determination; the blow had dispelled all of his magical protection, shattering his armor and returning him to normal size. He was nothing more but a skeleton that refused to fall down.

Any other man would have collapsed from the damage, but the vengeful flames within him burned still. His desire to destroy everything kept him going, now that he was a few desperate steps away from victory.

Quickly rising back to his feet, Tye rushed at his former friend and tried to cast [Styx].

Instead, his spell fizzled out.

SP insufficient.

Not now! He didn’t even have any reserve left in his items!

Out of options, and although he disdained crude physical encounters, Tye embraced the last means at his disposal: his body. The same instincts which caused him to consume Beli and countless others took over, the reptilian brain asserting its dominance.

Tye would kill Medraut the old way. The dragon way.

By devouring him whole, feet first!

With a reptilian roar, Tye charged at the Death Knight, mouth open and hands extended. Medraut glanced over his shoulder, his empty eyes two fiery pits of hate and fear. He knew he had walked into a dragon’s den, and now the beast was awake.

The knight tried to hurry up, but the necromancer was faster. Soon Tye’s hands prepared to close around his foe and slam his face against the stairs.

Only for a black arrow to hit right at the stone on the necromancer’s forehead. The projectile pierced the gemstone and shattered it, before piercing Tye’s skull.

Massive damage!

Tye let out a wail of agony, the stone exploding into a burst of miasma and screaming souls. The arrow’s tip burned into his brain and soul, the ghoulish faces making up his body howling like an orchestra.

The possessed Takeru stood over the cathedral, his fell bow raised.

“[Tele—”

Without a word or pity, the puppet shot a second projectile at the necromancer, cutting his left hand and interrupting his spell; if he could even have cast it with his depleted reserves. The [Death Knight], exploiting this reprieve, turned his back on Tye and continued his ascent.

Warning! Critical health! Warning! Warning!

The necromancer hissed, suffering through excruciating pain. The souls making up his husk started leaving him like exorcised ghosts, the defiled Sacred Weapons disrupting them to the very core.

“You have lost your protection, my love.”

How long had she watched from afar, remaining out of his assumed range, waiting for this moment?

Hel emerged from the mists around Nastrond, a pleased smile on her face. Her eyes glittered with frightening intensity and glee; a ferocious beast having finally cornered her prey in his own lair.

And Medraut had entered the cathedral, to put an end to everything.

“I win,” Hel whispered.

Safe in the ashen ruins of the forest of Brocéliande, Annie looked at the terrifying battle from afar.

Lyonesse was all ablaze, leveled to the ground by bombardments and Surtr’s attack. The rifts kept widening, torrents of lava and molten steel pouring through like a flood. There was so much smoke in the skies, she couldn’t see what happened on the ground.

Lord Odin himself had appeared on the battlefield, pushing back Calamity Surtr through the rift, his lightning spear Gungnir clashing against the fiery sword Laevatein. But flames consumed the lord of Asgard, threatening to immolate him.

This… this was the end. All was lost.

She still had one card to play. The last option she had available.

The witch held her breath, took the box her mentor had entrusted her with and opened it.

Darkness spilled out and consumed everything.