“Hurry, hurry!” Laura had hissed in Boney’s ears—or where they would be, if he had any. “Get the airship started! We cannot fight a Sakalai!”

Boney didn’t need to be told twice. He had already charged into the airship’s bowels in search of barrels—as Marcus had told them before he rushed off—and found them. Unfortunately, there were dozens of them, with several different icons painted on them. Which were the right ones, and how was he supposed to use them?

Damn you, Marcus!

Boney groaned. “Get them all on deck, Billy!” he ordered. “And quick. Master needs us!”

***

Jerry watched with bated breath as Axehand, his strongest undead, bravely stepped forth. He faced two superior opponents at once, yet he did not show an ounce of fear!

At least, Jericho’s connection to the earth had apparently been severed, along with his nearly infinite power—Gaia despised undead—but the earth spirit remained a terrifying opponent.

Go, Axehand! You can win! Jerry prayed internally, but it was not enough. A casual swing was enough to smash Axehand away. Jerry’s breath caught in his throat, and when the skeleton reappeared, ready to keep fighting, Jerry felt his heart ache.

Protect yourself, Axehand! he commanded mentally. Place your life first.

His orders were absolute, he knew that. And yet, as he tried to imprint his will on Axehand’s soul, Axehand fought back, and Jerry’s will was pushed back!

That should be impossible!

“What?!” Jerry cried out, flabbergasted.

“Why so shocked?” Maccain spoke over the din of battle, misunderstanding Jerry’s surprise. “Your paltry undead cannot possibly stand up to mine.”

Jerry ignored him—Axehand’s defiance was a mystery for another time. Gritting his teeth, he mentally commanded the rest of his undead to be on guard—none disobeyed, thankfully, but none of them could even hope to participate in a battle of that caliber, not even Boboar.

Jerry had a plan. He remembered how strong Jericho was, and they obviously couldn’t defeat him again, let alone the hulking cyclops beside him and whatever else this Maccain had prepared.

They only had two paths to survival. One was for Axehand to keep the enemies occupied until the airship started, protect it until it took off, then somehow jump on it without any enemies following. That sounded unlikely.

The second plan… was to deal with Maccain directly.

Jerry didn’t even know this person, yet seeing how his undead hurt Axehand, he already felt deep enmity.

“Maccain!” he shouted, hoping for an easy solution. “Let us fight! Your soul against mine, necromancer against necromancer!”

Maccain chuckled. “You think you can defeat me? If you want it, boy, I can show you exactly how weak you are.”

Jerry’s eyes widened. It worked!

“But maybe,” continued the Sakalai, smiling wryly, “that won’t be necessary.”

Jerry frowned—and in the next moment, his world turned blue as water enveloped his head. Before realizing what was happening, he’d already breathed in a mouthful.

No! he thought, eyes widening in shock and pain. I trusted you, Laura!

Fighting back the rising bile of panic, he turned around, but Laura was as shocked as he was. Her eyes weren’t shining, her hands weren’t glowing; it wasn’t her.

But did it matter? Jerry was drowning.

“Master!” a scream came from below deck as all his undead, feeling Jerry’s panic, suddenly went berserk.

Jerry barely had the energy to think. As a necromancer—and, therefore, an undead—he didn’t need to breathe, but he still had several bodily functions. The water didn’t just exist around his head; it forcibly pushed in, invading his nostrils, ears, and every other orifice it could find.

Jerry was assaulted from all directions. His ears were ringing, his head spinning, and his world turned on its head as all sense of balance was lost. Magic grew weaker the closer it got to another’s body, thankfully, so the water couldn’t just burst his eardrums, but a bunch of it had invaded his nostrils before he thought to plug them with his fingers.

His throat was filled with water and so were his lungs. A burning feeling filled Jerry’s body, coupled with the instinctive despair of drowning, though he knew he would be safe. For a moment, he was lost and helpless, all thoughts escaping, and his undead went haywire as they rushed to his side, hoping to somehow save him.

Only Axehand resisted, resuming his fight as normal. A few words resonated with Jerry’s soul, disguised as grunting.

I believe in you, Master.

Unfortunately, Jerry was panicking, enveloped by the pain and despair of drowning. He was not in the best state to respond to or acknowledge supportive words.

The undead blindly crowded around him as Maccain laughed, and they clawed at the water, but they could do nothing. Jerry was lost; with eyes shut and ears blocked, he could only feel the airship’s deck beneath him. Every other sense was water and pain.

Until it wasn’t.

The water was ripped off him, making his ears pop. Jerry took a desperate, trembling breath and opened his eyes, meeting a host of very concerned undead.

“Master!” shouted Boney, his voice full of unbridled joy, and for a moment, despite his pain, Jerry smiled.

Then, still feeling his innards burning, he looked to the side, where Laura’s entire body was glowing blue. Her hair was floating through the air, and her irises were darker than the deepest seas as she held both hands in front of her, fingers bent. A ball of water was suspended before her, and it tussled and turned, slithered and transformed, streams jutting out and back inside.

“Appear!” she commanded, and the water sphere pulsed once again before quickly forming into a humanoid shape. Jerry was, once again, flabbergasted. It was a small human made of water, so small that, if it stood on the ground, it would at most reach his knee.

“A water spirit!” Laura clenched her teeth. “I will handle it. You just make us fly!”

Jerry blinked, reason returning as the panic subsided. “Boney!” he said. “Hurry up! And where the hell is Marcus?”

“I don’t know, Master!” the skeleton shouted back, already dashing below deck with Billy One. Jerry gritted his teeth, turning to glare at an amused Maccain.

“You sneak attacked me!” he said.

“I did.” The other necromancer grinned. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Sever your soul.”

Jerry’s eyes shone in a mix of crimson and black. By the side, Axehand was once again flung into a wall, and Jerry could already feel streams of energy leaving him to repair the double skeleton. If he didn’t do something, Axehand really would be destroyed.

Jerry was done playing. He grounded himself in the situation. They needed to defeat Maccain and take off before the Count’s forces appeared—otherwise, their chances of success would fall dramatically. Every moment they wasted signified increased danger. The urgency filled Jerry’s body, heightening his mind.

It was time to fight.

His soul ballooned inside him, filling his entire being and seeping out his orifices. Black steam escaped his body, along with a black glow, and the entirety of Jerry’s soul force rushed at Maccain, who did the same, a confident smirk on his face.

The two souls clashed in mid-air.

***

Water is formless, shapeless. It is light yet can be heavy. Its power lies in changing while remaining the same, embracing its many transformations to provide the key to the lock that is every problem.

Water flows.

And so, Laura flowed. Her thoughts lost their shape, gaining purpose from their environment. She let go of everything, relaxing her body and mind as she simply acted on reflex, flowing from one situation to the next.

Would she even be here, if not for water? Her life’s flow had led to her escape; she’d hid in Edge, waiting; when she found the opportunity, she simply flowed with it, pretending to be a dancer and waiting for the undead circus; and, when the time came, she assisted, following the stream of her life wherever it led. If they managed to escape here, maybe she would even travel to the Dead Lands with these unknown people who simply found themselves part of her life’s flow.

It was said that a wizard’s magic fit their personality. In Laura’s case, this was true.

Opposite her, the water spirit seemed to embrace that notion more literally. Laura knew of its type; nymphs, physical manifestations of an element. She could not match its control over water, even if it was now undead—but she had a mind and volume of power that the small nymph couldn’t rival either.

Standing there on the airship’s deck, unbothered by anyone, their flows intertwined. Blue met blue as airborne streams coiled around each other, struggling to assimilate each other’s water or injure their bodies.

Laura stood still, arms stretched before her body and shining with the same blue aura that her eyes were. Water jets flew at her face, aiming to pierce through it, but a water curtain blocked their momentum. A wave rose from the deck, aiming to submerge the water spirit, but another wave crashed against and diverted it.

Battles between hydromancers were peculiar. Though they both flowed, their bodies remained as steady as anchors, letting their water protect them—not that they couldn’t move if they had to, but this course of action came to them instinctively.

More battles raged on below the airship, but Laura had no mind for them. She was losing. She had more sheer power, but the enemy’s delicate control was not something she could match.

Laura grit her teeth. She had fought other hydromancers before; she was trained. Yet, this water spirit saw through all her tricks, overwhelming her like a steadily flowing current against a rock. This was no normal spirit; it was a strong one.

Which, in retrospection, shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given the necromancer’s power and temperament; Sakalai Maccain would never settle for mediocrity.

Hatred clouded her mind as she struggled to push back the waves. I hate you, nymph, Maccain, and everything you stand for. Water filled her mouth, but she spat it back out.

I must not lose. You will never catch me. I will escape, no matter what, and I will return to destroy you all.

Laura’s resolve was reinforced, but, unfortunately, furious thoughts weren’t enough to turn the tide. The waves crashed on her, one after the other, drenching her dress and the wooden planks beneath her feet. The intervals between breaths became longer. For the first time in her life, Laura feared drowning.

However, her mind refused to give in. Laura had learned not to hesitate.

She feinted weakness. Her water curtain faltered, and the water spirit’s waves crashed through to surround her face. Suddenly, she could no longer breathe—but at the same time, she squashed her most basic instincts, abandoned all defense, and sent her every drop of water at the spirit.

It did not expect that.

Compact waves landed on the water spirit’s form, one after the other, slapping it and sending parts of its body flying before turning around for more. The spirit squealed in pain, a sort of wet, high-pitched, flopping sound that reached Laura even through the bubble of water enveloping her head.

The spirit did not withdraw—both opponents had committed to an attack, and whoever fell first would lose. Unfortunately, everyone around was too busy fighting or getting the airship started—they would probably try to save Laura if she fell, or so she hoped, but it might be too late by then.

Laura’s throat burned, and her chest convulsed as it struggled to draw breath. She clamped down. Seconds stretched to infinity as she felt that this was it, she had to open her mouth and breathe in, but she pushed back against that impulse with every last ounce of strength. It was torture, but she persevered; through her water, now attacking on instinct, she could feel the spirit’s water body falter. Half of it was gone already… but how long could an undead water spirit last?

She did not know, and that terrified her.

No matter how long she persisted, the spirit refused to fall. Laura’s entire body flared with pain as she finally opened her mouth, taking in a mouthful of water—

And the bubble around her head fell off.

Laura dropped to the ground, coughing and wheezing as she focused her magic on drawing the water back out of her lungs, and the process was so invasive and revolting that she puked right there on the airship’s deck before regaining a semblance of awareness.

In front of her, there was no water spirit anymore, only a set of soaked wooden planks—most of its water had fallen to the deck below. The water spirit was gone.

Laura drew a trembling breath before forcing herself to look around, then leaned against the railing to rest. She was spent—so exhausted that she couldn’t control two drops.

Finally… she thought with a weak smile. These people seem kind, though buffoons… If we manage to escape, I really hope they don’t kill me.

And with that, Laura rested, watching the two necromancers go head to head.

Can he match Maccain, I wonder…