The moment the fake Prism broke—or, to be precise, when it hid in the monstrosity and stopped releasing the Curse—an invisible ripple spread throughout the entire world.

***

In a towering cathedral on a barren mountainside, groups of wizards walked together and discussed in spirited tones. Others sat in lecture halls, listening to their professors teach the ways of magic, while yet more were huddled in solitary laboratories. The Academy would be an inspiring place if not for the abundance of slaves on its grounds, both death spirits and unlucky mundanes.

Atop the cathedral, in a wooden office with a broad view and plants growing on every side, a blond, blue-eyed man looked up. His brows furrowed and his warm attitude, which seemed to radiate life, suddenly sharpened.

“There is no Archmage,” he concluded after a moment of thought. “Arakataron can handle it.” Then, he returned to inspecting the cage before him, where a little mouse screamed as it grew two extra legs.

***

Under a lush, exotic island, in a large cave with black walls and slow rivers of magma, the eyes of a burly, cross-legged man snapped open. His mouth formed a wild smile.

“Are they making their move?” he wondered, barely containing his excitement. He stood up. “Finally!”

***

Atop a pristine white tower, a man and a woman were having tea under the afternoon sunlight. The man wore long yellow robes, and the woman similar blue ones. Suddenly, both of them looked northeast.

“Who was that?” asked the man, whose body seemed to exude so much light it forced others to squint. “Did Alabaster mess up?”

“They wouldn’t,” replied the woman, and her blue eyes were deeper than the darkest seas. When she spoke, her voice came and went like gentle waves. “Probably a rogue two-feather… Do you think the Order will connect them to us?”

“Definitely.” The man nodded, letting out a sigh. “Let’s just hope Arakataron tortures the intruders before killing them, so he finds out we’re unrelated… It’s a shame, but they can only blame themselves for being rash.”

The woman’s eyes softened, but she didn’t speak.

***

In a place where the sun didn’t shine and the ground was replaced by liquified death energy, a robed skeleton floated in mid-air. Around him, a thick black beam reached all the way to the sky. Suddenly, purple flames appeared in the skeleton’s eyes. His thin mustache trembled as he clenched his teeth.

“Arotaron,” he spoke without turning around. “The ritual is approaching completion, and I cannot step away. If the intruders are arrogant enough to come here, you must deal with them, but be careful; they defeated Orsel’s Bone Beast. If they don’t come, just let them go. I’ll get them later.”

A person in dark plate armor kneeled behind him. His body couldn’t be seen under the armor, but black mist oozed from within his helmet.

“Yes, Master.”

“Damn it,” Arakataron muttered, gritting his teeth. “What timing…but in the end, it doesn’t matter. When the ritual is complete, that brat’s soul will be the very first sacrifice.”

He’d sensed the intrusion on the Prism Dungeon as soon as it happened and dispatched a squad of death knights, but that was all he could do. With the ritual at such a critical juncture, he couldn’t step away, even if that meant sacrificing the artificial Prism and the Curse. They had already done their job, anyway.

Behind him, Arotaron quickly began coordinating their forces. A dozen death knights spread out, each only slightly weaker than Axehand, as well as many monstrosities with stitched-up bodies.

Arakataron’s forces were a steel wall, and Jerry’s team was about to ram into it head-first.

***

A wide smile spread on Jerry’s face as he watched Axehand rise through the monstrosity’s remains.

We did it… he thought. We broke the Curse!

The Curse had caused Jerry a large number of problems. Because of it, he’d had to spend fifteen years half-brain-dead, and they were not pretty. He’d been shunned by everyone, including his parents, and been targeted on many occasions. When he’d tried to settle in Pilpen, almost nobody accepted him, and they even chased him out of the village with torches and pitchforks—or rather, they tried.

In the Three Kingdoms, Jerry had been a pariah, and that was all because of the marginalization of necromancers.

Lifting the Curse had been his goal for a long time, and now, he’d finally done it. With the fake Prism gone, the Curse and the Dead Lands would dissipate soon enough, and then, no other necromancer would have to endure what Jerry had.

His smile widened further. He was happy.

Of course, that was all on the assumption that he could kill Arakataron…but if he lost, he would die—for real this time—and then he would have nothing to consider anyway.

“Great job, guys,” Jerry spoke to his undead. “I’m proud of you; especially you, Axehand.”

Axehand grunted in satisfaction, retrieving his flask from Boney’s waist and taking a sip. The other undead weren’t jealous of Axehand; they knew he deserved the praise, and they only resolved to work harder in the future. Besides, they were all friends, and friends shouldn’t feel jealous of one another.

“We should keep going,” said Horace. “Arakataron’s forces will arrive soon and we must be gone before they do.”

That was their entire plan, after all. Lure a part of Arakataron’s undead army to the dungeon, then sneak past them to attack the Archmage. That was their only chance.

“Thank you too, Horace,” replied Jerry, turning to him. “We couldn’t have succeeded without you…and I know how you felt about the Curse. You’re the hero of your tribe; no, of the entire Dead Lands!”

Horace gave a slight smile. “I just did my duty,” he replied. “Now, let’s go.”

“Yes.” Jerry nodded. “No backup has arrived yet. If we hurry, we should make it in time.”

“Maybe we overestimated Arakataron,” said Laura. “Maybe he has no idea what’s happening.”

Jerry shook his head. “If even I can sense the ripples of the Curse, so can the Necromancy Archmage… Perhaps he didn’t know before, but he definitely does now. We should hurry.”

Everyone exchanged worried glances.

They quickly turned back and fled the way they came, rushing as much as possible. Axehand and Horace had discovered the exit while searching for the others, and they quickly made their way there before heading back to the shallow tunnels.

“What’s that, Jerry?” asked Laura, looking at the necromancer’s side.

“Oh, this?” He drew a small book from his belt. “This is the Introduction to Necromancy! I borrowed it from a dead eye.”

“A dead eye?” she asked, receiving the book and looking it over.

“Yeah. It was a creature, Akolanim or something.”

“Akolateronim?”

“Yeah! How did you guess it?”

“I didn’t. I read it.” She pointed at the bottom of the book’s cover. “It wrote this book.”

“Oh.” Jerry’s eyes went wide. “Oh Gods. I killed an author!”

“An evil one, so it’s okay.” She shrugged.

“Hmm, weird,” Boney quipped from the side. “I thought that guy was a floating eye. How did it write a book?”

“It had little tentacles, too. I guess they could hold a pen.”

“I’ve heard that name before,” said Laura, frowning. “Akolateronim is a known scholar who deals with the theory behind magic. Nobody knew who he was…but maybe you just found out.”

“It did seem intelligent.”

“Most Watchers are. Maybe it was stuck being this Dungeon's caretaker and spent its time researching magic… In fact, I suspect it ghost-wrote a few books for Arakataron. Many people suspected that Akolateronim was the Archmage’s pen name due to them writing similarly…and also, you know, the absurd naming sense.”

“There was a large library in the eye’s room.” Jerry shrugged. “So maybe.”

“Or maybe it adored the real Akolateronim and was just using his name.”

“A large library, you say, Master.” Boney cupped his chin. “Filled with precious books, no doubt. But you only took this Introduction to Necromancy?”

“Yes. I’ll read it as soon as I can.” Jerry looked back in confusion. “Why?”

“Nevermind…”

“We reached the exit!” came a shout from up ahead; it was Horace. “Is the outside safe, Jerry?”

“Yep.”

Without much care, they burst into the light and climbed the ladder to the surface. It creaked under Headless’s weight but held. Axehand simply jumped up.

“Oh, wow,” said Jerry, shielding his eyes. The natural, ever-present illumination of the Mists of Death was not much, but it was blinding compared to the maze. “Our airship looks so cool.”

The airship lounged on the remains of the black ziggurat. Its brown hull, white sails, and red balloon cut a striking contrast against the black Mists.

“It does,” Laura agreed. “Do you think we should give it a name?”

Jerry’s eyes were instantly filled with stars.

“How didn’t I think of that!? Of course we should!”

“Everyone!” Marcus waved from the deck. “Come on board, we need to leave!”

They ran to the ship while Jerry counted names on his fingers: “Dolly, Roger, Merry, Airshipy, Ballooney…”

Boney’s eye sockets were filled with despair the more he listened. “How about we leave the naming for later, Master? We can brainstorm when we have time.”

“Okay, but we need a temporary name! We can’t have Arakataron taken down by a nameless vessel!”

“How about Victoria?” suggested Laura, and Jerry, after squinting at her, replied, “Not bad. I think Airshipy was better, but…okay. Victoria it is!”

Boney heaved a secret sigh of relief. “Good. Now we can—”

“Billies, we must paint the name on the side!”

“Jerry!” “Jerry!” “Master!”

“Jerry!” Jerry exclaimed himself, looking around. He laughed. “Okay, okay, I’m just joking. We have a job to do.”

Everyone climbed the ramp onto the airship, and with a torrent of orders from the Captain—Marcus—the airship slowly took off. The ziggurat below them slowly got smaller as they rose.

“We made it…” said Laura, releasing a deep sigh. “Arakataron’s reinforcements haven’t arrived yet… Do you think he didn’t send any?”

“Maybe he’s scared,” offered Jerry. Boney flexed his non-existent biceps.

“Why do you believe that?” asked Horace, approaching them. Laura cupped her chin.

“It sounds ridiculous, but maybe he’s scared of us. I mean, Jerry declared war on the entire Wizard Order and his strength is unknown, so maybe Arakataron doesn’t want to split his forces.”

“Would an Archmage fear a wizard?”

“No…but Arakataron never leaves the Mists. Perhaps his job here is so intense that he can’t spare any attention—or maybe he just didn’t bother.”

Jerry stepped in. “Let’s keep Birb close to ground level as we fly. If the reinforcements were just late, we’ll run into them, right?”

“I guess…and if we don’t, we can reconsider the plan.”

“I must slay that Archmage no matter what.” Horace’s eyes were sharp. “I have a duty to my tribe. I will either succeed or die trying.”

Jerry and Laura exchanged glances. Jerry shrugged. “Well, let’s get there first and we’ll discuss this again.”

“Yes…” Laura agreed. “I don’t really think Arakataron would be scared of us.”

Jerry smirked. “But did you see Boney’s biceps?”

“Yes, they’re amazing. Boney should battle at the front row.”

“Of course!”

“Master…” The skeleton’s bone jaw clacked. “I want to stay by your side and keep you safe, Master.”

“You can keep me safe by killing our enemies.”

“Not to worry.” Horace nodded, patting the skeleton’s shoulder. “I will tie some arrows around you to make you a hedgehog. Arakataron will shit his pants.”

“We can throw you from mid-air,” added Marcus. “He’ll never see it coming.”

“No!” Boney looked around. “Save me, Master.”

Jerry touched his shoulder and looked him in the eye sockets. “You will die as a warrior, Boney. Be proud.”

The skeleton fell to his knees, then cried out towards the sky: “Nooooo!”

Everyone had a good laugh, and the airship flew directly toward one of the most dangerous people in the world.

***

The airship was high in the air, flying through spotless darkness. Birb was lower, at an elevation where it could barely see the ground while not being visible itself—it was, after all, just a small bird.

Half an hour later, Birb spotted a dozen plate-armored figures crossing the terrain at tremendous speed. Jerry let everyone know, and their eyes twinkled.

Arakataron had fallen for it. He was defenseless—and they were coming.