A colossal column of black light rose from the lake’s depths to the sky. It was thick enough to fit two people with arms extended and the mist churned where it passed, swirling around the column like a vortex. In fact, the column furiously absorbed the mist and pushed it downward like a direct funnel from the sky to the bottom of the lake.

Sickly green lines rose against that flow like short ribbons, each at a different speed, while the dark water frothed and seethed below. The column produced a low humming, a sound that deeply shook the air and made the observer’s eyes and soul waver. It felt ancient, and magic beyond belief.

Jerry only inspected the column for a second before his gaze was drawn to the robed form floating inside it. A thin mustache stretched from either side of the skeleton’s skull, but Jerry knew this was no skeleton. It was a lich; Arakataron.

The Archmage seemed absorbed in his ritual, but there was a guardian standing before the column. It was a normal-sized, humanoid figure clad in dark plate armor, but the opening of its helmet constantly released a thick black mist. It held a greatsword, and it being Arakataron’s only guard spoke volumes about its strength.

Jerry was glad he could not use his soul perception through Birb. The sheer quantity of death energy here was staggering, and whatever Arakataron was doing was so beyond Jerry’s league that his mind hurt just imagining it. His soul trembled just by being near that column.

What the hell is that!?

Jerry lost his composure. His jaw dropped, and his mouth hung open. What the hell is he trying to do!?

There was frightening power at play here. The amount of death energy that dove into the lake each second was equal to Jerry’s entire capacity, and Arakataron had been at it for decades. What kind of undead was the Archmage trying to create? What beast had they provoked?

Jerry was floored. He barely glanced at anything else before retracting his senses from Birb’s body, and then he quickly sat down on the stone island.

“Are you okay?” Laura kneeled beside him with worry. “What happened? You’re pale and sweating.”

Jerry tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words.

“By Manna, Jerry, you’re trembling!” Marcus grabbed his wrist. “What the hell did you see?”

“I…” Jerry gulped, slowly regaining himself. It wasn’t that he was weak of will; as a necromancer, he was sensitive to death energy, and the amount he saw was enough to send his soul reeling.

The highly-concentrated death energy he’d been sensing so far was only the tiny remnants escaping the column. If not for Birb, he would have had no idea what the mist was really hiding.

Jerry gulped again. “I saw Arakataron… He’s feeding tremendous amounts of death energy into the lake. Whatever he’s doing, it’s terrifying.”

“Okay. What does that mean for us?” asked Horace, his eyes narrowing.

“I have no idea.”

“If it doesn’t directly affect us, let’s just keep going. Don’t get cold feet now.”

Jerry stared at him. “Arakataron is utilizing enough energy to create hundreds of Axehands every minute. He’s been doing that for decades. You tell me if it affects us.”

To the side, Laura fell in deep thought.

Marcus frowned. “Are you suggesting we run away?”

“I have a duty!” Horace said quickly.

Jerry shook his head. “I don’t know…but if we choose to attack him, we must kill him instantly. A speck of what he’s creating is enough to destroy us all ten times over.”

“That’s fine by me.” Horace nodded.

Axehand grunted. The crimson flames in his eye sockets revealed equal parts excitement and caution.

“Maybe we should—” Boney began saying, but stopped himself. He’d been about to suggest moving Jerry away just in case, but that would never get accepted.

Marcus shrugged. “Best I can do is throw a stone at him. You guys will have to do the heavy-lifting.”

Jerry, Axehand, and Horace looked at each other. They nodded. Each of the three had considerable power, and if they ambushed someone together, even an Archmage would have a hard time defending.

“What about you, Laura?” Jerry turned to her. She was still thinking, and her thin brows fluttered as she went through one idea after the other.

“I can support you, but I have no idea what Arakataron is doing. I have never heard of anything that needs this much power—even skeletal dragons wouldn’t be this hard to raise. I thought Arakataron was amplifying the Curse or something, but Jerry says he’s drawing energy instead… Is his ritual unrelated to the Curse? I have no idea what’s happening anymore…”

Her eyes were dazed, her belief wavering.

Jerry had already recovered and stood up. Hearing her doubts, he placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “It’s okay. You don’t need to know everything. We’ll figure it out or die trying, but so what? You don’t have much to lose.”

He smiled, and his words cut through the haze in Laura’s mind like a ray of morning sun. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“Right,” she agreed, standing up. “How do we do this?”

Everyone looked at Jerry, who described what he saw.

“That sounds good!” Laura’s eyes brightened. “His spiritual sense will be severely hampered inside that column. He won’t sense us coming.”

“I agree,” said Horace, nodding. “Arakataron sounds defenseless. I think the best we can do is circle around the ritual without being seen to attack from behind, where that mist-face-warrior can’t stop us. We throw arrows, axes, mental attacks, and water all at once, and the Archmage is dead. I don’t care how strong his magic is, he cannot survive a full-power sneak attack from all of us.”

“He shouldn’t be. All wizards have weak bodies,” Laura replied with a smile.

Jerry perked up. “Wait a moment. We found his location, lured away most of his death knights, snuck up on him, and are about to ambush him while he’s distracted… Is our entire plan so far working out!?”

Boney chuckled darkly. “Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.”

“Don’t count your eggs yet,” said Marcus, laughing. “The hardest part is still ahead of us, and there is no guarantee things will work out. Archmages are Archmages for a reason; they’re not stupid.”

“Right.” Laura nodded. “Anything could go wrong…but I believe our chances are as high as they could be.”

Everyone agreed. “Let’s go,” said Jerry. “Birb will lead the way.”

They fell into silence again. The entire group jumped from stone to stone as stealthily as they could, following Jerry as they took the long way around the ritual. They almost ran into a few more patrols, but Birb’s sharp eyes and timely warnings let them avoid all danger.

Incidentally, the patrols weren’t just death knights. There were also nine-foot-tall monstrosities made of several human bodies stitched together; a kind of abomination that Jerry had only seen on the Damn Wall, and even then, he’d only seen them by proxy. Their warped souls sent chills down his spine.

“Aren’t there too many death knights?” asked Horace as they walked. “I thought we’d distracted a dozen.”

“Apparently, he has another,” Laura replied heavily. She had entered battle mode and her words were sharp. “This changes nothing. If we kill Arakataron, they will all turn into wild undead, and they’ll be just as probable to turn against one another than attack us.”

“But shouldn’t these death knights be gathered around him? Why spread them out and make himself vulnerable?”

Laura gave him a deep glance. “Maybe he thinks the mist-face is enough…or maybe this is all a trap.”

Horace nodded thoughtfully but spoke no further. Even if it was a trap, what could they do at this point? Turn back?

Thankfully, the heavy mist dampened all sound as well, letting the oversized group wade through the patrols successfully. They made it to the other side of the lake, then Jerry directed them back towards the ritual. Birb confirmed that the mist-face-warrior hadn’t moved—it was still on the side facing the Dungeon, from where they were expected to come.

Only mist stood between them and Arakataron. Everyone drew sharp breaths as Jerry nodded.

Axehand took a deep sip from his flask, letting the wine drip down his ribcage and onto the stone. He then crouched, ready to sprint, and his entire body released red smoke—courtesy of Jerry. Horace nocked three arrows against his bowstring, keeping it slightly taut. Laura summoned all the water from her flask and even formed some extra, preparing a full-power water jet. Headless gripped his halberd and climbed on Boboar.

Jerry sharpened himself. He brought his energy expenditure to a minimum, letting his undead support themselves for a bit. He then split his magic reserves into two parts; one would overcharge Axehand to the limit, and the other would fuel a full-power mental bash into Arakataron’s defenses. He didn’t hope to overpower the Archmage, of course, only daze him for a moment.

As for everyone else, they were on the lookout for patrols and to assist however needed. Their power was a drop in the bucket compared to their stronger companions, and their speed wasn’t enough to act in tandem with the ambush. They would handle the retreat.

Everyone just saw battle in each other’s eyes and knew they were ready.

They advanced as one, with Jerry at the front. His arm was raised and his eyes squinting at the mist. His soul still reeled instinctively from the sheer amount of power he’d witnessed, but it no longer affected him much. Let his instincts cry all they want; he was in control now.

Jerry’s steps slowed until they halted. A black haze was barely visible through the mist. He turned around to give a deep glance to everyone, then took a deep breath and lowered his hand.

The mist exploded.

Axehand barreled forth like a lumberjack from hell, his eyes burning so hard that crimson flames spilled onto the rest of his skull. Boboar was rushing behind him with a tremendous oink, and Headless was spinning his halberd in preparation to strike.

Horace had pulled his bow taut and had one eye closed as he waited—he wanted to synchronize his arrows with Axehand’s assault. Laura was equally prepared to launch her strongest water jet, while Jerry’s soul loomed behind his undead like an invisible cloud.

At that moment, Jerry felt confident. Several sure-kill attacks would reach Arakataron at once, and he was completely unprepared. To this point, he hadn’t even reacted. Only after Axehand had crossed half the distance—barely a second before impact—did he turn his head. Purple lights shone in his eye sockets, and just seeing them made a heavy pressure envelope Jerry.

However, he persisted. His attack only had to momentarily stall the enemy; it wasn’t the killing blow.

A bowstring’s sharp twang later, said killing blow was unleashed from Jerry’s right. The sound of pressure getting suddenly and violently released came from his left as a beam of water followed the three arrows. At the same time, Axehand raised his axe to strike at Arakataron.

The Archmage’s eye-flames flickered. Jerry’s heart was gripped by black snakes of worry. Axehand hacked down.

The arrows, axe, and water entered the death column, only a few steps away from Arakataron, and it was like the weight of the world fell on them. The column’s pressure was far stronger than its slow flow seemed to indicate.

The arrows dipped down, flying below Arakataron’s cross-legged form. The water jet did the same. Axehand’s arm trembled as it shot down too, only to be stopped mid-way by his herculean strength. He kept rushing, heedless of the consequences, and jumped from the stone island to over the lake, where Arakataron flowed.

Boboar screeched to a halt, almost throwing Headless off, and the latter tried to stab Arakataron from outside the column only for the halberd to be ripped from his hand and into the lake below.

Only Jerry’s attack remained intact, but as it slammed against Arakataron’s mind, it vanished like a stone thrown into the sea. Jerry lost his balance and grit his teeth to avoid screaming; a good chunk of his mental energy had been ripped off and devoured.

Horace and Laura instantly aimed higher to counteract the column’s effects, but it was too late. They had been spotted.

Arakataron’s eyes pulsed as he pushed out an open palm. Axehand’s axe cut towards that palm. Suddenly, the column of death obeyed Arakataron’s command, flowing sideways and tossing Axehand back with enough force to make him roll over several stone islands. He landed on his feet and charged right back at Arakataron.

The lich’s mustache formed a smile as it regarded them all.

“Hello,” an amused, raspy voice rang in their minds. “Did you really think this would work?”

The mist-face-warrior unsheathed his greatsword and reached Boboar and Headless in two strides, slashing out at them. Axehand jumped in between to protect them and hacked at the sword, aiming to overpower the enemy, but the force of the collision sent him flying. The mist-face-warrior snickered as it took a single step back.

At the same time, howls echoed from every direction as all of Arakataron’s undead entered a frenzy. They rushed over.

Jerry’s heart went cold. The ambush had failed.

They were in deep shit.

Nobody knew who said it first, but a single word rang in everyone’s ears: “RUN!”