Boney had never felt like this in his unlife. This power, this strength…

Back when he was alive and full of blood, he had experienced many things. While in life or death battles—of which he’d had exactly two—his vision sharpened, his entire body honed in on the present, the limiters of his muscles were released, and he became the monster that humans were meant to be.

That was the closest experience to what he felt right now, except nowhere near in intensity. Now, Boney wasn’t just at his limits; he was way beyond, his body containing enough power to put bears to shame—or so he felt.

“Fear me, foolish creatures!” he roared at the enemy death knights, drunk on this power. “Curse the day you offended my Master, for I, Boney, am he—”

They were fighting already. Boney was stunned. How dare they ignore me!?

“I’ll show you!” Drawing his sword, he madly charged at a monstrosity and slashed away at it, pouring more strength into the strike than he ever had before. The blade cut halfway into its arm and got stuck. Boney stared at his sword, then at the monstrosity, just in time to catch a punch to his face that catapulted him backward with cracking sounds. At least, the sword got dislodged.

“Oof!” came a sound as someone caught him. “Watch it!”

“Marcus!” Boney exclaimed, full of joy, because he was still unalive! Marcus didn’t pay him any mind, already shouting instructions to the Billies.

What a crazy feeling… I almost lost myself there. Oops.

Overcharging was more overwhelming than he’d expected.

“—and you, Boney, guard us!” said Marcus, pushing Boney forward.

“What?”

A death knight flew for his face. Boney’s bones went paler. “Master!” A sword came from the side and met the death knight mid-charge, stopping him in his tracks. Billy Two grinned with blood lust. The death knight gazed emptily.

Billies Three and Four collided with other opponents, protecting Laura and Marcus. At the same time, Laura was shooting water everywhere, while Marcus shouted orders left and right. They were effective, too—Boney saw Foxy lure two death knights where Boboar and Headless rammed into them, throwing them into the air and, consequently, the death lake.

Everyone was overcharged—bless the Master—and much stronger than usual. Yet, despite Arakataron sending a bunch of death knights to the Prism dungeon, they could barely hold their own, and that was only due to Horace, whose arrows and individual strength dominated the battlefield.

Boney looked at the sky. You must succeed, Master… I believe in you wholeheartedly, though I don’t have a heart!

Before he could laugh, a monstrosity slipped past the Billies and lunged for him, forcing him to defend. Boney clashed with it. When keeping his cool and focusing on defense, he could handle one of these for a little bit. But not for long.

***

Axehand’s world had turned into crumbling paper. He didn’t understand what was happening. He was stronger than he could comprehend.

The greatsword fell at him, but he struck it right back. The dark waters exploded around them. Another stone island crumbled to dust. Axehand jumped back, this little movement carrying him five islands across, but the opponent was hot on his heels.

This was the only thing that mattered to Axehand now. The enemy. Everything else was slow, meaningless, and so utterly weak he could tear them apart with a casual hack of his axes.

Only his Master and the Archmage up in the sky seemed to possess some strength, but Axehand knew that was not his battle—not yet. As soon as he was done with this human-shaped tree, he would go help Master.

Axehand’s gaze sharpened, the crimson flames of his eyes striking on his now-black bones. His mind was only focused on one thing, the enemy, but that was par for the course. He was a lumberjack; he only cut one tree at a time.

However, he’d realized that, while overcharged, his body carried more power than physically possible. The Master’s magic became a part of him and was emitted at will. He could cut an entire whale tail in one strike. He could crack a stone island like an egg.

Axehand grunted as he stepped forth solidly, denting the stone before Arotaron even arrived. He stopped retreating and attacked. Axe met greatsword in a cataclysmic collision that shook the world and destroyed the stone island, but he was still standing. This time, he wasn’t pushed back. The opponent was.

Axehand grinned and charged, stepping on debris to accelerate further. He crossed the ruined islands and slammed on Arotaron like a cannonball, sending him flying further back towards the edges of the lake.

Their battle was so intense and overpowering that they’d already distanced themselves from the lake center, where the giant death beam still stood. They exchanged multiple blows per second. Each impact or charge sent them flying hundreds of feet away, and they crossed several stone islands in the blink of an eye, faster and stronger than anything had the right to be. They were so strong that their own body mass wasn’t enough to receive strikes, sending the loser of each exchange flying.

The entire death lake had become their battleground. The number of stone islands was dropping quickly. Axehand and Arotaron moved so rapidly that the magic they emitted formed a criss-crossing grid over the lake.

However, even though they’d fought at incredible intensity for several breaths of time, none had secured any significant advantage. The two seemed roughly equally matched, and that pissed Axehand off. He was the best. He would win. He had to.

Axe met greatsword again as Axehand went on the offensive. He chased after his opponent without respite, launching strike after strike before Arotaron could even land. His axes, that could now fell even the sturdiest of trees, were carving line after line on his enemy’s greatsword and armor—but they were undoubtedly enhanced, too, and they held strong.

“Stop!” Arotaron roared, rippling the lake’s surface. “You don’t deserve this! I—”

An axe smashed at his face again, and he barely had time to block. He flew back so fast that the lake rippled under him, and he crashed into a stone island with such force that it was ripped from its base and tilted slightly.

“I am Arotaron!” he yelled, standing up and looking around. “The strongest of all! The elite! The third gener—”

A grunt cut him off as a menacing form fell from the sky, tilting the island heavily the other way and sending Arotaron flying again. Axehand jumped in pursuit, and the mid-air collision sent them both flying downward. They landed five islands apart and stared at each other.

Axehand seemed to have the upper hand, but truthfully, he wasn’t winning. His attacks were all blocked, and the damage he dealt was small. More importantly, attacking with such frenzy put a lot of strain on his body, and given that he was already overcharged to the absolute limit of his bones, he risked having to reduce his output. If that happened, he would lose.

Of course, if he took the enemy down before that, he would win. Axehand was a person that bet on himself.

“How dare you—” Before Arotaron could monologue, Axehand attacked again. He would either fell this tree or die trying—as any honorable lumberjack should.

***

High in the sky, Jerry couldn’t stop gaping at the battle between Axehand and Arotaron. The two were so strong they resembled gods on earth, fighting with such force that they made the entire death lake—two miles from end to end—seem too small to host their battle.

Jerry didn’t know this, but both he and Arakataron were necromancers that focused on their undead rather than soul war or energy manipulation. Axehand and Arotaron’s battle represented the core of the conflict, and the victorious undead would most likely determine the winner.

Arakataron did know this. He’d never imagined that someone could match Arotaron, his current masterpiece. He also realized that the battle between undead was uncertain but needed some time to conclude—if he could handle Jerry before that, victory would certainly be his. Otherwise, it was a gamble.

Jerry had the same thought. However, unlike Arakataron, he believed in his undead. He only needed to stall until Axehand won.

Arakataron wouldn’t have that. His entire body shone like a dark beacon. He went all-out. The air shimmered around him, the mists slithering and hissing like they had a life of their own.

Jerry looked over and frowned deeply. He suddenly had a foreboding feeling; this volume of magic was already more than Arakataron had used before, and it was still mounting.

Was he holding back!? he realized, but there was no time to think. Before Arakataron could begin his assault, Jerry willed the lake to his aid. The water rose in waves, each containing enough death energy to fell an entire village, and they coiled around Jerry, forming a reserve of power that kept increasing.

Jerry was already strained. Though the Prism gave him access to an endless supply of energy—the death lake—manipulating it taxed his soul. Magic was the arrows, and the soul was the bow.

Imbuing Axehand like that was already very strenuous. There was a limited amount of water he could control, and for a limited period of time. Sweat appeared on his forehead as he slowly but steadily approached that limit.

Arakataron seemed unbothered by such trivialities. The mists had already formed into a thousand purple snakes around him, their eyes burning green. Suddenly, the dark glow on his body intensified. His robes flapped wildly as if a terrifying gust blew on his back, revealing a body made of slim, dark bones. The invisible gust of wind reached the snakes, that all hissed and lunged forth like a flood of fangs.

Jerry’s eyes widened. “Go!” he yelled, willing an actual flood to erupt from his side. The water frothed as it fell towards Arakataron, wave after wave splashing on the snakes like shores. Jerry had brought his own tide to battle, and logic dictated that the snakes and mists would be washed away.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Their powers didn’t entwine like before. This time, Arakataron was serious.

The snakes swam. When the water fell on them, they found weak points and pierced through. When surrounded, some fell, but the rest formed bundles and helped each other resist. They demonstrated an intelligence that a mere flood could never attain.

Jerry’s heart was clenched. He beat Arakataron in sheer quantity of energy, but his control over it was very lacking in comparison. It was natural; Arakataron became an Archmage by being the most skilled necromancer in the world, and he had a century of experience under his belt; how could Jerry hope to compare?

Arakataron controlled a large number of intelligent snakes that cooperated with each other to make it through, while Jerry could only throw out raw energy and hope for the best. The winner was obvious.

As surely as the tide recedes, the water was dissipating. So were the snakes, but much more slowly. This was Jerry’s all-out attack, and he could only watch it slowly waste away. He tried to do something, tried to control it better, to not let the snakes mockingly swim around his attacks, but it was useless.

The Prism let him control the death water, but how well he controlled it was up to him, and though Jerry was talented, he was far too inexperienced.

No! he realized. I’m going to lose!

When necromancers fought, there were three battlefields:

Undead, at which they were temporarily tied. A victor would be determined eventually, but that needed time.

Energy manipulation, where Jerry was clearly losing. This battle would finish much faster than the undead one.

Soul battle, at which Jerry was completely helpless. He could defend, thanks to the Prism and his own mental resilience, but he could not attack.

The entire battle between Jerry and Arakataron had seemed chaotic, but in truth, Arakataron had always been in control. He knew the three battlefields, and knew that he couldn’t be overpowered in any of them—in fact, if he needed to, he could win quickly. Therefore, as chaotic as things had looked, he couldn’t lose.That was why he’d gone easy at the start, scouting out the Prism’s power and effect on a low-ranking necromancer.

Jerry realized these, too, and he saw that he never stood a chance. He had vastly underestimated Archmages. He had failed to comprehend the world’s depth. The difference between him and a veritable master was so large that even the Prism could not bridge it.

Axehand sensed Jerry’s emotions. He grew even more frenzied, even more agitated. The stone islands crumbled, the mists dissipated, and the entire lake shook, but Arotaron focused on defending. He wouldn’t go down fast, if ever.

Jerry smiled bittersweetly. There was nothing more he could do. His only trump card were the soul fish, but they could only be useful in soul war, at which he was completely helpless.

I’m sorry, guys… I tried my best. At least it was a fun ride. We formed a circus; who does that? Hehe.

Jerry crossed eyes with Arakataron and both knew.

“Surrender,” said Arakataron.

“No,” said Jerry. Even if the fight was lost, resigning was no fun.

“Very well.”

However, just as all seemed lost, a ray of hope appeared.

Hey, kid, a voice spoke in Jerry’s mind, I’ll help you if you promise to revive me.