Purple mist began seeping from the cracked lantern like blood from a wound. The corruption spread outward, turning emerald grass black from the roots up. Each blade withered as the blight touched it, leaving behind twisted stalks that crumbled at the slightest breeze.

  The great tree shuddered as corruption climbed its trunk. The apples on the tree rotted. Leaves that had been vibrant green moments before curled inward, their edges blackening as if burned from within. They fell like dying butterflies, disintegrating before they hit the poisoned ground. Flowers that had opened to greet the restored sunlight collapsed into themselves, their petals turning to ash that scattered in the wind.

  [Background change]

  [Garden of Eden becomes Purple Mist]

  “No…. no… not again!” Nydalea fell to the ground, fingers clawing at the blackening grass.

  Clive felt something break inside his chest as his masterpiece died. The sweet air that had carried the scent of new growth now reeked of decay.

  The Verdant Marsh was gone, and in its place, the Shadowfen returned.

  The Warden's wound had already sealed, leaving only a ragged tear in his scorched robes. He brushed ash from his sleeves with casual indifference.

  Nydalea's voice cracked as she stared at the withering landscape. "You bastard. I'll tear your throat out."

  "Still mewling, little cat? I’ll play with you later," the Warden taunted. It shifted its attention to Clive. "But you... you're the real threat here, aren't you, Artist?"

  "Arise."

  Bone fragments scattered across the corrupted ground began their familiar dance of reassembly. Ribs snapped back into place, skulls reformed from splinters, and empty eye sockets ignited with purple flame. The Risen pulled themselves upright with grinding movements.

  The purple mist surged around the Warden's frame, thickening into solid darkness. Shadow-forged plates locked into place across his torso while massive pauldrons erupted from its shoulders. A horned helm materialized last over its head.

  “You've earned my attention, Artist. Few have forced me to don my armor.” It pointed its hook at Clive.

  “I didn’t ask for it.”

  "Tell me your name, so I might carve it on your tombstone."

  “Clive Weston.”

  "You face Al’Za Gul, Warden of the Dead, first commander of the third necromantic legion. Your name will serve me well when you rise again."

  "I've got no intention of dying today."

  "They never do." The Warden raised his lantern, corruption swirling around the glass. "But intention means nothing to the dead."

  [Warden of the Dead]

  Power Level: 200

  Two hundred! Without the benefits of the Garden of Eden, Clive now faced the full strength of the Warden. He expected a tough fight, but this was something else entirely.

  Clive steadied his breathing and raised his brush anyway. Numbers were just numbers. He'd beaten worse odds before.

  The army of Risen surged forward, flowing between them like a tide of bone and shadow. Clive found himself cut off from his companions. He tried to paint a spell but felt an emptiness where his mana should be. The previous round had drained him completely.

  “Lucia!”

  She understood immediately. She pulled a mana potion from her belt and tossed it in a high arc over the Risen between them.

  The Warden's hook lashed out, intercepting the vial mid-flight. The pale lemon liquid splattered across the ground.

  "Predictable," the Warden observed. “That trick won’t work anymore. I can see every weakness.”

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  Without mana, Clive could only rely on his mace. Across the battlefield, he could see Nydalea and Lucia fighting their own desperate battles, each surrounded by their own circle of Risen.

  “Group up!” Clive roared, smashing a path through the Risen.

  They fought their way toward each other through the chaos. Nydalea pounced from skeleton to skeleton, using their shoulders as steeping stones. Lucia tossed vials that exploded in acid that ate through ribs.

  But the Warden wouldn’t let them regroup so easily. His hook lashed out whenever they drew close, forcing Nydalea to leap sideways as the chain whistled past her ear. Another strike sent Clive diving behind a rock as the weapon gouged chunks from the stone.

  When they finally broke through the press of undead, Nydalea shifted back to human form mid-stride. They slammed together back-to-back, forming a defensive triangle as skeletal hands reached for them from all sides.

  The triangle held. Bone shattered against steel as they kept the Risen at bay, their defensive formation smashing down any skeleton that pressed too close.

  The Warden raised his lantern high overhead. "Enough of this tedium."

  [Warden used Unholy Frenzy]

  More purple mist poured out from the lantern. Where it touched the Risen, their movements became frantic. They lunged forward with desperate hunger, claws raking faster than before.

  "Can't hold them!" Nydalea grunted, swiping away three sets of grasping hands.

  Lucia pressed her last mana potion into Clive's palm. "Make it count."

  Clive downed the liquid in one gulp and raised his brush. The familiar tingle of restored mana flowed through his fingers as he began to paint. Another [Brown Granite Storm] to clear the path and then a strike on the Warden.

  The first broad sweep of paint had barely touched the air when the Warden’s hook screamed toward him. Clive saw the barbed tip racing through the purple mist. He tried to twist away, but the weapon moved faster than thought.

  The hook's barbed point punched through the meat of his forearm just below the elbow. Pain exploded up his arm as the barbs bit deep.

  "Got you," the Warden snarled.

  The world spun as Clive was yanked off his feet and slammed into the ground. His brush spun away across the earth, leaving a trail of unfinished brown paint that faded into nothing.

  "How many times will you repeat the same pathetic trick? I've dissected your pattern, Artist. Every spell requires those elaborate gestures. Every casting leaves you rooted in place like a target waiting for slaughter."

  The Warden began reeling in the chain, dragging Clive across the rough ground.

  "Clive!" Lucia sprinted toward them.

  Skeletal hands erupted from the corrupted soil beneath her feet. Bony fingers wrapped around her ankles and yanked her down. She hit the ground hard, more Risen pouring over her like a wave of yellowed bone. Clawed hands pinned her shoulders while others tore the remaining potions from her belt.

  "Lucia!" Nydalea bounded toward her fallen companion.

  A Risen threw a spear, aimed at the space where Nydalea would land. She saw the point racing toward her chest and twisted desperately in mid-air. The weapon whistled past her, missing by inches. Her momentum carried her away from Lucia, landing her in a roll twenty feet to the side.

  More Risen rose between them, cutting off her path back. She shifted mid-stride, panther form flowing around grasping claws, but each dodge drove her further from her teammates. The undead herded her like wolves driving prey, forcing her toward the edge of the battlefield.

  “Run along, little kitty. You’re not worth the effort.” The Warden continued hauling Clive closer. "But you, Artist—you are a problem that needs solving."

  “I’m not a problem,” Clive said, even as he was being dragged. “I’m an artist.”

  Clive gripped the barbed hook embedded in his forearm. He gritted his teeth and pulled the weapon free, tearing flesh as the barbs ripped through muscle. Blood streamed down his arm, but he was loose.

  The Warden's chain snapped back as Clive surged to his feet and charged. His mace swept toward the armored figure's skull, but the Warden caught the blow on his gauntlet. The impact rang like a struck bell across the battlefield.

  They traded strikes in brutal succession. Clive's mace crashed against shadow-wreathed armor while the Warden's claws raked sparks from the weapon's handle.

  A high, agonized scream cut through the clash of metal.

  Clive's head snapped toward the sound. One of the Risen had driven a rusted blade deep into Lucia’s shoulder.

  "Lucia!"

  The moment of distraction cost him. The Warden's hook shot out again, but this time the chain didn't stop at his arm. It coiled around his torso like a serpent, wrapping tight around his ribs and pinning his arms to his sides. More spectral chains erupted from the ground, binding his ankles and dragging him to his knees.

  [Death Binding]

  The chains burned against his skin. Clive strained against the bonds, but they only tightened with each struggle.

  "Now you're mine, Artist." The Warden stepped closer, savoring his trapped prey. "No more tricks. No more running. Just you, me, and all the time in the world to discuss your future service."

  The Warden raised his lantern, purple energy gathering around it.

  [Soul Drain]

  Clive could feel his life draining away. Each heartbeat felt weaker than the last, his strength flowing out through invisible wounds. The world grew distant and cold.

  “Clive!” Nydalea screamed across the battlefield.

  The Warden turned his burning gaze toward her, savoring the desperation in her cry. "Tell me, little kitty—how does it feel to watch helpless again? Everyone dies while you live. Everyone suffers while you run free… just like before."

  Nydalea's hands trembled as she stared at Clive's weakening form. The Risen pressed closer, but she barely noticed their advance. Tears cut tracks down her dirt-stained cheeks as something inside her broke.

  The Warden chuckled at the sight. "There it is. The moment you remember that survival means nothing when everyone you care about dies anyway."

  “Titan help us,” Nydalea whispered.

  [Summon: Titan]

  "Death is patient. It watches you plan, lets you hope, then reminds you that the house always wins." — Al’Za Gul