Derek watched as the massive horde closed in.

  The rain had eased, just enough to make every grotesque detail painfully clear. Details he would’ve gladly skipped.

  Lifeless, glassy eyes. Flesh hanging off like sun-cured leather. Bones jutting out, entrails dragging through the mud like soiled rags. And yet, for all their rot and ruin, they marched with mechanical resolve.

  No signs of fatigue. No thirst. No hesitation. No scanning for threats.

  So far, none of them had noticed him or Tunga. Even this close, the analogy held: they moved like ants. Blind. Relentless. Single-minded.

  The real question was: how far did that comparison go? Because the entire plan depended on it.

  The trembling underfoot grew stronger.

  “Is it coming?” Derek asked.

  Tunga nodded and slammed his staff into the mud with a wet squelch.

  The road ahead swelled like a festering boil. Steam hissed from fresh cracks in the soil, as if the earth itself were about to erupt.

  But this wasn’t a volcano.

  Derek took a breath. Steady, controlled. “Alright. My turn.”

  With a thought, he switched to alternate fire mode and extended both arms, fists forward.

  “Derek,” Vanda said, “this is your first time using that configuration since the simulator duel.”

  Derek winced. “Don’t call it a spell.”

  And opened fire.

  The flames weren’t red or orange. They were blinding white. Plasma-torch white. He felt no heat in his hands, but the hiss of evaporating mud and the blinding plumes of smoke left no doubt about the temperature.

  The moisture on the ground vanished in seconds.

  Meanwhile, Tunga’s chant reached its crescendo. The swollen earth split open as a massive fire golem erupted from the breach, roaring like a furnace given voice. The heat it radiated was so intense, NOVA’s internal cooling system started to complain.

  The creature hauled itself out, first its arms, then its towering legs.

  Derek kept both arms outstretched, carving two blazing furrows across the herd’s path. Tunga had said the fire would spare what his mind deemed sacred. Derek wasn’t so sure he could do the same. Still, he focused, willing the flame to ignore anything but the dirt.

  The golem turned toward him. The open furnace where its mouth should’ve been curled into something disturbingly close to a smile.

  Derek nodded. “Hey, buddy. Long time no see.”

  Tunga frowned. “What are you doing? You distract him like that.”

  Derek raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you mean he actually understands me?”

  “No one understands you, demon,” Tunga grunted. “He’s like a child. You speak, he forgets his task.”

  Derek shrugged. “Got it. I had an assistant like that back in the lab. Had to leave sticky notes everywhere or he’d wander off.”

  Tunga shook his head. “No one knows what you’re talking about, demon.”

  Trying to set wet ground on fire using magical flames blasting from NOVA’s fists wasn’t exactly his idea of a solid plan. But he had no choice. He had to trust whatever passed for magic in this ridiculous world.

  Somehow, against every known law of physics, the flames NOVA had unleashed had taken root in the soaked, muddy earth. A wall of fire, several meters high, now blazed between them and the advancing horde.

  The golem stepped forward and vanished into the flames, becoming one with them.

  Tunga raised his staff and bellowed something in a deep, ancient tongue. The wall of fire doubled in height, as if someone had just dumped gasoline on it.

  The flame wall was alive now, roaring and crackling just ahead. He locked his stance, plasma cannons ready.

  Whatever came through next, it was theirs to stop.

  They were Ebonshade’s last line of defense.

  Alyra’s. Sierelith’s.

  There was nothing left to do but hold.

  The lightning bolt from Isabelle’s sword slammed into the energy shield surrounding Elias’s decaying body.

  White-hot arcs of electricity skittered across the barrier like glowing spiders, searching for a weak point. They fizzled out, one by one.

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  Elias raised his shepherd’s staff. A jagged wooden spike burst from a shattered pew and shot toward her.

  Isabelle met it with a clean sweep of her blade, knocking it aside in a shower of splinters.

  “Well done!” Sierelith called out.

  Isabelle clenched her jaw. “Do you intend to be useful anytime soon?”

  “In due time, Warden. You’re doing splendidly.”

  Isabelle spat on the ground and charged Elias with a battle cry. She swung her greatsword at his head, but the priest caught her wrist mid-swing and twisted.

  Pain shot from her arm to her shoulder and then exploded behind her eyes in a blinding wave. Her sword slipped from her grasp with a loud metallic clang that echoed through the church.

  She staggered back, cradling her wrist, breathless. Those skeletal arms were like steel vises wrapped in dead skin.

  Everything about Elias radiated an aura far beyond what she was prepared to handle.

  But they were trapped in here with him and she had to find a way to stop him.

  Or they wouldn’t leave this place alive.

  Sierelith dashed past her, a black-bladed dagger in hand, charging straight at Elias.

  “Stop!” the Warden shouted. “You can’t defeat him with that!”

  Isabelle watched in horror as the spy lunged at Elias with a fury she hadn’t known she possessed.

  This wasn’t what she’d meant when she asked for her help.

  She had no chance.

  She was going to die.

  Elias raised his withered arm and slashed sideways with the edge of his hand, like a blade.

  It carved through Sierelith’s chest from side to side as if she were made of paper.

  Isabelle screamed with everything she had. Her hand shot forward toward the girl, but there was nothing she could do.

  Her heart sank.

  Why had that fool done it? Why?

  The spy’s broken body hit the floor with a soft, sickening sound, like air being expelled from a crushed lung.

  Then—

  A touch on her shoulder.

  Isabelle spun around.

  Sierelith stood beside her, completely unharmed, handing back her greatsword with a cheeky grin.

  “I think you dropped this. Be more careful next time.”

  The Warden stared at her, speechless.

  The spy smirked. “Did you really think I’d let myself die in such a stupid way? Come on.”

  She shrugged and pressed the sword into Isabelle’s hands.

  “You’re kind of adorable when you panic, but let’s not overdo it. I might get emotional too.”

  She faked a dramatic gasp and clutched her chest as if wounded.

  “T-thank you,” Isabelle murmured. She e was really still alive? She glanced down at her wrist. Still worked. The bone wasn’t broken. She tightened her grip on the sword and looked at the mage.

  Sierelith gave a quick bow and darted behind a column.

  Elias roared, “Your tricks are worthless!”

  Isabelle stepped forward and steadied her breathing.

  Maybe the old priest was right.

  But thanks to those tricks, she had her weapon back.

  And this time, no one was taking it from her.

  “It’s working!” Derek shouted.

  The undead cattle had stopped in front of the wall of fire. The roaring fire golem thrashed about wildly, just as Tunga had commanded.

  Some of them had even begun to turn back.

  He turned to Tunga. “How did you know that would work?”

  The shaman shrugged. “I just wanted to see the herd on fire.”

  Derek stared. “You’re serious?”

  Tunga nodded.

  “Man, has anyone ever told you you’re completely insane?”

  Another nod. Then his eyes lit up like a child at a fireworks show.

  Derek turned back.

  A flaming buffalo limped out of the blaze. Its skin hissed and cracked like meat on a searing griddle. The stench of rot and burning flesh forced its way into NOVA—and into Derek’s throat.

  “Shit.” He aimed the plasma cannons and fired.

  Two glowing yellow holes appeared in the creature’s ruined body. A second later, they erupted into a single blazing fireball.

  The creature’s legs, charred beyond function, buckled beneath it.

  It collapsed without a sound.

  It didn’t scream. It didn’t fight.

  It just couldn’t walk anymore.

  Tunga raised his staff and began hopping from one foot to the other, shouting a high-pitched cheer.

  Derek nodded. Good enough.

  “Tunga. If you’re done celebrating, listen. If one of those things breaks through, aim for the legs. They’re heavy as hell, and the fire eats through the joints fast.”

  Tunga stared at the flames with wide, gleeful eyes—like a kid waiting for the next firework.

  Derek rolled his eyes. The guy hadn’t even heard him.

  Another beast emerged from the fire in front of Tunga, who let out a delighted squeal.

  The golem appeared behind him, wrapped its massive arms around him, and pulled him out of the way.

  Buffalo and golem vanished into the blaze together.

  The shaman lowered his staff and frowned.

  “Tunga,” Derek muttered, bringing a hand to his temple—only to hit the inside of his helmet. “You realize your golem just handled that situation better than you did?”

  Tunga waved him off and made a face.

  “Derek,” Vanda said, “Repair Bots report the herd is dispersing. Telemetry shows the animals are returning to the jungle.”

  “Any sign of Elias?”

  “No,” Vanda replied. “But an unknown energy barrier has formed around the temple. Sensors can’t penetrate it. Elias may be inside.”

  Derek frowned. “A barrier? Is Alyra in there?”

  “No. Alyra is with the other survivors, outside the barrier.”

  Derek let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His shoulders finally relaxed. “Anyone missing?”

  “I can’t locate Sierelith… or Isabelle.”

  Tunga was staring at him. He tightened his grip on the staff and bared his teeth like a beast.

  Derek nodded. "You're right, buddy. We have to do something. Vanda, is there any way to get through that barrier?"

  "Wait..." Vanda said. "Something’s coming. Fast."

  Derek narrowed his eyes. "How fast?"

  The wall of flame exploded, torn apart by something massive and dark that passed through like it wasn’t even there.

  A black, shifting mass materialized in front of him. Three stories tall and barely possessing a definable shape.

  Derek stared, mouth open, heart and breath frozen for a full second.

  Arms. Heads. Eyes. Mouths. Noses. And other, less identifiable parts jutted from every surface. Two enormous, muscular legs supported its grotesque bulk. At its center, a gaping, circular maw lined with jagged teeth.

  A mouth?

  Maybe?

  It looked like something torn straight from a madman’s nightmares.

  A message blinked across his HUD:

  ||Level Silver 2||

  “Derek,” Vanda said. “This creature’s specs are off the charts. I recommend immediate retreat.”

  Derek clenched his jaw and raised his plasma cannons.

  The creature roared and the whole jungle seemed to tremble with its guttural, unholy scream.

  Elias lunged forward—quick as a spider darting across its web.

  One moment he was behind the altar, the next he was in her face.

  A clawed hand slashed down. Isabelle barely blocked it with the flat of her blade.

  The Warden took two steps back—just enough to regain the space she needed to maneuver.

  Ranged attacks were useless against his magical barrier, and in close combat, he was faster. Stronger.

  She swallowed hard.

  She was running out of options.

  Elias was no longer a man.

  He was a demon—and had to be treated as one.

  End his suffering. Save his soul.

  It was her duty as Warden.

  He flicked his hands.

  Two wooden spears shot at her from the pews.

  She leapt backward. One struck her silver armor, ringing out like a gong. The impact threw her off balance.

  Elias dropped his staff and pounced like a cat, seizing her by the throat.

  The wooden floor slammed into her back.

  The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and his grip crushed her windpipe.

  Her sword fell from her grasp.

  She clawed at his wrists, but it was like trying to bend oak.

  His hands tightened.

  Her vision blurred. Her ears rang.

  She needed air. She needed—Derek?

  NOVA stood beside her. Glowing red eyes. Hands on hips.

  Elias looked up, stunned. His grip loosened.

  Isabelle blinked. Wait.

  That stance… Derek never stood like that.

  “Who... are you?” Elias asked.

  “I’m the Cashnar! You’re so corrupted you can’t even recognize me?” the figure thundered.

  Isabelle blinked again. Derek would never say that. Air rushed back into her lungs. Her mind cleared.

  Sierelith. That little idiot was using one of her tricks.

  “No… you’re not really him!” Elias shouted.

  Isabelle’s hand closed around the hilt of her sword.

  “Who else could breach your barrier and make it here?” the false Derek demanded.

  Elias looked around, searching for another explanation and clearly failing to find one. “Yes… yes, of course. Only the Cashnar himself could pass through the barrier placed by Orbisar around this holy temple.” He bowed his head. “What brings the Messiah of Steel to my humble church? To what do I owe the honor?”

  Isabelle didn’t wait for the illusion to answer. She lunged and drove her sword straight into Elias’s chest.

  The undead priest looked down, tilting his head slightly, as if mildly surprised.

  She shoved again. The blade sank to the hilt.

  Fake Cashnar turned to her. “Idiot! You should’ve cut his head off!” he shouted, in Sierelith’s voice.

  Isabelle’s blood turned cold. She was right. That had been so, so stupid.

  She braced a foot against his chest and pulled with all her strength.

  Elias grabbed the blade with one skeletal hand.

  Isabelle sent a lightning surge through it.

  His hand sizzled. Black smoke curled off his fingers.

  He let go, and Isabelle scrambled backward, sword still clenched tightly in her fist.

  Elias stared, stunned. He looked between her and Sierelith’s illusion of NOVA. “This was your last trick!” Green flames erupted from his eyes, as if the power surging through him had finally become too much to contain, along with his fury.

  Isabelle instinctively stepped back.

  Something hard and cold stopped her retreat.

  The altar.

  Elias rose from the ground, cloaked in an aura of seething energy.

  Isabelle steadied herself, sword firm in her grip.

  It was all she had left.

  Her sword and her faith.

  There was nothing more she could do now but place her fate in His hands.

  If she was worthy, Orbisar would stand with her.

  “Come on, demon,” she shouted. “Let me show you the light of Orbisar!”