Dozens of figures, once human, were closing in from all directions.

  Their faces were blank, their bodies rotted and broken, but they weren’t slow. Not by a long shot.

  Elias Morvain stood among them, clutching his twisted wooden staff, the sphere of Life mounted at the top.

  A crack ran across its surface, pulsing ominously as it leaked tendrils of green energy into the air.

  Derek kept his eyes on the telemetry from the micro-missiles charged with Death energy he’d just fired.

  They soared upward, leaving behind twin trails of pitch-black smoke. Two black serpents slithering across the sky.

  A bead of sweat tried to slip down his temple, only to be wicked away by NOVA’s internal circulation system.

  His heartbeat echoed inside the armor, loud and steady like a war drum.

  Tunga and Isabelle flanked Derek, weapons ready.

  Isabelle whipped around, gray eyes wide. “Derek… what are those?”

  Derek shrugged. “A little side project I worked on with Ithara. I’m gonna try opening a path. Be ready to move. This is gonna get ugly.”

  He loaded a new salvo of missiles. These were the purple ones.

  The small metal cylinder clicked into place inside the launcher.

  Without warning, the two black micro-missiles cut their ascent and sharply banked downward.

  The silence was surreal.

  An undead horde was charging them, and yet he could still hear birdsong.

  The buzz of insects thick in the air.

  No war cries.

  No shouted orders.

  Just silence and the whisper of hundreds of feet brushing against the grass.

  Dozens and dozens of feet.

  Until the two missiles touched down.

  It slammed into the center of the undead swarm just ten meters away, landing with a dull thud—like someone chucking a heavy stone into wet soil.

  Derek waited, heart tight.

  Still nothing. Just a thud.

  “Shit,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Dud.”

  Then the ground rumbled.

  A low, ominous vibration—like the growl of something ancient waking up beneath the surface.

  A black cloud erupted from the point of impact, spreading outward like ink spilled across parchment.

  The darkness expanded, swallowing everything. Grass, dirt, shrubs, insects… and a massive chunk of the undead horde.

  Elias included.

  The ones outside the effect froze in place, as if they no longer knew what to do.

  Tunga took a step back, mouth agape and wide eyes.

  Isabelle spun toward Derek, eyes blazing. “What have you done? That magic is forbidden. And for good reason.”

  Derek pointed at the paralyzed creatures. “Death magic’s the only thing that works on them. I don’t care about the rest.”

  Isabelle shook her head, furious, but said nothing.

  The cloud kept growing, though slower now.

  It crept forward—reaching, searching…

  Tunga and Isabelle stepped back, eyes wide as the blackness inched closer.

  Then stopped.

  Just one step short of their feet.

  The undead outside the dark mass froze. They were close now. Close enough for Derek to see their faces, their clothing… the wretched state they were in.

  Farmers. Shepherds. Craftsmen. Ordinary people.

  Their clothes were coarse, built for labor, not fashion. What little remained of them, anyway.

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  Some corpses were naked. Others had no skin at all. Just exposed muscles, ligaments, bone… and things that should never be seen.

  Elias’s voice rang out from within the cloud. Sharp and shrill, like a broken instrument. “You… how can you wield the forbidden magic of Death?”

  Derek cursed under his breath. Of course it hadn’t finished him off. A Silver-level priest wasn’t going to die that easy.

  Hopefully the others caught in the blast weren’t so lucky.

  He shrugged. “I’m pretty flexible when it comes to laws and taboos. And honestly? A zombie priest running an undead cult probably isn’t the guy to lecture me on morality.”

  “Undead?” Elias’s voice cracked like a snapped violin string. “Do not blaspheme! These are the faithful of Orbisar, gathered here by their devotion!”

  Derek blinked, then glanced at Isabelle.

  She offered a slight shrug. “I think the corrupted Life sphere drove him mad,” she murmured. “He doesn’t realize he’s undead. Doesn’t even know what he’s doing.”

  Derek curled his lip. “So… a bunch of mindless zombies blindly following a raving lunatic? Honestly, not that different from how the Church usually works.”

  Isabelle shot him a look sharp enough to flay steel.

  “Listen up!” Derek called out, voice rising. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from. I can wipe you and your—uh—congregation off the map.”

  Tunga stepped forward, eyes locked on the dark cloud. “That…” he pointed, hand trembling. “That is bad…”

  Derek gave him a side glance. “Not now, Tunga. I’m trying to negotiate with a zombie priest.”

  Elias’s voice shrieked through the trees. “Do you think Orbisar fears your tricks, false messiah?!”

  At the center of the black cloud, a green light flared. It began as a flicker, but quickly surged, pulsing like a heartbeat made of alien fire.

  Derek clenched his jaw. “Get ready. One way or another, we’re punching through. Even if we get lost in the jungle, we’ll find our way to Ebonshade.” He glanced at the others. “Mission stays the same. Find the girls. Get back to Rothmere.”

  Isabelle nodded. “On my honor.” She bowed her head in a brief salute.

  Tunga’s face remained unreadable. No way to tell if he understood, or what he’d do next.

  Nothing new there.

  The green light exploded like a supernova, sweeping away the hovering darkness.

  What it revealed once the Life sphere had purged the Death energy from Derek’s missiles left him breathless.

  A perfect circle of death surrounded Elias.

  Grass, shrubs, insects, small animals… even birds, lay lifeless across the ashen soil, as if every trace of vitality had been erased in an instant.

  The undead within the Death field were down, unmoving. Like they’d always been there, quietly decomposing.

  The destruction was absolute. Like Death itself had swept through the clearing.

  The only thing untouched was the Life sphere atop Elias’s staff. A halo of green energy pulsed outward, flowing down the wood and cloaking his undead body in a shimmering barrier.

  It had saved him—but not the others.

  “Now!” Derek shouted, bolting into the scorched dead zone. It was the only gap in the encirclement.

  Their one shot to escape Elias’s trap.

  Tunga and Isabelle followed close behind.

  The remaining undead gave chase, but the ones felled by Death magic didn’t move. That was their only break. If those things got back up, they were screwed.

  Derek couldn’t push NOVA’s actuators to the limit without leaving the others behind, but he set a grueling pace.

  Elias raised his staff. A bolt of green lightning cracked down in front of them.

  Vines exploded from the soil in a spray of dirt and leaves, whipping toward them like striking snakes.

  Tunga raised his own staff and the vines froze mid-air, twitching inches from their faces.

  They didn’t stop.

  Isabelle slashed through the paralyzed tendrils with her sword to clear the path.

  “Vanda,” Derek barked, “I want holo projections of the three of us. Load them into the missile memory banks. We need more targets in the jungle. We need to split their pursuit and lose our trail.”

  “Understood, Derek.”

  They broke through to the jungle’s edge, only to find a wall of tangled vines, branches, and undergrowth waiting for them. A wall of green, thick and unyielding.

  Tunga lifted his staff, and the vegetation parted like a thick curtain to let them through.

  Derek fired. The purple micromissile zipped a short distance, then exploded behind them in a puff of violet smoke.

  “Projections complete,” Vanda said. “As long as the missile’s magic field remains active, so will the illusions.”

  Derek glanced back just in time. A dozen or more holographic duplicates of their trio sprinted in different directions through the fading smoke.

  Clusters of undead were already breaking off to chase them.

  “Vanda, plot a route to Ebonshade. We’ll get lost in this jungle without guidance.”

  “Route set. The Repair Bots are transmitting aerial scans of the village. It’s not very large. Hiding there won’t be easy.”

  “Good. That just means finding Alyra and getting her out will be faster.”

  “Derek,” Vanda said gently. “While you were… occupied, I scanned the undead group for any sign of Alyra.”

  His gut twisted into a tight knot. He focused on the display—on the path ahead. Eyes forward. Let her talk.

  He’d find Alyra. He’d get her out.

  “She wasn’t among them,” Vanda continued. “Neither was the illusion mage. They might still be alive.”

  The knot loosened. There was still a chance. Somehow, that lunatic illusionist, Sierelith, had made it to Ebonshade.

  Just to drag him there.

  Just to prove he was the Cashnar.

  But why? Why was it so important to her? Was she just another zealot? She didn’t seem the type. Too sharp. Too calculating.

  No more sounds of pursuit.

  Each time they pushed through the thick undergrowth, Tunga raised his staff and sealed the path behind them, blending it back into the jungle. Between that and the decoy projections scattering in every direction, it had to be enough to lose the priest.

  At least for now… they were probably safe.

  The jungle’s tangle tightened around them with every step, as if the vegetation itself was determined to choke them.

  Derek had spent several days in or near the jungle by now, but he could swear the green had never looked this vivid. The tangle of vines and branches had never seemed so thick. It felt like the whole place was bursting with life—overcompensating, maybe, for what they’d just done.

  “Derek, I need to know,” Isabelle panted. “Did you absorb the power of a Death sphere?”

  “No,” Derek replied, eyes fixed on the dense foliage ahead. “Ithara used blackstone crystals charged with that energy.”

  “Crystals,” Isabelle echoed. “Good. That means once they’re spent, the power won’t stay inside you.”

  “No,” Derek said again. “But after seeing what Death magic did to those things, I kind of wish it did. We could’ve used a weapon that actually erased them. Even Elias.”

  “No,” Tunga growled. “You not want death inside.”

  Derek gave him a tired smile. “Death’s been inside me for years, shaman.”

  Tunga grunted. “You always twist words. Hear only what feeds your belly.” He jabbed a finger behind them. “There. Where you threw death. Nothing grow there again. Jungle is dead. Land now belongs to death.”

  Derek frowned. “I don’t get it. Grass’ll grow back eventually, won’t it? Maybe with a Life sphere or something…”

  Tunga shook his head. “You killed it. That part of jungle is gone. Forever.”

  Derek swallowed. The weight of what they called Death magic hit him like an anvil. A Death sphere could wipe out an entire region, make it uninhabitable forever. Even an entire world. No terraforming could fix that. No healing. No redemption after its touch.

  He had fired that missile with the same ease he'd launched hundreds before, back during his missions. And that was after everyone had warned him it was a mistake.

  Of course he’d ignored them. He was Derek Steele. He never answered to anyone.

  But that scar in the land would stay there forever. A permanent reminder of what he’d done.

  The black edge of Death had stopped just a few feet from where they stood. It had nearly killed them all.

  “Derek,” Isabelle said firmly as she pushed through the undergrowth. “You can’t keep treating everything like it’s a joke. Magic, faith… to you, it’s all some kind of game.”

  Derek popped open NOVA’s helmet and ran a hand through his hair. The jungle’s humid heat slammed into him like a wall. Thick, oppressive. “What I can’t do is take any of this madness seriously.” He met her gaze. “I just fired a missile loaded with literal Death. Do you understand how insane that is?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not insanity, Derek. To me, it’s just part of the world I was born into. The world I’ve always known.”

  Derek grabbed a vine and yanked it aside to clear the path. “Just because you’ve all learned to survive in this madness doesn’t make it any less broken.”

  He glanced up at the thick canopy overhead, searching for the right words. “It’s different for me, Isabelle.” He pointed skyward. “I’ve traveled among the stars. I’ve seen other worlds. And believe me—nothing out there even comes close to the kind of insanity you’ve got down here. And I’ve got this awful feeling I haven’t even seen the worst of it yet.”

  “It’s true,” Isabelle said softly. “You haven’t.” Then, with quiet conviction: “And everything you’ve seen—and everything still to come—is only a glimpse of Orbisar’s greatness.”

  Derek lowered his gaze. “Orbisar… right. Whatever that actually is,” he muttered.

  Tunga stepped forward and raised his staff, pressing it toward a wall of tangled vines. It didn’t budge. He frowned and tried again, this time channeling his will through the wood.

  The vines parted slowly, reluctantly, like the jungle itself was resisting them.

  “Jungle is strange here,” Tunga muttered. “It… pushes back.”

  Derek didn’t answer. Life and death seemed locked in a tighter struggle here than anywhere he’d ever seen. One step at a time, he kept pushing forward through the suffocating green.

  Behind them lay scorched earth and corpses.

  Ahead, only unknowns.

  The deeper they went, the more the jungle felt wrong. Alive, yes. But no longer natural.

  And Ebonshade was getting closer with every breath.