The world was a maelstrom of grief and fire. Erica's desperate plasma blast had saved me, but the cost was devastating. Neil, our brilliant archivist, lay dead. Juno, our soul-seer, knelt in the dirt, clutching a shattered arm, his face a mask of unbearable agony from the curse that linked his pain to Eric's. We were crippled, grieving, and standing on the precipice of annihilation. The momentary lull after Erica's attack was heavy with the promise of our impending deaths.
Derek's laughter, harsh and grating, cut through the silence. "Is that all you've got? One last firework before the end?" He regained his footing, his smirk returning. "Your little strategist is useless, your healer is overwhelmed, and your strongest fighters are being bled dry. It's over."
He was right. My mind felt like it was wading through tar. The Maleficium user's curse, a constant, leaden pressure, made every strategic thought a monumental effort. My plan had failed. My team was being systematically dismantled. We couldn't win this fight. Not like this.
It was in that moment of despair that I saw it. Amidst the chaos, Juno looked at me. His face was pale, streaked with tears and dirt, his body trembling from the shared pain of Eric's wounds. But his eyes… his eyes were sharp, clear, and filled with a terrifying, final resolve. He wasn't just looking at me; he was trying to tell me something. His gaze flickered from me to the cackling curse user, then down to the ground beside him where a sharp, jagged rock lay.
And then I understood. His skill, Soul Etching, didn't just see weakness; it saw connections. He had seen the nature of the curse that bound him. It wasn't just a one-way street. He was going to sever the connection himself.
It was a sacrifice. A final, desperate gambit.
"Juno, no," I breathed, the words lost in the din of battle.
He gave me a faint, heartbreaking smile—a final farewell. Before anyone could react, he grabbed the sharp rock with his good hand. There was no hesitation. With a final, agonized cry that was half-grief for Neil and half-defiance, he plunged the stone deep into his own chest, directly over his heart.
The effect was instantaneous and horrific.
The Maleficium user, who had been preparing another hex, suddenly screamed. It was not a cry of victory, but of pure, unadulterated agony. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his own chest, his eyes wide with the phantom pain of a fatal wound. The "Hex of Shared Pain" had become a double-edged sword. He was experiencing the full, overwhelming agony of Juno's final moments. He wasn't dead, but his mind was shattered by the echo of a deathblow, leaving him completely paralyzed.
The mental fog that had clouded my mind vanished as if it had never been there. The world snapped back into sharp, brutal focus. Grief would come later. Now was the time for vengeance.
"MASHA!" My voice was like a whip crack. "THE ILLUSIONIST! HE'S WIDE OPEN! ICE COFFIN!"
The Phantasm user, shocked by his teammate's sudden collapse, was a half-second too slow to react. Masha, her face a mask of cold fury, didn't need to be told twice. She poured her grief and rage into a single, focused point of absolute cold. The ground around the illusionist erupted, and a tomb of thick, opaque ice instantly encased him, freezing him solid in a silent, eternal scream.
Two down.
"PUPPET!" I commanded, turning my will to the other side of the battlefield. "THROUGH THE SHIELD!"
My shadow creature, still scraping at the Wardcraft user's barrier, obeyed. The shield flickered as its caster stared in horror at the frozen tomb of his ally. In that moment of distraction, my puppet's form dissolved into intangible shadow, phasing through the magical barrier. It re-solidified on the other side, its shadowy hand plunging deep into the Wardcraft user's chest, snuffing out his life before he could even turn around.
Three down.
The tide had not just turned; it had become a tidal wave.
"Talia!" I yelled. "The Graviton user is yours!"
Talia, freed from the chaos of the illusions, was a silver wraith. The injured gravity mage, seeing his support crumble around him, tried to flee. He never had a chance. Talia closed the distance in the blink of an eye, her rapier a blur. A single, precise thrust to the back of his neck, and he crumpled to the ground.
Four down.
In less than thirty seconds, their entire backline had been annihilated. All that remained was Derek and his four brawling cronies, who were still locked in a desperate struggle with Eric.
Derek roared in fury, seeing his team collapse. "You'll all die for this!" He activated the full power of the artifact on his sword. A violent, crimson aura erupted around him as he charged, no longer at me, but at the nearest threat—Talia.
But our team was no longer scattered and broken.
"Eric, with her!" I commanded.
Eric, bloodied but unyielding, met Derek's charge, his shield taking the brunt of the artifact-fueled blow. The impact sent shockwaves through the ground, but he held his ground. Talia was already there, her rapier darting in, forcing Derek to defend, her speed a perfect counter to his overwhelming power. They locked him down, a two-person wall of defense and precision.
"Edgar, keep talking!"
"His right side is wide open after a downward swing! The artifact is making him reckless!" Edgar shouted, his voice clear and confident now that the immediate threat to him was gone.
Masha and Erica, her mana slowly returning, became our crowd control. Masha coated the ground around the four remaining brawlers in slick ice, making their footing treacherous. Erica, conserving her strength, launched small, stinging firebolts, forcing them to dodge and breaking their rhythm.
And then, I brought forth the true horror. I reached out my hand, not to one corpse, but to three. The fallen Phantasmist, Wardcrafter, and Graviton user.
"Serve me," I commanded, pouring my power into their fresh corpses.
Three new shadow puppets, their forms twisted silhouettes of the boys they once were, rose from the ground. Their violet eyes opened in unison. They were an army of ghosts, a testament to our brutal victory.
I pointed at the four brawlers, who were slipping and sliding on Masha's ice, trying desperately to fight Eric's remaining opponent. "Overwhelm them."
My three new puppets surged forward, a silent, terrifying wave of darkness. They fell upon the brawlers, who screamed in terror as they were swarmed by the shadowy visages of their dead friends.
The battle was won. It was a brutal, bloody, and costly victory. I looked over at Juno's still form, the sharp rock still embedded in his chest. His final, desperate act had saved us all. He had seen the path to victory when my own cursed mind could not.
Grief was a cold, heavy stone in my gut. But as I watched Derek being systematically dismantled by Eric and Talia, and his last men being torn apart by the ghosts of their comrades, I knew one thing for certain. We would not let Juno's sacrifice be in vain.