Rhonda, the savage queen of this bloody clearing, stared at me, her knuckles white around the haft of her massive axe. The terror that had momentarily gripped her forces was receding, replaced by the hardened glare of a survivor sizing up a new, unexpected threat. She was a predator, and she recognized another.
"Dante," she said, her voice a low, rumbling growl that carried easily across the field of corpses. "So you finally showed up. I've been hearing whispers about you. The quiet boy who took ten. The strategist who vanished. I wanted to meet you." Her eyes flickered to the bodies of her fallen pack members, then back to me, a cold, appraising light in them. "I was planning to kill your team, break you, and then recruit you into my pack. A mind like yours is wasted on weaklings."
She took a step forward, unafraid of the five spectral horrors that flanked me. Her confidence was absolute, forged in the countless bloody battles she had won to get this far.
"You're my type, Dante," she continued, a predatory grin spreading across her face. "I admire your bravery, stepping up to the Goddess like that. It showed you have ambition. That's the only thing that matters in this world. So I'm still giving you an offer, an offer of life. Join me, be my strategist, and you live. Stand against me, and you die here, with the rest of this trash."
I let the silence hang for a moment, letting her words echo. Then, I laughed. It was not a sound of mirth, but a cold, sharp, dismissive sound that cut through the tension like a razor.
I halted abruptly, my smile vanishing. "Do you think you have the honor of controlling my life?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "Of telling me when I die or when I live? Then you are a fool, Rhonda. Because not even the Goddess who brought us here has that right."
I smiled again, a cruel, final thing. "And as for your offer… I'm sorry, but I can't accept. Because I have already decided. You and what's left of your pathetic pack will all die here tonight."
Before she could even roar in defiance, I gave the command. "Eradicate them."
The battle exploded. It was not the chaotic brawl from before; it was a symphony of coordinated death, conducted by me.
"Anchor!"
The shadow of the Graviton user glided forward. It raised its spectral hands, and a crushing, invisible force slammed down on a group of three savages who were charging forward. Their confident strides turned into a desperate, slow-motion crawl, their legs suddenly as heavy as lead. They were pinned, helpless.
"Corruptor!"
The hunched, seeping form of the Toximancy user's ghost drifted toward the trapped men. It exhaled, and a cloud of sickly, green-black miasma enveloped them. The Miasma of Decay. It wasn't a fast-acting poison; it was a slow, rotting curse that sapped their strength, corroded their armor, and made every breath a painful, choking ordeal. They clawed at their throats, their roars of fury turning into wet, hacking coughs.
"Deceiver!"
As the other savages tried to rush to their comrades' aid, the shadow of the Phantasmist flickered. Suddenly, the clearing was filled with a dozen shifting, ghostly images of my Juggernaut, each one charging from a different direction. The savages skidded to a halt, their eyes wide with confusion, swinging their weapons wildly at phantoms that dissolved on impact. Their formation was shattered, their minds overwhelmed by chaos.
While they were disoriented, I turned my attention to the lone survivor of the other team. Kael, the Mimic. He was still on the ground, staring in wide-eyed shock at the spectral horrors that had just saved him. I walked toward him, my Guardian puppet moving to intercept a savage who had broken through the illusions. The Guardian raised a shimmering Phantom Ward, and the savage's club bounced off the dark energy shield with a dull thud.
I crouched down in front of Kael, my face impassive. "You saw a lot of skills today," I stated, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Leo's Warpstep. Rhonda's Berserker Rage. The lightning mage's spell. You can use them, can't you?"
He could only nod, his throat too dry to speak.
"Good," I said. "Then you are useful. Your leader is dead. Your team is gone. From this moment on, you belong to me. You will use those skills for my benefit. You will be my weapon. Do you understand?"
It was not a question. It was a declaration of ownership. He looked from my cold eyes to the unfolding slaughter around us. He saw the savages being dismantled with terrifying efficiency. He saw my Juggernaut, the shadow of Derek, finally enter the fray. It manifested its greatsword of pure shadow and cleaved one of the poisoned, struggling savages in two with a single, brutal Spectral Strike.
Kael nodded again, a flicker of understanding—and terror—in his eyes. He understood he was simply trading one master for another, far more dangerous one.
The battle raged. My puppets were a perfect killing machine. The Anchor would root a target, the Corruptor would weaken it, the Deceiver would confuse its allies, and the Juggernaut, protected by the Guardian, would deliver the final, devastating blow. Six of Rhonda's nine remaining savages fell in this manner, their brute force completely negated by my flawless strategy and supernatural power. They died in confusion and agony, never landing a single significant blow.
But Rhonda was not a simple brute. She was a queen of savages for a reason. Watching her pack being slaughtered, her rage coalesced into a sharp, tactical focus.
"Forget the small ones!" she roared, pointing at my puppets with her blood-soaked axe. "They're just magic! Break the puppets! All of you, on me! We take them down together!"
The two remaining savages, hulking brutes with hide-like skin, rallied to her. Their fear was burned away by a final, desperate fury. They ignored the illusions, charged through the poison miasma, and focused all their attention on a single target: The Anchor.
The shadow of the Graviton user tried to pin them, but Rhonda, letting out a deafening war cry, activated her Berserker skill. The crimson aura flared around her, and with a burst of pure, rage-fueled strength, she fought through the gravity field. She and her two remaining warriors fell upon the Anchor like wolves. The shadow, not built for direct combat, was ripped apart, its spectral form dissolving into nothingness with a faint, psychic shriek that echoed in my mind.
The loss of the Anchor freed the battlefield. The heavy pressure was gone.
"Next!" Rhonda screamed, her eyes wild. She pointed at the Deceiver. "That one!"
They charged again. The Deceiver created a storm of illusions, but the three savages, their minds now focused on a single goal, simply smashed through them all, their eyes locked on the true target. The Deceiver, like the Anchor, had no physical defense. It was torn to shreds in seconds.
Two puppets down. The strain on my mana intensified.
"Guardian! Juggernaut! Intercept!" I commanded, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
My two most powerful puppets moved to engage. The Guardian formed its Phantom Ward, blocking Rhonda's charge. The Juggernaut swung its shadow greatsword, aiming to decapitate her.
But Rhonda was cunning. At the last second, she ducked under the swing, and her two brutes slammed into the Guardian's shield. The first blow made it flicker. The second caused cracks to appear. The third, combined with a furious kick from Rhonda, shattered the Phantom Ward completely. The Guardian stood exposed for a fraction of a second before the three savages tore it apart.
Three down. A sharp pain lanced through my head. Maintaining the Juggernaut and the Corruptor was becoming a serious drain.
The Corruptor, my last support puppet, tried to retreat, seeping its poison, but one of the brutes hurled his club with deadly accuracy. It passed through the shadow's form, but the raw physical force behind it seemed to disrupt its magical cohesion. The shadow wavered, then dissolved.
Four down.
Now, only one remained. The Juggernaut. The spectral king, the echo of Derek, stood alone against the Savage Queen and her two remaining champions.
"Now it's a real fight," Rhonda grinned, blood dripping from her chin.
What followed was a battle of titans. The Juggernaut, with its Aura of Dread and powerful Spectral Strikes, was a monster. It fought with a cold, relentless fury, its shadow greatsword clashing against Rhonda's massive axe. But it was three against one. While the Juggernaut battled Rhonda, her two brutes hammered at its flanks. Its shadowy form flickered and grew thin as it took blow after blow. It managed to land a devastating strike, its greatsword smashing one of the brutes to the ground, his chest caved in. But the victory was costly.
While the Juggernaut was focused on that kill, Rhonda saw her opening. With a final, triumphant roar, she swung her axe not at the Juggernaut's body, but at its head. The axe, wreathed in the last of her berserker energy, connected.
The Juggernaut's head, the crown jewel of my collection, was severed from its shoulders. The mighty shadow stood motionless for a second, then its form collapsed into a cloud of dispersing darkness, its crimson aura extinguishing like a dying star.
Five down.
The psychic backlash was immense. The sudden severing of the connection to all five of my powerful puppets felt like five chains snapping in my soul. A wave of nausea and vertigo washed over me. I stumbled back, a sharp, coppery taste filling my mouth as a trickle of blood dripped from my nose. My mana reserves were critically low, my mind reeling from the strain.
Across the clearing, Rhonda stood panting, leaning on her axe. One of her brutes was dead, the other heavily wounded. But they were alive. They had won. They had weathered the storm and destroyed my undead army.
She looked up, her eyes locking onto me. The predatory grin returned to her face, wider and more terrifying than before. She had seen my stumble. She had seen the blood. She knew I was vulnerable.
"No more puppets," she rasped, her voice filled with savage glee. "No more tricks."
She and her last remaining warrior began to walk toward me and the petrified Mimic, their heavy footsteps the slow, deliberate drumbeat of my own impending execution.