Zaraea ran through corridor after corridor, searching for a way out. Heavy footsteps thundered behind her—the Shadowfell Kingdom's soldiers in full armor were determined not to lose her trail.
"The dungeon… that has to be the way to Mythren," Zaraea muttered.
She considered returning to the main hall to find the entrance to the dungeon, but she had to avoid the soldiers at all costs.
Her presence here was a threat to the kingdom. She couldn't afford to be detained even for a day—not when her sister was heading toward the most dangerous place in all of Eldoria.
Unfortunately, when she finally reached the main hall, dozens of soldiers were already standing guard. She stopped, scanning the area, trying to figure out where the dungeon might be.
"You, you, and you. Go search the dungeon. Don't lose her, or Lilith will have your heads!" barked a man who appeared to be their commander.
Perfect. Zaraea now knew exactly where she needed to go.
She took a deep breath. There was no other option—she would have to go through them alone.
"Looking for me?" Zaraea stepped into view.
There were many of them—dozens of soldiers. Spears and swords were raised, all pointed at a single target: her.
"Surrender!" the commander ordered. "You're inside the palace. One wrong move and you die right here."
Zaraea lifted her gaze, calm and cold.
"I didn't come here to surrender," she said confidently. "Catch me if you can."
She stepped forward. The first soldier charged, shouting as he raised his sword high.
Zaraea caught the blade with her bare hand. Cracks spread across the metal before it shattered in her grip.
Before the soldier could even breathe, she swung her arm. His body flew into a pillar, collapsing the ancient stone with a deafening crash. The hall instantly turned into a battlefield.
Spears thrust at her all at once. Zaraea stomped her foot into the floor. The marble shattered, a shockwave rippling outward, knocking the front line of soldiers down like dominoes.
"Keep going! Don't give her any space!" the commander shouted as they began to surround her.
Zaraea grabbed one soldier with a single hand, spun her body, and slammed him into the ground. The impact cracked the floor, forming a small crater.
She seized a large fallen shield, not as protection, but as a weapon. One swing sent three soldiers flying, their armor dented, their bodies thrown far back.
Blood trickled down her temple. Zaraea didn't flinch.
"Do you still want to keep going," she said, her voice low but echoing, "or will you back off and value your lives?"
The commander rushed in with two massive swords, striking her back while she turned.
Zaraea didn't fall. She slowly turned her head. With one hand, she grabbed the commander by the collar and lifted him until his feet dangled in the air.
"How dare you…" she whispered.
Then she slammed his body into the floor with full force.
The palace floor collapsed, massive cracks spreading in every direction. The remaining soldiers staggered back, terror clearly written on their faces.
Zaraea stood amid the destruction, breathing heavily, fists clenched. Dust and debris floated through the air like war ash. She stared at those still standing.
"Leave," she said simply. "Or this palace will fall with you."
No one dared move. One by one, swords clattered to the floor. Zaraea turned and walked away, leaving the ruined hall behind.
•••
MYTHREN
After a long journey, Nimora and the others pushed through countless dangers in this dreadful place, until they finally reached the Graveyard—a resting place for those who had fallen.
There was no natural light in Mythren, only the dim glow of creatures and plants that lived there.
"That cave should lead straight to Erebus Abyss," Nyssara said, pointing toward a nearby tunnel.
They continued carefully, walking between graves without stepping on them, honoring the dead.
At the rear, Nyssara suddenly gasped. She felt something wrong. She stopped and looked around—one hand was emerging from the soil. A bad omen.
"RUN!" Nyssara shouted.
The four of them froze for a split second before undead began rising from their graves. They ran as fast as they could, undead now chasing them.
When they reached the center of the vast graveyard, dozens of undead surrounded them from all sides. They formed a tight circle, bracing for battle.
Thyra stepped forward first, her twin axes glowing dark red. She spun, her dual axes creating a storm of steel. Undead bodies were sliced apart, scattered among the tombstones. But more kept crawling out from behind.
On the other side, Rylan pressed his hand to the ground. Massive roots burst from the soil, wrapping around the undead and crushing their brittle bones.
"Nyssara, now!"
Nyssara lifted her harp, fingers plucking rapidly.
"Dirge of binding strings," she murmured.
Threads of light shot out, binding the remaining undead and pulling them into a single point. Rowan smiled at the sight.
The boy stepped forward, drawing his bow across the violin. "Crescendo Impact."
A shockwave of sound slammed into the bound undead. Dozens of them shattered, bones exploding outward.
Then the ground began to quake violently before erupting. A massive figure rose—Ragnar, an undead giant armored in gravestones, green eyes blazing with hatred, a huge axe in his grip.
Ragnar swung his axe, cracking the ground and sending Thyra flying.
Now it was Nimora's turn. She unleashed her healing magic. Waves of holy light enveloped the team, closing their wounds within seconds.
Thyra rose again. "Our turn!"
Rylan spread his arms wide.
"Wrath of the old grove."
A colossal tree burst from the graveyard floor, its roots binding Ragnar in place. Rowan lifted his violin, celestial notes falling like starlight.
Thyra leaped high, shouting, "Take this!"
Both axes struck Ragnar's head at once. The creature shattered, its body collapsing into dust and light.
Five figures stood there, breathing heavily. This was the first time they had truly fought together—and they had slain Ragnar, the Graveyard Guardian. Rowan and Nyssara's deadly harmony of harp and violin worked perfectly. Rylan controlled the battlefield with his magic. Nimora healed everyone at once. And Thyra's twin axes delivered the final blow.
•••
Elsewhere, a woman in a hoodie watched from afar.
"Maybe you beat small fry like that," she said calmly. "Now let's see how you handle this."
The ground around Nimora and the others shook again. Dozens of creatures like Ragnar emerged from the earth, wielding different weapons, while even more undead began to rise.
"Enjoy the show, boss," the hooded woman said.