The necromancer loomed before Jack, still monstrous, his form wreathed in flickering remnants of necrotic energy. Though weakened by the Cursed Circle, his presence remained an oppressive force, his green, glowing, hate-filled eyes burning with malice. The battlefield crackled with tension, the air thick with the stench of decay and scorched magic.

  Lyla’s Witchfire still clung to his form, spectral flames licking at his darkened flesh, chipping away at the arcane fortifications that once made him untouchable. The Cursed Circle sapped away at his vitality, draining his unnatural endurance and making his movements sluggish. And yet, he did not falter.

  Jack steadied his spear, his grip firm. He had seen monsters, he had fought terrors beyond imagination, and Faraun was nothing compared to an eldritch monster from another reality. Jack was done faltering. This time, he would strike, and he would not hold back. And neither would his friends.

  Lyla raised her arms, weaving a rapid incantation as the mana around her flared. The forest floor twisted at her feet as she unleashed a burst of thorny tendrils reaching up from the ground to bind Faraun in place. The necromancer snarled, his form flickering in an attempt to teleport away, but the sluggishness from the Cursed Circle slowed his reaction. The tendrils wrapped around his limbs, anchoring him momentarily.

  Jack lunged. His spear, still humming with the last remnants of his Phantom Soul Strike, became a silver blur as he thrust forward, aiming for the exposed flesh where Faraun’s defenses had begun to wane. His attack found purchase, the tip of the weapon piercing into the necromancer’s side. Apparently, the Cursed Circle had weakened his natural defenses as weel. A sharp hiss echoed through the battlefield as the spear bit through necrotic flesh, black ichor spilling forth.

  Faraun roared in fury. Despite the wound, his claw lashed out with monstrous speed, forcing Jack to pivot sharply to avoid being cleaved in two. The strike tore through the air just inches from his face, the sheer force sending a gust of wind past him.

  From the left, Cael struck. The rogue moved like a shadow, his enchanted dagger flashing in the dim light. He aimed for Faraun’s exposed flank, driving his blade toward the base of the necromancer’s spine. But even weakened, Faraun was no easy prey. As though sensing the danger, he twisted at the last moment, his free hand shoooting back unnaturally fast, catching Cael by the throat.

  “Fool,” Faraun rasped, his grip tightening. Dark energy surged through his fingers, necrotic magic crackling along Cael’s skin which began to turn black and necrotize.

  Before the death magic could fully take hold, a surge of water crashed into Faraun’s side, breaking his grip on Cael and forcing him back. Monsoon the Wavewolf descended upon him like a storm given flesh, his sea-blue fur bristling, his fangs bared in a snarl. His presence was a force of nature—fluid yet relentless, like the crashing tides.

  Without hesitation, he shot forward with Riptide Charge, his body propelled by a surge of water that carried him across the battlefield in a blink. His claws, gleaming with oceanic energy, slashed through the air with devastating speed. Faraun barely had time to react. He attempted to teleport away, but the sluggishness from the Cursed Circle dulled his reflexes. He only managed a partial teleport, reappearing a few feet back—just enough to avoid a killing blow but not the full force of Monsoon’s attack.

  The Wavewolf’s claws raked across Faraun’s torso, tearing into necrotic flesh. A sound like grinding bones echoed as deep gashes formed, spilling dark ichor onto the cursed earth.

  Faraun snarled, his free hand rising as he spat out a vile incantation. "Kneel."

  A wave of oppressive, unnatural power flooded the battlefield- the word infused with the weight of death itself. The force struck Monsoon mid-motion, his limbs stiffening as his mind wavered against the sheer will of the undead tyrant.

  Jack saw it—Monsoon faltering, his muscles locking against his will.

  "Monsoon, move!" Jack shouted, his spear igniting with renewed power as he rushed to intervene.

  The wolf’s resistance was formidable, but Faraun’s command still held him just long enough for the necromancer to raise his transformed appendage. With a brutal swipe, the scythe-like appendage slashed toward Monsoon’s exposed side.

  Then, at the last moment, the spell broke.

  Monsoon’s body flowed like water, twisting unnaturally as he narrowly avoided the killing blow. He countered instantly, his jaws snapping forward, fangs glowing with eerie frost. He clamped down on Faraun’s outstretched arm, ice spreading from the bite mark, sinking into cursed flesh. The necrotic magic pulsed in retaliation, but Monsoon did not let go.

  Faraun howled in fury, swinging wildly to dislodge the Wavewolf, but Monsoon held firm, freezing flesh and restricting movement.

  Gritting his teeth, Jack forced his partially regenerated Mana to flow, guiding them through his spear like a conduit. The weapon trembled in his grasp as crimson fire erupted along its length, the glow casting long, jagged shadows across the ruined battlefield. The cursed energy clinging to Faraun recoiled from the sudden burst of elemental power, flickering erratically as if struggling to maintain its hold.

  Monsoon, sensing the shift in momentum, released his frozen grip and leaped back, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing as he studied the necromancer’s reaction. The Wavewolf landed lightly, poised to strike again, but waited for Jack to make his move.

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  Jack did not hesitate. With a powerful step forward, he lunged, his spear now a streak of blazing light as he drove it toward Faraun’s smoldering chest. The tip struck true, piercing through tattered robes and corrupted flesh. A burst of searing heat followed, golden flames racing along the necrotic body, charring and consuming as they burned. The sound of sizzling flesh filled the air, and the putrid stench of burning rot made Jack’s stomach churn.

  Faraun’s scream was unlike anything human. It was a raw, unearthly wail, layered with agony and fury. His form flickered wildly, as if the fire was unraveling the unnatural force that kept him bound to the mortal plane. He staggered back, his clawed hands grasping at the wound as if he could tear away the pain through sheer will alone. The cursed circle continued to sap his strength, and Lyla’s Witchfire still clung to him, amplifying his torment. For a moment, Jack thought this might be the killing blow.

  Then Faraun lifted his arms, his glowing eyes flaring with renewed wrath.

  A sudden pressure built in the air, thick and suffocating, like the weight of an impending storm. The leaves in the clearing shuddered, and the wind stilled as if nature itself recoiled from the dark power gathering within him. Jack’s instincts screamed at him to move, but before he could react, an unseen force erupted from Faraun’s body in a violent burst.

  The shockwave tore through the clearing like a hurricane, bending trees and ripping leaves from their branches. Jack barely had time to brace himself before he was hurled backward. The world spun as he was lifted off his feet, weightless for a terrifying instant before the earth rushed up to meet him. He crashed through a thicket of underbrush, the impact jarring every bone in his body. He tumbled over damp soil and gnarled roots, his spear nearly wrenched from his grasp as he skidded to a stop against the base of a massive oak.

  Lyla’s scream cut through the chaos as she was flung through the air, her small frame colliding against the trunk of a twisted birch. Her breath left her in a sharp gasp as she hit hard-packed earth with a teeth-rattling jolt.

  Cael, who had been mid-strike, was caught by the wave mid-dash. His body twisted as he was thrown violently into a dense thicket, vanishing momentarily within a tangle of brambles before crashing to the forest floor with a pained groan.

  Monsoon, the largest of them, dug his claws into the earth, fighting against the sheer force of the blast. His muscles strained, his claws carving deep trenches in the soil as he resisted. But even he could not stand against it fully. With a final push, the force sent him careening backward, slamming into the thick trunk of a fallen tree. The old wood cracked under the impact, splintering as Monsoon hit the ground with a heavy thud. He lay still for a moment before shaking himself off and rising, his golden eyes burning with fury, his breath coming in deep, controlled growls.

  The clearing fell into a stunned silence, broken only by the rustling of disturbed leaves drifting back to the ground and the crackling of lingering embers from Jack’s fire magic. The scent of scorched wood and churned earth filled the air. Jack gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, his muscles aching, his breath ragged. The golden flames along his spear still flickered, but the attack had drained more from him than he wanted to admit.

  At the center of the devastation, Faraun stood unmoved. His form was battered, his robes completely gone, and his body bore the blackened scars of Jack’s strike, yet his presence remained darkly commanding. The cursed circle continued to gnaw at him, the unseen energy fraying the edges of his existence. His breaths were labored, his body trembling from accumulated wounds, but his eyes still blazed with hatred.

  Then, something stirred at his feet.

  A pair of golden eyes flared open beneath him.

  The shift was so subtle at first that Faraun did not even notice. A shape, sleek and predatory, began to rise from his own shadow, moving with unnatural fluidity as if the darkness itself had given birth to a living form. A spectral shimmer passed over the creature’s white fur, its body wreathed in ghostly mist.

  Goldeyes had been waiting.

  Silent and patient, the ghostly wolf had concealed himself within Faraun’s own shadow, lying in wait for the perfect moment. Now, as the necromancer stood weakened and exposed, he struck.

  With an unnatural grace, Goldeyes lunged upward, his movements smooth as flowing water. His jaws parted, revealing fangs that shimmered with spectral energy, a glow that pulsed with an eerie radiance.

  Then, he sank his teeth into Faraun’s neck and tore away a large chunk of flesh.

  The reaction was immediate.

  The twisted elf’s scream was a ragged, broken thing, carrying a pain deeper than flesh. His form convulsed violently, his form flickering and distorting, as though coming undone at the seams. Darkness bled from the wound, the very fabric of his being unraveling under the assault.

  Goldeyes landed lightly, ghostly white mist curling around his paws as he growled low in his throat, his gaze locked onto the staggering necromancer. The wolf’s breath came slow and steady, his fangs still stained with black blood. Spectral Bite and Shadow Jump had grown stronger since his evolution into an Ancestral Spiritcaller.

  Faraun stumbled, barely keeping his balance. His hands clawed at the wound, but there was nothing he could grasp. His body continued to waver, his presence flickering as if struggling to remain whole. Desperation flashed across his twisted features as his body trembled, the necrotic energy holding him together unraveling with every passing second. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, his fingers twitching as he grasped at the empty air, as if trying to snatch back the pieces of himself that were slipping away.

  His form flickered violently, black tendrils of decaying magic spiraling off him like smoke. His presence, once oppressive and suffocating, had begun to wane, the weight of his unnatural existence crumbling under the force of Goldeyes’ bite. His mouth opened as if to speak, but only a rasping wheeze escaped—a sound not of pain alone, but of something far deeper. A final, pitiful realization that he had lost.

  It was with a mixture of relief and pity that Jack watched as the necromancer staggered backward, his once-commanding form now barely holding itself together. The cursed circle still drained him, tearing at the last threads of his spectral being. His luminous green eyes, filled with eternal hate, flickered and dimmed. His feet no longer touched the ground; his body hovered, unstable and insubstantial, like a dying ember fighting against the wind.

  “No…” Faraun’s voice was barely more than a whisper, carried off by the breeze that whistled through the trees. His hands curled into claws, reaching outward—not toward Jack, not toward his enemies, but toward something unseen, something beyond this world.

  Then, in an instant, his body caved inward. Like a candle being snuffed out, his form collapsed into itself, consumed by a vortex of darkness. The air around him warped, distorting as if reality itself rejected his presence. Shadows coiled, then burst apart like shattered glass, and with a final, piercing wail, Faraun was gone.

  The necromancer did not fall. He did not leave behind a corpse, nor a lingering trace of his presence. One moment he was there, writhing against his inevitable fate, and the next, he simply ceased to be. The silence that followed was deafening.