Isabelle stood with her sword in hand, guard up. The lightning energy Orbisar had gifted her pulsed beneath her skin like a predator lying in wait, hidden, but ready to strike at the faintest sign.

  The massive, burning trunk reminded her of the demons she used to see painted on temple walls and Novice school scrolls as a child.

  Its rotting bark was engulfed in flames, casting flickering shadows across the undergrowth. The blaze painted the leaves in shades of orange and crimson, as if the forest itself were bleeding light.

  Smoke curled upward in thick, choking plumes. It carried the stench of ash and death, clogging her nostrils and burning her throat.

  The fire crackled, popping and spitting embers. Branches groaned and snapped, sounding almost like bones breaking. It was the only sound left.

  The animated branches flailed with jerky, insect-like spasms. It looked panicked, blind, thrashing the ground with dry, twisted limbs and smacking itself in a useless attempt to put out the magical fire. All it managed to do was set more of itself ablaze.

  Its movements were slowing by the second. A sign that the magic keeping it alive was running dry.

  The Warden didn’t take her eyes off the flames.

  She had seen far too many undead—human or not—shrug off hideous wounds like they were nothing. Better to keep her guard up.

  Derek, Alyra, and that heretic spy would probably come through here on the way back.

  She needed to make sure the threat was neutralized. It was her duty as Warden of Narkhara to eliminate jungle demons, after all.

  As soon as they got back to Rothmere, she would report to Uriela. The Sacred Guard would take care of this mess.

  Strange they hadn’t already. Maybe Uriela wasn’t aware of how bad things had gotten. It wasn’t surprising, really. It was just an iron-level sphere. No one would’ve expected a situation like this.

  The tree had nearly stopped moving. Its long, twisted limbs, like the legs of some massive wooden insect, were now trembling with increasingly sporadic spasms.

  She relaxed her shoulders slightly. Almost done here.

  Tunga grunted next to her. “Hmm…”

  “What is it, shaman?”

  “Death and life here… feel strange.”

  “Of course they do,” Isabelle said. “A Life sphere fell and cracked open here. Its magic’s been leaking into the entire area for days. It’s bound to mess with nature’s balance.”

  Tunga shook his head firmly. “No. Was strange before. Long before sphere fell from sky. Spirit of the Beast showed us. Sphere only made things worse. Fast.”

  Isabelle frowned. “You’re talking about what the Inquisitor said, about a death cult?”

  “Hmm… not sure,” Tunga replied. “Maybe. Spirit said people here used life and death magic for weird, forbidden rituals. Forbidden not just for your kind—you forbid everything—but also for tribes.”

  He tightened his grip on his staff until his knuckles turned white. “Ebonshade people lived among the dead, and… strange things happened.”

  Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “What kind of rituals?”

  Tunga furrowed his brow and looked down. “With dead. Once a year, they did ceremony to wake the dead.”

  She gasped. “What? You mean they were raising undead? Why would a peaceful little village just outside Rothmere dabble in necromancy?”

  Tunga scratched his shaved head, grimacing. “They talked with them. With family. Like reunion. Short. At night. In secret. Then… they put them back underground.”

  Isabelle stared at the shaman, mouth slightly open. These people had been casually speaking to their dead loved ones once a year, using Orbisar’s sacred spheres in the most blasphemous way imaginable. And right under the Church’s nose, just a few hours from Rothmere.

  “You’re sure about this?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’m sure of what Spirit of the Beast showed me.”

  Isabelle touched her chin. “Well, it also told you Derek was the great Demon who’d destroy the world, and—”

  “But he is.” Tunga slammed his staff into the ground and gave her a dark look. “Death cult not only in Ebonshade. Your Church knows what they do. At least… those at the top.”

  Isabelle looked him in the eye, searching for any sign of doubt—but found none. He truly seemed to believe what he was saying. She’d heard of people using the power of the spheres without the Church’s permission, often for purposes far from holy, but the idea of a real, organized cult hidden within or alongside the Church itself? That was hard to believe.

  And yet… she could understand the temptation. The chance to speak to your loved ones again, even for a few minutes, that could pull at anyone.

  “I see,” Isabelle said. “Right after resurrection, the dead do retain a bit of who they were in life. That must’ve allowed them to speak with them.” She nudged a burning branch aside with her boot. “It’s a forbidden practice, yes, but now I get why they did it. If I could talk to my parents for just a few minutes… I don’t know if I could resist. But how did they wake them, and then put them back to rest?”

  The shaman shifted uneasily and scanned the jungle. “They had a Life sphere to wake them. And a Death sphere to make them sleep again. No other way. But no one knows where they kept them. Spirit of the Beast didn’t say. Just warned us to stay away.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The undead tree was nearly still now. Its long, jointed limbs twitched every so often with spasms, no longer under conscious control.

  Isabelle tilted her head slightly. “Strange. Did it not say what the danger was? I mean, sure, the ritual’s creepy and all, but if the dead stay buried most of the year, what’s the real threat?”

  Tunga took a moment before answering. “Spirit said that ritual—waking the dead—uses a lot of Life magic. Using it again and again for years filled the whole area with that energy. Spirit of the Beast said it was dangerous. Big danger. But didn’t say how.”

  Isabelle nodded. “I see. The Citadel might be able to make sense of it. That’s valuable information, Tunga. If we worked more closely with the tribes, keeping all of Narkhara safe might be easier, and so would solving problems like this.”

  Tunga raised his chin and watched the fire with a solemn look. “City folk think safety comes from hiding behind walls.”

  She sighed. For once, she didn’t have a comeback. The Church didn’t put enough resources into protecting villages outside the major cities. Ebonshade’s disaster was proof of that. Elias had been a powerful Orbisar Ascendant, and surely he’d done what he could. But left alone… even he hadn’t been enough.

  Once back in Rothmere, she’d pray for him. Then she’d speak to Uriela.

  She kicked another burning branch aside. “I think your Spirit was right. What’s happening here, especially to Elias, is deeply wrong.”

  The shaman nodded thoughtfully. “The mad priest controls the undead. Even though he is one too.”

  “Exactly,” said Isabelle. “Elias isn’t like other undead. Something happened to him. I think he’s the key to all this. If we can give him peace and recover the sphere… maybe we can end this mess.”

  The long, branch-like limbs gave a final twitch and collapsed onto the jungle floor.

  It was indistinguishable from the rest of the dead vegetation.

  The magical flames vanished, leaving behind a blackened, smoking trunk.

  With a smooth motion, Isabelle slid her sword back into its sheath. “We’re done here.”

  A low rumble echoed above. The first raindrops started falling. Within seconds, the tapping of rain on the wide leaves turned into a downpour.

  Every drop that struck the charred trunk released a puff of steam and a sharp hiss. Wisps of vapor curled up from the old tree, now reduced to nothing but a scorched corpse.

  Tunga stared at her. “You’ve got a short memory. There’s one more person we need to find.”

  Isabelle frowned. “You know what I think of that spy.”

  “She’s young. Head full of dumb ideas,” Tunga said. “Just like you were. But she’ll become strong.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “Strength isn’t everything, Tunga.”

  The shaman frowned. “That’s what people say when they didn’t grow up in the jungle.”

  “And I thank Orbisar for that. Every single day.”

  Tunga grinned.

  Isabelle stared into the trees where Derek had disappeared earlier when he ran off looking for Alyra. Still no sign of them. Maybe it was time to go after them, but the jungle was a maze, and the last thing they needed was to split up and waste hours looking for each other.

  Tunga cleared his throat. “Do you really believe Derek is your Messiah?”

  Isabelle turned to him. It was the first time he’d asked her that so directly. It was the kind of subject they disagreed on so obviously, they had always avoided talking about it. Until now.

  “And do you really believe he’s a demon?”

  He nodded. “He is. But even demons have a role to play in this world.”

  Isabelle nodded back. “I don’t know… I’ve never met anyone like him. And I’m not talking about his ridiculous talking armor or his weird spell-tech.”

  Tunga furrowed his brow but said nothing, waiting.

  Isabelle bit her lip. “There’s something about how he sees things. He’s clueless about this world, like a child. And he talks like one, too, for Orbisar’s sake, he blurts out everything he’s thinking, and sometimes I just want to—” She raised a clenched fist, then let it fall with a sigh. “But he’s not as na?ve as he seems. And he’s definitely not stupid. Always feels like he’s a step ahead of everyone. Not even the High Priestess managed to control him.”

  Tunga grinned. “He’s a wild spirit. He’d make a fine shaman, if he stopped chasing ghosts.”

  Isabelle looked down. “Yeah. It’s that pain he carries. Because of… that woman. Yuki. He acts like the universe itself is out to get him.”

  She shook her head and looked up at Tunga. “I’ve just never met anyone like him. Even if he’s nothing like the Cashnar I imagined, now that I know him… yeah, I think he might really be the Messiah. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

  A roar shook the ground and the trees around them, and a curtain of rain crashed down harder than ever.

  Her heart jumped. What the hell was that? An earthquake?

  She looked up through the jungle canopy at the tiny sliver of sky. A thick column of dark smoke was rising into the gray clouds above.

  She turned toward Tunga.

  The shaman was grinning, baring every tooth in his head. “Now we know where your Messiah is.”

  “Vanda!” Derek shouted, slashing a half-rotted limb reaching for him with a clean plasma swipe.

  It hit the ground with a wet thud and started writhing like a fat worm.

  The ground around him was already littered with limbs, heads, and unidentifiable body parts. He could feel them crunch under the armored boots of the NOVA with every step.

  The Warden had said the only way to stop these things was to cut them into tiny pieces. And, for once, he was actually following instructions.

  “Yes, Derek?” Vanda replied.

  “Let me know the moment the girls are more than two hundred meters away.”

  “As you wish. May I ask what you’re planning?”

  Derek sidestepped as two zombies hurled themselves at him. They missed and landed in a tangled heap. Thankfully, they weren’t exactly graceful.

  Before they could scramble back up, Derek raised a heavy armored foot and stomped down on both their skulls in quick succession.

  The sound was... what you’d expect if you stepped on two very ripe watermelons.

  He didn’t look at the aftermath. Cleaning the NOVA later would be hell.

  More undead were pushing out of the bushes. They were multiplying like jungle weeds, and the torrential rain wasn’t helping him spot them. Without the minimap’s threat indicators, they’d have swarmed him already.

  “I want a missile barrage. Red ones. Full payload.”

  “You’re not seriously thinking of setting the jungle on fire, are you?”

  “You bet your ass I am!” Derek snapped. “If I never see another goddamn tree again, it’ll be too soon.”

  A series of rhythmic clicks behind him confirmed the micro-missiles had loaded.

  No more half-measures.

  “Missiles locked, Derek. Even though the NOVA is fireproof, I recommend caution. The flames those warheads will generate are not... ordinary.”

  Derek nodded. He’d be gone the moment the last one launched. No way in hell was he sticking around.

  A flash of green light to his left caught his eye. He spun around.

  It was coming from the ground, right where he’d stomped on Elias. The light was seeping through the shredded remains of the priest’s robes.

  Was the sphere reactivating somehow? Probably best to recover it. He’d done enough damage already. Someone back in Rothmere would know how to neutralize it.

  A voice, sharp as an out-of-tune violin, rose from the ground. “So, I’ve finally found you, false messiah.”

  Elias’s blood-soaked tunic floated upward as if lifted by invisible strings. The priest’s broken body dangled inside like a ragdoll.

  But there were no strings.

  Lit from below by that damn green glow, Elias slowly rose from the earth. With sickening pops and clicks, his bones snapped back into place, piece by piece, like some grotesque puzzle assembling itself.

  Derek’s stomach twisted, acid surging into his throat. No fucking way. He’d already put this undead psycho down.

  Elias tilted his head, cracking his neck as if he'd just had a rough nap, then casually reached down to retrieve his staff. The sphere embedded in it pulsed with a nasty green glow.

  The priest raised the staff high, and the glow became blinding. Green light spread like a searchlight, bathing the entire area.

  The world around Derek turned a sickly shade of green.

  The scattered limbs and heads on the ground began to shift. They crawled toward Elias as if drawn by some twisted magnetic force, but this magnet attracted flesh, not metal.

  Elias didn’t move, just watched. His dead face couldn't show emotion anymore, but Derek could swear the bastard looked pissed.

  The body parts began fusing at his feet. Legs, arms, heads, anything made of flesh and bone, no matter how charred or rotted, started melding together.

  Derek swallowed hard. “Vanda, what the hell is happening?”

  “Derek, I’m detecting a power spike well beyond normal limits. I don’t know what he's doing, but I strongly advise immediate retreat.”

  Elias waved the staff above the grotesque mass. “Now you shall witness the glory of Orbisar’s power, false messiah. Your blasphemy ends here.”

  More undead emerged from the bushes but didn’t attack. They shambled toward the glowing heap and knelt beside it. Tendrils of flesh stretched out from the mass, pulling them in, absorbing them.

  Whatever this thing was becoming, it was growing fast.

  Rain hammered the earth. Thunder shook the sky. Lightning flashed, and for a brief second, Derek could see it all clearly. Hands, fingers, feet, faces, all churned together like meat in a blender. The green energy twisted and reshaped the mass over and over like invisible hands molding clay.

  Derek’s stomach churned again. Acid burned his throat.

  The display alerted him that NOVA’s self-healing system had just administered an emergency antiemetic.

  Derek shut down his plasma blades, taking a deep breath to steady his pulse. He bent his legs, bracing like a runner on the starting blocks. “Setting missile arc to vertical,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I’m not giving him time to finish whatever the hell that thing is.”

  Elias cocked his head. “Are you planning to flee? No one leaves Ebonshade without my permission, false messiah.”

  Derek smirked. “You’re right. I’m not your messiah. Funny how only the people trying to kill me ever figure that out.” He jabbed a finger at the grotesque, swelling mass. “But if you think your little freakshow’s enough to stop the NOVA, you’re even crazier than you look.”

  Elias hissed. “Kneel and beg Orbisar’s forgiveness, before it’s too late.”

  Derek clenched his fists. The armor’s joints groaned under the strain. “He’s the one who should be begging me for forgiveness.”

  And he opened fire.