Goburo screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the roar of the inferno below.
He watched Harry's hand shove Watabei forward. He watched her foot slip on the iron grating. He watched her begin to tip toward the molten orange death.
And then the world inverted.
A soundless shockwave erupted from the pit—not of heat, but of cold. A violet frost that cracked the iron walkway and turned the air to ice.
From the fire, two shapes rose.
They did not burn. They floated, suspended on a pillar of swirling, necrotic energy.
Nettle.
And the Puppet Healer.
Nettle's feet dangled over the lava. Her eyes were no longer the eyes of a child. They were entirely, terrifyingly white. Her small hands were outstretched, fingers curled into claws.
The Puppet Healer stood beside her, the fire licking at her tattered robes but finding no purchase. Her dead eyes were open, staring at the Leader with hollow intensity.
"What the fuck..." Harry whispered, stumbling backward.
The Leader dropped the map, his composure shattering. "Impossible. The sacrifice... the conditions were met!"
"NO."
The voice didn't come from Nettle's mouth. It came from the air itself, a chorus of whispers and grinding bone.
"I AM ANCIENT. I DO NOT DIE."
Nettle flicked her wrist.
Harry and the guard holding Watabei were lifted bodily into the air. They clawed at their throats, choking on nothing.
From their chests, wisps of white light emerged—slow, agonizing threads of life force. The threads drifted across the gap and sank into Nettle's skin.
The men fell to the grating, pale and motionless. Empty.
**"THE PUPPET WAS NEVER ALIVE,"** the voice boomed. **"THE SACRIFICE IS NULL."**
The curse of the Ancient Goblins—the Power of Death—had awakened.
Watabei, released from the dead guard's grip, didn't hesitate. She scrambled back from the edge, her eyes wide with terror and awe.
She saw Goburo on the balcony above.
"Jump!" she screamed. "Goburo, jump down!"
Goburo didn't think. He vaulted over the railing, landing hard on the lower walkway. Layla landed beside him, rolling to absorb the impact.
But the moment they hit the ground, the Leader reacted.
"Surround them!" he roared.
He drew a long, jagged knife from his coat. The rest of the Organization members—mercenaries and mages—rushed from the side tunnels, encircling the small group.
Goburo helped Watabei up. They were back to back, surrounded.
Nettle hovered in the air, her white eyes blazing, but she was motionless. The energy around her was flickering. She had used immense power to return from death, and she was currently drained, locked in a trance to maintain her levitation.
"How much time?" Goburo shouted, looking up at the floating girl. "How long until she can move again?"
"Until she can kill them all?"
The Puppet Healer stepped forward. She stood between the group and the encroaching mercenaries.
She opened her mouth.
"It... Take... Some... Time."
The voice was mechanical, broken. It wasn't Kenji's voice. It wasn't the Healer's voice. It was a new voice—synthesized from the remnants of the magic that had animated her.
Watabei reached into her pack. Her hand closed around the handle of her weapon.
She pulled it out.
It wasn't a small hammer. It was a massive, blacksmith's war hammer—crude, heavy, iron-headed. A weapon meant for forging and breaking bone.
She stepped in front of Goburo and Layla.
"Goburo," she said, her voice steady despite the tears on her face. "Help me."
Goburo looked around. He had a knife. He had his fists. But he was tired. He was scared.
Then he looked at Layla.
She was standing slightly apart from them. She wasn't holding a weapon. She was looking at him with an expression that broke his heart.
"Layla," Goburo said, realizing what she was thinking. "No."
She smiled. It was a beautiful, sad smile.
"Listen to me," she whispered. "We have to get the Vial. The map... it needs blood to work. If I don't do this... they will just kill you instead."
"I can't lose you too," Goburo choked out. "Not you. Not after everything you said."
"You have to believe me," she said, tears streaming down her face. "You have to go."
She reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. Her skin was warm.
"You were my boy with the stupidest hair," she whispered. "Dumbo."
"Layla—"
She turned around.
She faced the Leader and the horde of mercenaries.
She didn't charge. She didn't scream.
She simply looked at Goburo one last time. Then she looked at the Puppet Healer.
"Now," she said.
The Puppet Healer moved.
In a blur of dead muscle and arcane speed, she sprinted toward the Leader.
The Leader saw her coming. He raised his knife to defend himself.
But Layla was faster.
She threw herself into the Leader's path, right into the guard of the other mercenaries.
She didn't try to fight them.
She just stood there, arms wide, blocking their line of sight.
The Leader lunged with his knife, aiming for the Puppet.
Layla intercepted the blade.
It sank deep into her stomach.
She gasped, a sound of pure pain.
But she didn't fall. She grabbed the Leader's wrist, holding him in place.
The Puppet Healer was right behind him.
With a sickening crunch, the Puppet ripped the knife from Layla's stomach—and in the same motion, drove it backward, into the Leader's throat.
The Leader gagged, blood bubbling.
He fell.
But the other mercenaries were already swarming.
The Puppet Healer grabbed Layla's falling body and threw her backward, toward Goburo, clearing the space.
Goburo caught her.
He fell to his knees, holding her.
"Layla! No, no, no..."
Blood was soaking through her dress. Her eyes were glassy.
"I..." she coughed. "I found... him..."
Her eyes stared up at the cavern ceiling.
She didn't blink.
Layla was dead.
The sacrifice had been made.
On the ground, the dropped map began to glow. A brilliant, blinding white light erupted from the parchment. The ink swirled, dissolved, and reformed.
A small, crystalline vial materialized in the air above the paper.
It hovered there, pulsing with a soft, golden light.
The Vial of God.
Watabei swung her hammer, knocking back a mercenary.
"GOBURO!" she screamed. "THE VIAL!"
Goburo couldn't move. He held the elf girl's body in his arms. His tears fell onto her pale face.
He looked up at the floating vial.
The mercenaries were recovering. The Leader was dead, but the Organization was still there.
The Puppet Healer stood over Goburo, her dead eyes scanning for threats, protecting him.
Goburo reached out, his hand trembling.
He grabbed the Vial of God.
It was cold to the touch.
And then, from the depths of the dungeon, a deep, familiar rumble began to shake the ground.
Goburo looked toward the exit.
He knew that vibration.
It was the sound of roots.
*KENJI.*
TO BE CONTINUED...