As the party stepped into what Alistair had suggested was the last chamber, they were met with a scene of solemn grandeur. The room was vast, dominated by a majestic sarcophagus at its center. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, each depicting significant moments from King Alaric’s life—his rise to power, his wise rule, and his battles. A dark, pulsating energy surrounded the sarcophagus, casting a sinister glow over the room and filling the space with an eerie hum.

The malevolent force at work sent a shiver down Justin's spine. This was the heart of the crypt, the final resting place of the great King Alaric, now desecrated by dark rituals.

Yes, Justin mused. Classic Boss Room material.

At the foot of the sarcophagus stood a figure cloaked in dark robes, facing away from the party. A stream of dark magic tethered him to the sarcophagus. As they approached, the figure turned, revealing a gaunt, pale face with eyes that glowed with cold, malevolent light. His robes, like the other Cultists’, bore the insignia of a skeletal hand grasping a wilting white flower, and he grasped a dark staff, at the head of which was a red, demonic skull.

“Who dares disturb the meditations of the Dread Summoner Malachor?” he intoned, his voice low and menacing.

“Great,” Justin muttered. “He refers to himself in the third person.”

Malachor’s eyes narrowed as he smiled faintly. “Ah, a fellow practitioner of the Magic of Death! Why would one such as you ally yourself with these… life-loving fools?”

Alistair raised a gauntleted hand to silence Justin, but he couldn’t resist. “I’m not really a practitioner of Death Magic. More of a dabbler, really.”

Malachor looked like he was about to blow some more hot air, so Justin figured it was the perfect opportunity to down his potions.

He reached into his pouch, uncorking the first of them. The pop echoed loudly through the chamber, along with Justin’s gulps. The Ironwood Essence tasted just how it was spelled, almost like blood.

As he put the empty vial back, Lila followed his example, probably realizing this would be her last chance to edify herself for the fight.

Next, Justin downed the Heartwood Elixir. This one was woody but had a pleasant bite, even with notes of umami.

As both potions worked, he felt strength and power enter his limbs. “Ah, much better! Now, where we were?”

Malachor’s expression darkened. “Such insolence! Well, you wouldn’t be the first. As if a couple of potions can save you! All of my companions perished to bring me here, but it was a small price to pay. They have joined my Master in the Netherrealm, while I have gained an even greater prize.”

“You talk too much,” Alistair said, stepping forward with his hammer.

But Malachor raised his hand, sending him flying back with a telekinetic push. Alistair recovered quickly, hammer in hand, ready to strike.

“Fool! The Vault grants me this moment to speak, and you will listen. Behold!”

With a dramatic gesture, the sarcophagus burst open. The party stepped back as an amulet—the same one Justin had seen in the artwork—floated from the skeletal neck of King Alaric. The Amulet affixed itself around Malachor’s neck, surrounded by a violet aura as dark magic swirled around him.

“Lo! I now possess the Amulet of Equilibrium, King Alaric’s most treasured artifact, the source of his power and wisdom.” As he held up the Amulet, its six colored gems glinted ominously in the dim light.

The party tensed, uncertain of the artifact’s power, but Justin was sure it was formidable.

“With the power of the Amulet, I will transcend mortal limits. Weep now, foolish Life Worshippers, as I summon a servant fit for a king’s tomb!”

Malachor raised his hands, chanting in a guttural, otherworldly language. The air itself darkened as a portal opened, revealing an abyss of pure black. From this void, a monstrous form began to coalesce. A towering undead demon emerged, its skeletal wings stretching wide as it let out a bone-chilling roar. It was a grotesque fusion of giant skeleton and zombie, with a fetid face and torso that combined exposed bones with patches of decaying flesh. The creature's eyes burned with green fire, casting an eerie glow around the chamber. In one clawed hand, it wielded a massive, jagged sword.

There were no pithy words Justin could muster to downplay the situation. He felt a moment of panic, even pissing his pants slightly, as the demon’s wings fluttered, filling the chamber with an aura of death and decay. The very air seemed to rot under its presence, making it hard to breathe.

Justin glanced at his companions; their faces were set in grim determination. This was it. Within seconds, the battle would begin.

With a flourish and a decidedly evil laugh, Malachor lowered his hands, and the demon advanced on its insect-like legs.

Alistair led the charge, his hammer glowing with holy light as he struck the demon’s legs with his Righteous Whirlwind, attempting to bring it down quickly. The demon screeched as several legs were lopped off and engulfed in holy flames. The demon swung its jagged oversized sword, but Alistair used his Arion’s Shield ability to tank the blow, surrounding himself in an aura of golden light. He then infused his weapon with his Arion’s Hammer skill, slamming it into the demon’s midsection. The demon reeled from the impact, as Alistair followed it up with several Divine Strikes, sending waves of holy energy rippling through the creature and spreading the Flames of Life along its body.

As Eldrin loosed arrows, and Lila threw knives, Justin wondered what he should be doing. So, he activated his Dandy’s Swagger, strutting like a peacock in full display. Yellow magic surrounded him, infusing his allies and temporarily boosting their Charisma. It seemed useless in a direct fight, but it was something—perhaps the only thing he could do without risking immediate death.

But maybe it wasn’t entirely useless, because now Alistair was fighting with increased confidence, and Lila and Eldrin moved with more vigor.

Justin couldn’t help but crack a smile. Alistair had been wrong. The solution wasn’t less dancing. It was more dancing.

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And not only that, but Justin felt an insane surge of confidence from the skill. Twirling his cane, he edged closer to the beast, positioning himself behind Eldrin and Lila, who were continuing to deal steady ranged damage while Alistair took on the role of the tank.

Malachor, meanwhile, lurked behind his demon, casting dark magic to support it, presumably healing or buffing it. A classic Summoner, then, Justin thought derisively. Fighting from the shadows and letting his minion take the hits. At least Justin was out in the open, fighting as a gentleman should.

If there was a way Justin could sneak up on Malachor, this fight could be over in a jiff.

Reel it back, he thought. The swagger is making you a bit too confident.

Instead, Justin stood next to Eldrin, who was loosing arrows with precision, targeting the demon’s eyes and joints, seeking any vulnerabilities in its tough hide. Lila moved with a dancer’s grace, darting around the demon, her knives flashing as she aimed for weak spots. She deftly avoided the demon’s sword and wings, and every time she ran out of knives, she simply held out her hand to recall them within seconds.

Justin remembered that his Swagger would also give the demon a Charisma malus. With his +2 Dandy’s Swagger boost and his Cane of Valoria, his current Charisma was actually at 18—a respectable number. Coupled with the demon’s -2 Charisma penalty, perhaps a well-placed Poison Barb would be just the ticket.

Justin cleared his throat and shouted. “What are you, a failed science experiment? I’ve seen scarier things on a haunted house ride at the county fair!”

The demon seemed to hesitate for a moment, probably more confused than anything else. But this hesitation, however slight, allowed Alistair to land a pivotal hit, driving the demon further into the chamber’s corner.

But despite their combined efforts, the demon was incredibly resilient. Its tough, leathery hide and Death Magic defenses, bolstered by Malachor, deflected much of the damage. Alistair’s hammer, though powerful, seemed to have a limited effect on its core, while Eldrin’s arrows often glanced off without penetrating. Lila’s knives, while more effective, couldn’t be thrown fast enough to make a significant impact.

The battle raged on for at least another thirty minutes, each member of the party pushing their limits to bring down the formidable foe. Alistair was doing what Paladins did best: tanking, with clutch heals on himself, while dealing a respectable amount of damage. Justin had to remember, despite the demon’s size and ferocity, it was still only Level 15, while Alistair was Level 25.

In a way, the fight was going about as well as it could be going.

Of course, as soon as Justin had this thought, it all started coming apart.

Alistair landed what should have been a decisive blow, his hammer crashing into the demon’s chest. The demon collapsed on its scuttling legs, ceasing all movement. Eldrin prepared to finish it, drawing his sword and charging.

But that was when the demon’s form began to crackle and distort, its body convulsing violently before exploding into a swarm of wraiths. The ghostly figures, about thirty of them or more, quickly filled the chamber, their eerie moans echoing off the walls.

The wraiths attacked with alarming speed, their ethereal forms darting toward each member of the party, at least seven or eight to a person. Justin, standing back and having dealt no physical damage during the entire fight, was totally ignored.

But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Perhaps now was the time to go after Malachor and end the fight once and for all. If the Summoner dies, so would his summons.

No. Even alone, Justin couldn’t hope to face Malachor. Despite being a Summoner, Malachor still had plenty of spells at his command, for which Justin had little resistance.

He needed to use his Charisma to turn the tide, but how?

With mounting dismay, Justin realized things were not going well at all. The party’s weapons were passing through the wraiths with limited effect. Even Alistair was overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Lila and Eldrin struggled against the onslaught, their movements slowing.

Now off cooldown, he activated Dandy's Swagger again—his comrades were overdue for a morale boost.

Justin's strut was angry, almost violent. He even did a few twirls, his cane arcing through the air and tracing trails of yellow magic. He was bursting with confidence, his Charisma once again boosted to 18 while all these nasty wraiths were getting a -2.

But of course, this was not enough on its own, for he had one last trick up his sleeve.

Justin bowed his head. It was up to him now.

And Freddie Mercury.

Why Freddie Mercury? He couldn’t say. It was just the first thing to pop into his head as soon as he activated his Dazzling Display skill. He wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but as far as charismatic individuals, well, Freddie had to take the custard.

As the spirit of Freddie Mercury infused into Justin, he felt a surge of energy far greater than he felt even when channeling Michael Jackson. With his Charisma now at formidable 18, the move’s power, he knew, was going to be exponentially higher. Justin felt the raw charisma and stage presence of a rock god coursing through him. He spread his arms wide, a confident grin on his face, and belted out in a commanding voice that filled the chamber.

“Ayyyyyy-oh!”

The very stones shook with this mighty emanation. And not only that, but a sparkling yellow aura rippled through the air like waves of light, infusing the surrounding wraiths.

The specters paused, their attention snapping to Justin. They seemed strangely captivated by the unexpected display, their forms flickering in response.

Alistair, Lila, and Eldrin all looked at Justin as if he were a madman or a hero.

It seemed the wraiths needed a bit more coaxing.

“Ayyyyyy-oh!”

The second call seemed to do the trick. They shot toward him as if of one mind, their ethereal faces twisted in confusion and anger.

“Get Malachor!” Justin shouted, as the skill's power left him. “This won’t last long enough to—”

But then the wraiths were upon him, one after another. Justin felt an intense coldness unlike anything he’d ever experienced, a coldness that seemed to freeze his very soul. He imagined that this feeling must be what it was like to float at the edge of the universe.

But he only felt it for a moment. Once again, as with before, Justin felt the internal resistance, the repelling magnet that was Valdrik’s Death Mark.

The wraiths let out a high, discordant screech and recoiled from him, their ghostly forms scattering. Justin gawked in amazement.

By the Six, it had worked. It had actually worked.

Malachor, witnessing this unexpected turn, was visibly shaken. “No! This isn’t how it was supposed to be!”

The path to Malachor was clear. The party, as one, turned their focus on the Dread Summoner. Alistair, Eldrin, and Lila advanced, weapons at the ready, while Justin, still glowing with the aftermath of his Dazzling Display, moved with renewed confidence, brandishing his cane.

Malachor’s dark eyes widened in fear, and his once-confident demeanor faltered. He cast quick spells to empower the wraiths that were still scared witless and finally cast a dark shield around himself.

The wraiths, bolstered by Malachor’s magic, regained some of their cohesion and surged towards the party, but they were disorganized and weaker than before.

But the party pressed their advantage, their resolve unshaken. Alistair led the charge, his hammer ablaze with power of his attack. He easily shattered the dark energy shielding Malachor. Eldrin, with a determined focus, loosed arrow after arrow, each one finding its mark in the summoner’s body. Lila’s knives flashed as they embedded themselves in the Summoner from head to toe.

Malachor made not a sound, despite the pain he must have surely felt. Blood stained his clothes and dribbled from his cadaverous face. Dark tendrils of energy snaked around the Summoner’s body, attempting to heal him, but there was no way he could tank this amount of damage.

He was a mage, and he was squishy.

To add insult to injury, Justin gave him a few hard thwacks on the head for good measure. The summoner fell, and with his sure death, the wraiths eddied out of existence, creating a thick, icy fog on the floor.

As the echoes of the battle faded, the oppressive atmosphere lifted. The dark energy that had permeated the chamber dissipated, and a sense of calm returned.

The party stood over Malachor’s body, their faces etched with relief and exhaustion. The dark energy that had once surrounded the summoner, the central sarcophagus, and the Amulet itself, had dissipated.

Against all odds, they had done it. The Vault was clear and Malachor had been vanquished.

Now, it was time to claim their just rewards.