Ice lances, sharper than a hound’s tooth and colder than a well digger's ankle, rocketed from the Wandsword, tearing through the air towards the oncoming undead warriors.

One of the lances found its target, piercing right through a knight’s chest. The creature stopped dead in its tracks, frozen in a moment of time like a bizarre sculpture. I didn’t waste a second; I lunged forward, using the Wandsword to stab at the creature's head. It took a couple of tries, but finally, its head snapped off, shattering on the ground like glass.

The next one came at me, swinging its sword in a wide arc. I blocked, ducked under the blade, then thrust the Wandsword upward. The ice lance shot out, hitting it square in the heart, its movements, too, stuttering to a stop.

As each knight fell, a strange thing happened. A stripe of what looked like magical energy—had to be Galdur—whizzed through the air, heading straight back to the Crypt Commander. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it sure as hell wasn’t going unnoticed.

I kept moving, dodging and weaving through their attacks. It was a dance with death—fortunately, death was clumsy and made of rust and bones. I blocked a swing here, parried a thrust there, and with every opening, I sent another ice lance flying. Some knights had to be hit multiple times before they stopped moving, their undead resilience a real pain in my lily-white crack.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, I’d reduced their number to about eight. Honestly, I was feeling pretty fierce—though, exhaustion and a pounding headache were the vibes. Like my brain was trying to squeeze out of my skull. Marshlore gave me a subtle warning that I was running low on spell slinging, so I needed to do something about that. If I didn't stop, I'd likely collapse from sheer exhaustion.

So I pulled the plug on Waterwalking—cutting off the flow of Galdur and instantly felt a wave of dizziness hit me. My vision swam, and my legs felt like jelly. I took a step back, heaving heavily. My handiwork lay scattered around me—frozen undead knights in various stages of destruction. I looked over at Sav and the Commander, their fight still raging on.

Sav was a sight, ducking and dodging around the Commander's strikes. He was swinging that mammoth ax of his through the air, each swing cutting through like a fart through church. The blade glinted in the dim light of the room, a deadly shimmering arc.

The Commander, for his part, was an imposing son-of-a-gun. His armor, though battered and rusted, still held a formidable presence. And damn, he was impressive—I mean, he was swinging that behemoth of a sword like it was a feather duster. The thing was about as long as a Chevy and as wide as a dining room table, but he handled it like it was nothing.

The two of them were going at it hammer and tongs. Sav would dart in, aiming for the Commander's exposed areas, before dancing back out to accept the follow-up attack. The Commander, in turn, would counter with a swipe of his sword, each clash ringing out like a bell tolling in a storm.

But it was Sav who began to gain the upper hand. With each exchange, he chipped away at the Commander's defenses. A slice here removed a piece of rusted armor; a swing there left a gash in the Commander's side. The Commander, despite his size and strength, began to falter under Sav’s relentless assault.

The sound of their battle filled the fuck-off large room, a cacophony of metal against metal, of grunts and roars of exertion. Sav’s youthful pluck against the Commander's centuries-old rage.

With a particularly powerful swing, Sav managed to slice off a portion of the Commander’s shoulder armor, exposing the decayed flesh beneath. The Commander let out a roar, more in anger than in pain, and retaliated with a series of rapid strikes that forced Sav to retreat.

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But Sav wasn't one to back down easy. He circled the Commander like a shark, looking for another opening. And then, like a bolt out of the blue, he charged in, his ax slicing through the air. The blade bit deep into the Commander's side, ripping through the armor and into whatever was left underneath.

“Fuck yeah, Sav!” I shouted. But…I reckon he didn’t hear me over the sound of the clanging.

The Commander staggered back, his sword lowering slightly. Sav pressed his advantage, swinging his ax with renewed vigor. Each strike was precise, calculated to inflict maximum damage. The Commander struggled to keep up, his movements becoming slower, more labored.

I watched, transfixed by the battle. Despite the cold gnawing at my bones and head, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the fight. Sav was…a goddamn force of nature. Hell, I was starting to become encouraged, glad that he didn’t want to be the Marsh Knight himself—I don’t know that I’d be able to compete.

Then, just as I thought Sav had the upper hand, the Commander started shaking. Like…legitimate tremors racked his body. I watched, thinking we had finally done it, defeated this giant pile of piss and vinegar. But, as the Commander's armor clattered to the ground, piece by piece, the room began to tremble.

"What in the Sam Hill—" I started, my words trailing off as the true form of the Commander was revealed.

What stood in place of the armored giant was nothing short of a nightmare. A horrific creature, made of vines, mud, and something altogether more sinister, stood towering above us. This new form was still massive, a demonic visage that would haunt any sane man's dreams.

“Eww!” I shouted. “Yuck!”

Suddenly, a pair of bone-like wings erupted from its back, unfurling with a sound that made my teeth ache. An icy aura enveloped the creature, a chilling, ethereal minty-blue glow that seemed to suck the warmth from the air.

The beast roared again, a sound that now held a supernatural quality. The icy aura around it dimmed slightly before, with a terrifying burst of power, it exploded outward. The wave of energy slammed into both me and Sav, knocking us to the ground with a force that felt like getting hit by a falling timber.

I screamed as an icy burn seared my skin.

Shit, shit, what the hell? I demanded internally before I discovered…I couldn’t move.

I was stuck to the damn ground, a layer of ice encasing me like a frozen coffin. Panic clawed at my throat. I couldn’t budge, couldn’t fight back.

The entire room had transformed into a wintry hellscape. Snow and ice blanketed everything, a howling wind whipping through the cathedral-sized room, cutting through my clothes like a thousand tiny knives. The demonic creature, its new form a monstrous amalgamation of swamp and nightmare, floated above the ground, its bony wings wrapped in a sheath of frost.

I struggled against my icy prison, desperation fueling my efforts. My breath came out in frantic puffs of mist.

“Gahhh!” Was the only sound I could make. This was real bad. I was still able to move my eyes—for all the good it would do me—and found a form to my right.

Sav lay a few feet from me, also trapped in the ice, his eyes locked on the floating monstrosity before us.

We were in deep, deep shit.

As the icy burn clawed at my skin and the demonic creature loomed above, the world around me slowed down like molasses in January. I noticed, with raw alarm, that the acorn patch on my chest was glowing…and that sure didn't sit right with me.

Then, outta nowhere, another figure stepped into the frozen chaos. Everything went quieter than a mouse tiptoeing in a cotton field. All I could hear was the soft, steady scuffle of her approach. Recognizing her almost immediately, I tried to shift, but the damn ice had me tight.

Even in this ice-riddled hell, she stood out like a sunflower in a ditch. Tall as a tree and twice as striking, she moved gracefully, her cloven hooves tapping so softly—yet so loudly now—it made the cold and the chaos seem like it was miles away. She was still stark naked, but it didn't seem to faze her one bit.

The inky pattern that spread across her green skin dark river veins. When she smiled, it was like she knew exactly what kind of mess we were in and was amused by it. Small, delicate horns; sharp, owlish eyes. It was her. My Verndari.

"Jotufinn," I murmured, or at least tried to through frozen lips.

She stepped closer—both a savior and a harbinger. That smile of hers, as inviting as it was daunting, seemed to hold a thousand secrets and a single promise—she was in control

"Leo," she called out softly, her voice cutting through the silence. Her presence filled the icy room, a power outside the bounds of this Commander—likely this whole damn swamp by the way she seemed to react.

I wanted to respond, to say something witty or at least show I wasn't completely helpless, but all I could do was lie there, trapped in ice, staring up at the figure.

“You appear to be in a predicament,” she intoned, gesturing around at what was indeed a predicament. “Do not worry,” she continued, sidling up to me to stare down into my face.

I’m even more worried now, I thought.

“I am here,” she said. “To offer my assistance. Would you like it?”