Despite the raw, burning fury that ignited Jack’s chest, he found himself struggling to keep up with the transformed Faraun. The once-elf now towered over him, a massive figure dripping with necrotic energy that twisted around his form like a cloak of death. Every movement Faraun made was a blur—a chaotic, jagged burst of impossible speed and fluidity that made him seem almost unreal. His spectral form shimmered in and out of existence, leaving a trail of necrotic energy in his wake. It was as if the very air had been thickened with a heavy, oppressive aura that threatened to crush all who stood before him.
The field seemed to bend and warp under the immense pressure of Faraun’s power, the atmosphere itself groaning in resistance. Every time the transformed necromancer moved, the ground beneath his feet trembled, as though the world itself was trying to contain his monstrous form. His mutated hand, sharp and glistening like blackened iron, cut through the air with a vicious ease. The tip of his scythe-claw seemed to slice through the very fabric of reality, creating trails of jagged energy that crackled and flickered with unholy intent.
Jack’s breath came in sharp, controlled gasps. His body was already weary from the battle, but the fire of Soulrage burned within him, pushing him onward, giving him strength he didn’t know he had left. His spear was an extension of his will, each thrust and slash driven by the relentless fire of his fury. He twisted, lunged, and spun with a precision honed through years of training, his spear flashing through the air like a silver streak. But Faraun was a blur—always one step ahead, always just out of reach.
Every time Jack thought he had an opening, Faraun would vanish, flickering out of sight in a flash of necrotic light, only to reappear with terrifying swiftness. It was as if the very laws of time and space bent around him, allowing him to move and strike in ways that defied the natural order. Jack’s spear whistled through empty air, the force of his thrusts dissipating against the empty space where Faraun had just been. Jack was being toyed with and he knew it which made it all the more frustrating.
The warrior’s movements were precise, his strikes full of deadly intent, but they were futile. Despite his training, despite the raging fury that threatened to consume him, his spear almost never found purchase. Even when it did, each attack that made contact with Faraun’s transformed body felt like striking solid stone. The necromancer’s flesh—twisted and reinforced by dark magic—was an impenetrable barrier. Jack could feel the power of his strikes reverberating back up the length of his spear, but it was as if the necromancer’s skin had become iron, absorbing each blow with ease.
Even when Jack did manage to sink his spear into the warped flesh of Faraun’s side, the strike barely left a mark. It was as though the spear was being blunted by the necrotic energy that pulsed beneath the surface. His body, now hardened by the death magic coursing through it, rejected Jack’s attack. No matter how much Jack poured into the strike, no matter how much of his spirit he channeled into the blow, Faraun remained unfazed, his monstrous form unyielding.
Jack’s frustration grew, each failed strike chipping away at his resolve. His heart raced, not just from exertion, but from the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness creeping in. He was being outmatched—outclassed—by a being that was beyond anything he had ever faced. The gap between their powers seemed insurmountable, and Jack could feel the weight of that realization dragging him down. It wasn’t just his physical strength that was faltering; his mind was beginning to waver. He couldn’t keep up.
But as the last vestiges of his hope began to flicker, something within him snapped into focus. There was one last option. His hand, still gripping the spear, trembled slightly as he summoned the will to call upon the power of his Phantom Soul Strike.
His breath came quicker as he closed his eyes, letting the connection to his soul deepen. His heart hammered in his chest, but Jack pushed through the doubt and fear. He focused, letting the energy surge through him, the very essence of his spirit flowing into the spear. His grip tightened on the weapon, feeling the familiar burn of his Soul Points draining away, but he had no choice. This was it. There was no turning back.
The air around him seemed to shimmer with ethereal energy as the Phantom Soul Strike began to take form. The world itself seemed to pulse with Jack’s power as his spear extended, its range stretching far beyond its natural length. The blade gleamed with an unnatural light, imbued with the very essence of his soul. It was no longer just a weapon—it was an extension of his being, a manifestation of his spirit, his will, his fury.
Jack let out a primal roar, his voice carrying the weight of everything he had left as he lunged forward, unleashing the Phantom Soul Strike. The spear shot forward with impossible speed, its tip aimed directly at Faraun. But just as Jack thought the strike would land, something unexpected happened.
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The moment his spear made contact, it wasn’t the thick, necrotic flesh of Faraun that his spear met—it was the ring that Faraun wore. The ancient artifact, a twisted, arcane relic that pulsed with dark energy, glowed with an eerie, sickly light. Jack’s spear struck the ring with a sharp, resounding crack that seemed to echo across the battlefield. The energy that surged through the weapon was transferred into the ring, and in an instant, the artifact shattered, its magic exploding outward in a violent wave of green, necrotic energy.
The shockwave of the ring’s destruction rippled across the battlefield, sending tremors through the ground. The impact was so powerful that the very earth seemed to shudder beneath it. Debris flew through the air, trees splintered, and the sky seemed to darken for a moment as the force of the explosion radiated outward.
For a heartbeat, everything fell still.
Then, with a deafening crack, the Charnel Colossus—a towering, undead behemoth that had beenlashing out at Jack’s desperately struggling companions—stilled. Its massive, rotting form, which had been bound by Faraun’s will, froze in place, its movements coming to an abrupt halt. The Colossus stood, lifeless, as the connection between it and its master was severed.
The massive creature, once a puppet to Faraun’s commands, turned slowly. Its hollow eyes seemed to focus on the woods ahead, and with a terrible groan, it began to move—slowly, aimlessly, as if it no longer knew where it was going. It lurched away from the battlefield, stumbling through the trees and underbrush, its massive form crashing through everything in its path. The Colossus was no longer bound by Faraun’s power.
Jack stood frozen for a moment, the reality of what had just happened crashing over him. The Colossus was leaving—no longer a threat to his friends, no longer a harbinger of destruction. Jack had done it. The battle had shifted, even if only for a moment.
But that brief moment of victory was shattered as Faraun’s gaze turned toward him, glowing with a fury that transcended anything Jack had yet felt. The necromancer’s twisted voice rumbled in the air, low and filled with a weight that threatened to crush everything in its path.
“You dare?” Faraun rasped, his voice thick with an unnatural power that seemed to reverberate through the very air. His eyes burned with wrath as he rose once more, his monstrous form looming over Jack like a death sentence.
The ground shook beneath them as the necromancer began to rise, his claws flexing in preparation. Jack barely had time to react before the flood of necrotic magic erupted from Faraun, filling the air with a suffocating weight that threatened to overwhelm him. He realized then that the battle was far from over—his friends might be free for the moment, but the true storm was only just beginning.
Before Jack could brace himself for the oncoming assault, a flash of movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. His allies had arrived.
Lyla, her face set with a fierce determination, was the first to arrive. She had been at the heart of the battle against the Colossus, but now, seeing Jack’s struggle, she moved with the speed of a hunter—swift, purposeful, and driven by the need to protect. She chanted softly under her breath, the air around her crackling with energy as her fingers danced through the air.
The moment she raised her hand, Witchfire erupted into existence. Spectral flames, yellow and writhing, crackled and twisted like living things, casting eerie shadows across the battlefield. The fire was unnatural—its heat burning not only the body but the mana in the air around it. As she flung her arm forward, the fire surged toward Faraun with a speed and intensity that defied natural law, wreathing his monstrous form in flame.
The fire seared through the air with unnatural intensity, wrapping around Faraun’s hulking frame. It wasn’t just physical pain that he felt—it was the agony of his very essence being consumed by the fire. The flames lashed at his transformed skin, burning away the necrotic energy that clung to him. That effect had not made much impact on the Colossus because of it’s sheer bulk but Faraun, while big, was nowhere near the size of his former minion Faraun roared in pain, but even as the fire consumed him, the dark magic within him seemed to shift, as if it were fighting against the unnatural flames.
Still, the Witchfire pressed forward, relentless, leeching at the necromancer’s spirit.The undead monstrosity teleported several feet away but that did not save him from the Scraelings next attack.
Lyla’s eyes gleamed with power as she followed up with another gesture. Beneath her feet, the ground seemed to writhe, twisting as she invoked her Cursed Circle. The very air around her became oppressive, thick with a malevolent presence that spread outward, enveloping the area in a corrupted aura. The space became a vortex of dread and decay, the once-pristine earth withering beneath Faraun’s monstrous form.
The Cursed Circle bled life from the land, the roots of trees writhing and blackening as they reached for the necromancer. Faraun’s monstrous form seemed to falter for a moment, his mind rattled by the sudden sense of dread that filled the air. As the life force drained from him, his movements became sluggish, his magical focus wavering. But this wasn’t just a curse on Faraun—it also began to heal those standing within its boundary. could feel the surge of revitalizing energy rushing through him, flooding his body with strength he thought he had lost. His wounds, still fresh and painful, began to knit together as if time itself was rewinding, the pain fading as his vitality was restored. His breath slowed, his vision sharpened, and the weight of exhaustion lifted slightly. It was not a full recovery, but it was enough. Enough to give him hope.
With renewed strength, Jack raised his spear high, his muscles no longer trembling with fatigue. He stood tall, his eyes fixed on Faraun, now weak and vulnerable in the center of Lyla’s powerful Cursed Circle.He could feel the surge of power in his arms, and he knew what he had to do. His allies had arrived, and together, they would bring down the necromancer.