For the second time in a short while, Jerry was plunged into dark, cold waters. This time, however, he was in control!

The death energy wasn’t nearly as cold as he remembered. It was tender with him and his group, not invading their bodies. Jerry was its friend too, and friends took care of each other.

It even created a little bubble around their heads, letting them breathe and speak freely.

He grinned. “That’s more like it.”

Laura and Marcus took a deep breath and exited the cave too, expecting to be assaulted by ice and death; when that didn’t happen, their mouths formed into wide smiles, and they began laughing crazily in relief.

Boney could swim very slowly. His lack of skin made things difficult, so he kept moving his arms and legs only to stay in roughly the same spot. It was quite comedic.

“Master!” he exclaimed. “Can you ask the death energy to move me? I’m stuck!”

He parted the water before him twice but barely got a bit of momentum going. His words came distorted to Jerry’s ears—through the death water—but he could still understand what was said; plus, it was funnier this way.

“No can do, Boney!” he laughed.

“But you’re friends! Please, I don’t want to look silly.”

“You always do,” muttered Laura. Jerry just kept laughing.

“I may be charming, Boney, but I can’t ask the death energy to move you around. You’ll have to swim.”

The skeleton glared at the water around him. He then looked at the legion of soul fish that gazed over curiously.

“Excuse me, random souls of dead people,” he asked politely, “can you help me, please?”

The fish turned to look at each other, clearly baffled. Everyone laughed.

Then, surprisingly, four fish split from the shoal—a group of fishes—and arrived beside Boney, letting him grab on and pulling him along.

“Hah!” he exclaimed. “That’s what you get for mocking my genius. Swim by yourselves, losers!”

Jerry was surprised. He hadn’t realized the fish were physical! He thought they were just souls.

Then again, if everyone can see them, it makes sense they have physical bodies too. Maybe the death energy is helping them manifest.

He had no idea how this could happen, but it seemed likely. There was so much to learn still.

“Can we go, if you’re done playing?” asked Horace, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “We have an Archmage to kill.”

“Right. Let’s go!”

Just like that, the group swam away. First, though, they blocked the cave again; Shelia’s body deserved to rest in peace.

Jerry’s senses guided them to the center of the lake; the massive concentration of death energy was even easier to detect underwater, and much more terrifying to behold. It was like a massive whirlpool at the deepest depths, tugging at their souls with the momentum of an approaching waterfall.

Unfortunately for Boney, the fish were not that fast. Even pulled by them, he remained slower than everyone else. The fish were also pulling Foxy—who was a skeleton too—but her lightweight body made their job easier.

“You can have your speed,” said Boney. “I am Boney Deathwaterson, the son of Desistos, the rider of souls. I may not be fast, but I’m cool!”

Jerry nodded. Boney was pretty cool.

They were slower underwater than above it, so the journey took some time. In the process, they passed by many stone formations, and Jerry realized that the further away they got from Shelia’s cave, the rougher the statues became. Eventually, the stone formations were just that—stone formations.

Did the Prism make them? wondered Jerry, looking at the little thing in his pocket. Is it intelligent enough to feel bored, or did it happen naturally?

Both cases brought terrific complications. Jerry couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of things, but it was as Horace had said; they had an Archmage to kill.

The minutes ticked by, and the lake got deeper as they approached its center. They weren’t swimming close to the surface to avoid spooking anyone, but the lake’s bottom, which was easily visible before, had long disappeared from their sight.

“We’re getting closer, everyone,” said Jerry, letting the darkness carry his voice. “Be on guard.”

They nodded; nobody was speaking now, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Axehand and Horace were full of battle intent, Jerry’s undead were ready to protect him to the end, and Marcus was simply cursing his own luck for choosing to come along.

He hadn’t even gotten any treasure!

Suddenly, something appeared at the end of their sight; a thin line of black darker than its surroundings. As they approached, the line unraveled into a wide beam that pulled death energy ever downward, towards the greedy vortex at the far depths.

Before they even approached the beam, the death energy around Jerry began to hesitate. Awe filled it, as if about to worship the thing at the depths, and some even began to flow in that direction by itself. On the other hand, the soul fish were terrified, to the point where they adamantly refused to get any closer.

“What the hell is down there?” Jerry wondered aloud as the fish came to a stop. His eyes gazed down, but they couldn’t pierce through the thick darkness.

“Does it matter?” asked Horace. “If we stop Arakataron, that thing won’t rise anyway. We’ll have time to look then.”

“Yes…” Jerry replied absent-mindedly. Something was whispering to him. Deep inside his soul, he felt a tugging feeling towards the bottom of the lake. It was subtle enough to be his imagination, but Jerry’s instinct told him that things weren’t so simple.

Whatever lay down there was connected to his soul. No simple undead could have this effect, no matter how strong it was. What could it be? Jerry was filled with the desire to know.

“You guys stay here,” he said. “I’m going to take a look.”

“Jerry! We’re in a hurry! You can’t just go explore,” Marcus disagreed.

“I feel it’s important.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything; just look. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Axehand grunted, swiping an axe through the water to move beside Jerry.

“You’re coming along?” the necromancer asked with a smile. “Excellent. Let’s go. Wait here, everyone.”

Under everyone’s watchful gazes, Jerry and Axehand dove deeper. They distanced themselves from the illumination of the fish shoal and let the darkness surround them. Jerry’s soul was squirming. There was an uneasy feeling he just couldn’t get rid of, whispering awe and terror, but he pushed it down. He had to know.

Even Axehand was anxious. As they dove deeper, he got uneasy too, a feeling that came from deep within his soul. The Prism was silent, as if unwilling to involve itself. This was the source of Jerry’s confidence, actually—the Prism definitely had a better grasp of the situation than him, after living in this lake for at least decades. If there was danger, it would react.

They dove so deep that the light of the soul fish disappeared. Even the ever-present illumination of the Mists of Death couldn’t reach this far down. Jerry didn’t expect the lake to be this deep. According to the pattern of gradual deepening he’d seen so far, they should have already reached the bottom, but his soul perception said there was a long way to go. Were they inside a fissure on the ground, or was the middle of the crater much deeper than imagined?

By now, Jerry couldn’t even see Axehand. Only his soul perception and the towering stone formations allowed him to stay sane in the infinite darkness.

Suddenly, he sensed something. His soul perception touched a surface deep below, which wasn’t the lake’s bottom. There was something there.

Soul perception could only give Jerry a blurry image of the world. It could mostly sense souls, while inanimate objects, like stones and dirt, were only vaguely registered. However, when Jerry’s soul touched the body lying below, he suddenly had perfect vision of it.

Black, slim scales harder than steel. Four claws and two folded, bat-like wings. A maw large enough to swallow Jerry whole. A soul vortex that mercilessly sucked in death energy to feed itself, slowly repairing a soul of titanic proportions—a soul he hadn’t sensed at all before, or he would never have approached. There were multiple deep wounds on that soul, and it was in deep slumber, but the sheer magnitude made Jerry feel like an ant.

No; it wasn’t just the magnitude. There was an aura radiating from this beast, an aura strong enough to make Jerry unable to move even from this distance. His soul screamed to get away, and even the Prism shone a faint warning in his mind.

Jerry was gazing at a black dragon.

He’d heard about dragons before; everyone had. They were nature spirits of the highest order, often requiring entire armies to take them down. They were said to be the strongest species in existence, as well as exceedingly rare, to the point where only a handful of them remained in the world.

An undead dragon was every necromancer’s wet dream.

However, seeing this body lying on the floor of the lake, Jerry was absolutely certain that this was not a mere nature spirit. First of all, there were no death dragons—for a very specific reason he happened to know. Second, the suppression that this creature exerted on his soul was unbelievable. Even being near it felt like being stared at by a God, and Jerry’s entire being felt the urge to surrender.

If that thing woke up, even in this tattered state, it could destroy him and all his undead with one clawed finger.

Jerry didn’t know for how long he remained dazed. It could have been a second or an hour. Only when Axehand nudged him did he eventually move, and he realized that, despite being underwater, his entire body was drenched in sweat. He was shivering.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, swimming back up at his highest speed. For the first time since Pilpen’s betrayal, Jerry couldn’t control his emotions. He was shocked and dizzy, unable to digest the weight of what he just saw.

He knew what that creature was; there was only one possibility, and the Prism confirmed his suspicions. The implications made Jerry’s jaw clutter. Suddenly, he realized the magnitude of this whole situation. Jerry was no longer in the kiddie pool.

Before he knew it, he was standing beside everyone.

“Well, what is it?” asked Laura.

Boney, who noticed Jerry’s trembling soul, asked, “Are you okay, Master?”

Jerry shook his head, bringing himself together. “Let’s talk about it later,” he said. “We have an Archmage to kill, right?”

Everyone looked at each other and nodded hesitantly. They were curious, but if Jerry didn’t tell them, he had his reasons.

The soul fish gave Jerry a look of understanding. Their minds were sleeping, so they couldn’t explain what they felt, but Jerry now understood their terror at the creature below the lake. He felt the same.

“Are you ready, everyone?” asked Horace, commanding everyone’s attention. “We are going to battle. We will either win or lose everything…so we better damn win it. All you guys have to do is support us. We’ll take care of everything.”

He exchanged a glance with Axehand, and both nodded. Horace then looked at Jerry.

“Can you fight right now?” he asked directly. Jerry didn’t have to speak about what he saw, but he had to be in the right state of mind.

The necromancer nodded, regaining himself. “I can.”

Horace gave a deep glance, then nodded. “What’s the plan?” he asked. Only Jerry knew what he and the fish could do.

“I will take care of Arakataron. You just keep his undead at bay,” said Jerry. His words fell like a hammer on glass.

“By yourself!?” Horace’s eyes were wide. “Are you sure, Jerry?”

“No”—he chuckled—“but thanks to the Prism, I understand some things. You guys are strong, but I’m the only one who can fight him.”

Horace wanted to say some things, but he held his tongue. Finally, he agreed. “Very well. I trust you.”

Jerry nodded. “The soul fish will fight with me. You guys stop all his death knights and monstrosities from interfering; be especially careful of that mist-face warrior. He must be Arakataron’s strongest undead, which means his strength will be terrifying.”

Boney spoke up. “But Master…we can’t handle those undead…”

Of them all, only Axehand and Horace had the power to clash with the death knights. If a battle really happened, everyone else would be slaughtered.

“I will fully overcharge you all,” Jerry reassured him. “Even if you can’t defeat the death knights, you will at least be able to protect yourself.”

The undeads’ eyes lit up—quite literally. Axehand was the only one getting overcharged so far, but that was only because Jerry couldn’t spare the energy to overcharge anyone else too. Axehand was undoubtedly the best option—fortunately, in this lake of death, he had virtually limitless energy.

“What if Arakataron overcharges his undead too?” asked Laura.

Jerry smiled. “He won’t. At worst, he might overcharge the mist-face warrior…in which case, I wish you all luck.”

“Excellent!” Boney exclaimed, letting the crimson flames burn freely in his eye sockets, as was every other undead. All of them had been itching to fight for their Master—now that they finally had the chance, they weren’t going to disappoint him.

Jerry gave some final instructions. “Laura, you stay back and support the others as needed. Marcus, you… Well, just do your best. I won’t be able to control the lake while fighting, so you’ll have to be at the surface, but stay close to the others and they’ll protect you. In the meantime, you should look at the whole battlefield and instruct everyone. You will be our commander.”

“Me? A commander?” Marcus’s eyes widened before a playful smile formed on his lips. He banged his chest—which was rather underwhelming underwater. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

The group crossed the water swiftly and reached the surface, then broke through without stopping and landed on a large stone island. There was nothing more to discuss anyway. Only the soul fish remained in the water, lying in wait.

They were greeted by an army of death knights and monstrosities. Most of them were here, apparently, and Arakataron was grinning from inside the column of death behind them. The mist-face warrior gazed at the group with cold indifference.

Jerry grit his teeth. The Archmage was a step ahead and had already gathered his army here.

“You are a hundred years too young to—Hmm?” Arakataron began speaking, but his words suddenly stopped. He squinted at Jerry. “You… What have you done?”

Jerry smiled. He suddenly levitated, rising high enough that the undead couldn’t reach him.

“Come out to fight me, Arakataron,” he declared. “That death beam won’t protect you.”

Arakataron didn’t reply. He was clearly confused. As the Death Archmage, the ambient death energy followed his will, but as soon as Jerry appeared, he felt his control over it waver. This hadn’t ever happened before—and Arakataron had been an Archmage for a long, long time.

He was puzzled. Only one possibility came to mind, but it was too crazy to be true. Or was it? The purple flames in Arakataron’s eyes turned a greedy green. For the first time in a century, he took a non-Archmage seriously. He wasn’t in the habit of underestimating people.

Arakataron straightened his crossed legs and floated out of the death beam, slowly rising to slightly higher than Jerry. The mist-face warrior gazed over in surprise but said nothing. Arakataron grinned.

“Do you really have it, brat?” he asked, his raspy voice trembling with excitement. “Did you really deliver the Prism of Death to me?”

“Only if you can take it.”

“Hmph. I don’t know how a mere two-feather managed to force a Prism into submission, but your confidence is false. You can’t even control it properly.”

Jerry smiled enigmatically. “Maybe I can.”

Arakataron’s eyes flashed. Death energy gathered below him, forming a swirling vortex mid-air. The quantity was many times more than a regular necromancer’s magic reserves, and more arrived every moment.

Jerry chuckled as he saw that. Archmages were in control of the ambient magic in the air, and if he could control the Prism properly, he could do the same. Unfortunately, Arakataron was right; Jerry was still very far from achieving that.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to. There was a vast quantity of death energy right there, just waiting to be used. It was also much denser than in the air, and therefore, much easier to control.

The lake frothed. Waves splashed around as the waters trembled and a stream of black water floated to Jerry’s side, surrounding him like a fat snake. It seemed like a much smaller amount than Arakataron’s, but it was much more condensed. In truth, the two sides were roughly equally matched.

“Lucky tricks.” Arakataron chuckled. “I am the world’s best necromancer. Even with the powers of a false Archmage, a newborn brat like you could never match me.”

“Prove it.” Jerry smiled confidently.

“So I shall.”

The air shook and the winds trembled. The death energy howled as two tremendous streams clashed, and the sky lost its color as the ever-present mist parted.