Jerry faced Arakataron in mid-air.

One was an easy-going young man with nice shoes and one of the greatest treasures in existence.

The other, an ancient lich, the Death Archmage, and arguably the most skilled necromancer in existence.

They made a stark contrast as they stood against each other, separated by frothing streams of death energy that had yet to calm down. Arakataron could utilize the ambient death energy in the air to fight, giving him nigh-endless reserves. It was only thanks to the Prism that Jerry could resist, weakening Arakataron’s influence over the surrounding energy and controlling the death lake.

If Jerry was anywhere near Arakataron’s level, the Prism of Death would be able to easily overwhelm the Archmage. Unfortunately, he was not.

“What incredible fortune this is,” Arakataron gloated. “I’ve been looking for the Prism of Death for a century, and it was just delivered to me by someone too weak to use it properly.”

“Beat me first, brag later.”

Jerry wasn’t going to be out-talked.

A fierce battle had already erupted beneath their feet. Two hordes of undead smashed into each other, one made of death knights and the other steaming incessantly. Jerry’s undead were all surrounded by the death lake’s waters, which seeped into their bodies and overcharged them. Thanks to the Prism’s suppression, Arakataron couldn’t do the same; he could only overcharge his leading undead, the mist-face death knight.

Said mist-face was a force of nature as he dominated the battlefield, slashing his greatsword at Headless’s charging form. The strike was too fast; Headless could do nothing.

An axe flashed in the air as it blocked the greatsword, their clash so intense it sent all nearby undead reeling. Axehand stood his ground. His skull morphed into a grin. He grunted in challenge, staring his enemy in the helmet.

The mist-faced warrior snorted.

“I am Arotaron, storm of the north, third general of the Astralis Kingdom, proud servant of the Death Archmage. You are a faulty bone monstrosity. Know your place, insect.”

Axehand’s eye flames, that had already been burning, flared. Crimson tongues flew out like tears untouched by gravity.

An arrow whooshed through the air from behind Axehand, heading for Arotaron. An axe flashed through the air, and the arrow was slapped aside mid-flight. Axehand had blocked it himself.

From the side, Horace frowned. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Axehand grunted. He is mine.

Horace stared disapprovingly, and when Axehand didn’t budge, he shook his head. “Fine,” was all he said before a hail of arrows left his bow to assist the rest of Jerry’s undead. He was carrying more than a dozen quivers, criss-crossed on his back in such a way that he could reach all of them unobstructed.

He even tried to hit Arakataron, but a shield of death energy shimmered around him and blocked all attacks.

Headless was about to be overwhelmed when the arrows arrived. The Billies and Boney were teaming up against three death knights, barely holding their own as they kept them away from Laura and Marcus, who was raving with orders:

“Billy One, help Headless! Laura, make the death knight sli—” Arrows cut through the death knights like hot cheese. Marcus stuttered. “Well, I guess that’s one way to do it.”

At the same time, three water jets were unleashed at the fray, where Headless, Billy One, Boboar, and Foxy, all of them overcharged, were facing a group of death knights and monstrosities. It was already a mess; when arrows and water jets came into the picture, it became even more so, to the point where Marcus just gave up on coordinating those forces.

“Just give them hell!” he shouted. More death knights broke off to assault Laura and Marcus, who were protected by three Billies and a Boney, while two more went off to chase Horace, who stalled both while still supporting everyone else. A stone island away, Axehand was dueling Arotaron, and their battle was so intense that nobody dared approach.

In the sky, Jerry didn’t know all those. He didn’t need to. They had a plan, and his job was to defeat Arakataron—if not, his friends would all die. He wouldn’t let himself fail, no matter what.

Arakataron raised his skeletal hands. The heavy mists coalesced into purple snakes, slithering through the air to attack Jerry. Jerry brought his hands down and clenched his fists. The Prism of Death pulsed in his pocket, and the lake below them shook as streams of water rose to form dark eels.

The eels and snakes intertwined in a chaotic dance, reinforcements constantly pouring in for either side until they formed a large ball of death energy.

A couple snakes snuck out to strike Jerry, but a ball of death water slapped them to oblivion. Protected by this water, Jerry felt like Laura! He chuckled.

No, no chuckles. I must stay focused.

His eyes sharpened before glowing dark. He extended his arms to the sides. More water rose from below, wave after wave heading for the sky to form a raging current behind Jerry.

As his arms were spread, he rotated them until the palms touched each other before his chest. The wave behind him trembled. Dark fish of all kinds shot out like arrows, forming a school around him, and they kept appearing until the wave itself dispersed.

“Go!” shouted Jerry, pointing forward, and an entire aquarium assaulted his enemy.

Arakataron hadn’t been idle either. The air around him was filled with spectral, green-eyed skulls. The fish rammed into them. Bone jaws ripped fish in half. Fins swarmed bones until they were ground to nothing.

Arakataron chuckled. “Up the ante as much as you want,” he said. “Show me the power of a novice.”

“Your mother is a novice.”

Jerry stopped creating death animals. Not only were they ineffective, but watching them dissipate made him feel bad, even though they had no soul.

A reverse waterfall rose from behind him and rushed directly for Arakataron, who cackled out loud. “Do your worst!” he yelled. The mists formed a swirling vortex before him, dispersing the waterfall as it rose in speed. As the two forces collided, dark water drops flew everywhere, and the ambient energy ground them down to mist.

Water was Jerry’s domain. Air was Arakataron’s.

As the waterfall and the mists kept colliding, Jerry frowned. He controlled more energy than Arakataron, but he was much less skillful. He felt weak. In this exchange, where the advantage should be his, he was clearly losing!

“I told you,” Arakataron’s voice came warped from behind the clash, “a novice can never beat me, Prism or not.” Jerry was determined to prove him wrong, but before he could say anything, Arakataron spoke again. “I think this was all. My turn.”

Jerry flew backward, keeping an eye out, and he saw the death water get submerged in a flood of soul energy. Arakataron’s soul flew out like a purple sea, passing through everything unobstructed as it came for Jerry.

This was nothing like Maccain, whom Jerry had fought in Soul War. That time, Jerry had lost catastrophically, but at least he was facing a force he could understand. Maccain’s soul was vast and practiced, but it wasn’t that different from Jerry’s.

Now, facing Arakataron, Jerry was floored. This soul was dozens of times vaster than Maccain’s. It was also fully permeated with death energy, to the point where the purple sea was littered with specters. Facing it was like trying to hold back a landslide with your bare hands.

Moreover, Jerry could feel that Arakataron’s soul contained even more power than was readily visible, more secrets, and that’s without even mentioning his skill at waging Soul War.

Jerry gulped. What kind of power is this!? It’s unfair!

As much as he tried to run, it was impossible. His soul rose in resistance and was blasted away instantly. Arakataron’s soul surrounded Jerry, threatened to drown him, invaded his body like a million tiny hands. It reached deep inside him, where the black ball that was Jerry’s everything hovered, and tried to grasp it. Jerry was completely powerless to resist.

But he had the Prism.

Although Arakataron’s power ran amok inside his body, some of the lake water dissolved into pure death energy that filled the Prism with power. A faint black-and-white wall appeared around Jerry’s soul. It looked transparent and frail, almost phantasmal, but no matter how hard Arakataron struck, it held strong.

Jerry’s body became a battlefield beyond his comprehension. Arakataron used his full force and skill to attack, unleashing techniques that Jerry couldn’t wrap his head around. His soul power transformed into insects, then waves, then a massive fist that came crashing down. Jerry had no idea this could even happen. It was clear that Arakataron was a master of Soul War, but the Prism’s defenses were unassailable.

It was protecting Jerry. Since it had chosen him, it wouldn’t let him go down without a fight, and Jerry felt warmth in his soul. Someone—something—cared about him!

However, even the Prism’s protection wasn’t absolute. It could shield Jerry’s soul from raw power, but Arakataron had more tricks up his sleeve. His soul became a mist that seeped through the wall. It couldn’t harm Jerry’s soul in this state, but it could plunge him into illusions.

Jerry’s world was suddenly filled with death—and it wasn’t even the good kind. Spirits howled in eternal torment and agony. Souls were butchered by steel whips. A terrifying wraith with sharp teeth, long hair, and wielding one of said whips noticed Jerry appear.

It grinned, then ran at him. The more it approached, framed by hell itself and promising an eternity of extreme agony, Jerry felt terror creep up his spine. This illusion was so finely crafted that he completely forgot himself, taking everything to be real. The terror was so strong that a normal soul would have already crumbled.

However, Jerry held. It wasn’t a conscious effort; the terror just didn’t manage to overwhelm him. No matter how the wraith approached, getting scarier every instant, Jerry simply stared.

It is what it is.

A steel whip met his face, and the illusion dispersed. Jerry found himself in a room filled with riches, pleasures of all kind, and food so dreamy it filled his soul. There were no words to describe the heavenly promises, the temptation.

Unfortunately, Jerry didn’t mind such things. These temptations were all created by Arakataron, and how could he know that Jerry didn’t want gold, women, power, or food? He only wanted a simple soft chair, nice shoes, and good, happy friends!

Why does everyone try the same things?... Jerry thought, and with a shake of his head, the illusion disappeared; he was back in mid-air. Nary a second had passed in the real world, and Arakataron’s soul shook in shock.

“How are you still sane?” he said. “Incredible… There was a reason the Prism chose you, then. So be it. I will keep you alive.”

“Finally, one thing we can agree on.” Jerry smiled. His greatest weakness against Arakataron was Soul War, but it seemed he was impervious in that department. Therefore, he stood a chance.

However, even though he could face Arakataron in energy manipulation, it was an uphill battle. Jerry grinned. There was a third domain necromancers could fight in, besides soul and energy, and it was one in which he felt supremely confident.

“Axehand,” he mumbled, “I choose you.”

Below their feet, Axehand and Arotaron were locked in fierce combat. The stone island below them was filled with gashes, and each impact was enough to make the far-off undead shiver. Suddenly, the lake water around them erupted.

Axehand and Arotaron jumped back, neither knowing what was going on, and copious amounts of lakewater surrounded Axehand, sticking on his bones and assimilating with them. From red—due to overcharging—they were turning pitch black, and the steam that rose from them kept increasing in volume.

A grunt came from inside the bubble of death water, carrying an aura strong enough to dominate the weak of soul.

Axehand was a special undead. Jerry didn’t know exactly why, but Axehand had always been his strongest by far. He had reached the level of a death knight, strong enough to easily shake off Jerry’s control if he wanted to, and while overcharged, Axehand had easily overwhelmed the similarly overcharged Jericho. He had even cleaved apart a whale’s tail with one strike, a feat that should have been physically impossible.

However, Jerry had always known that this wasn’t Axehand’s limit. When overcharging an undead, necromancers were usually limited by that undead’s capacity to endure increased amounts of energy. However, Axehand easily absorbed everything Jerry could give him. Of the two, it was Jerry’s magical reserves that were limited; he had never even approached Axehand’s limits at overcharging.

Now that Jerry had access to unlimited power, he could finally test them.

More and more water seeped into Axehand’s bones, which grew darker by the moment. The sheer amount of energy they could absorb was staggering, as the water kept pouring in with no end in sight.

Jerry drew in a sharp breath, as did Arakataron. This was so beyond a regular death knight’s limit it was ridiculous.

The intake finally slowed down. Axehand waved his axe and the water dispersed around him, revealing a pitch-black avatar of doom for all trees. As he stood there, the stone island groaned under his weight, and the force of his stare almost made Arotaron step back.

Even the nearby undead war screeched to a halt as nobody dared to even breathe heavily—and every undead’s instincts screamed to get away from this unrivaled being.

The lake was covered in silence. To every onlooker, Axehand seemed like a god.

A dark chuckle finally broke the silence. “Interesting. But two can play that game, young one.”

The mists around Arakataron shook as they funneled downward. They formed a second torrent much like the lake’s main one, which still stood intact. They pierced down like a needle, crossing through the air to fall on the head of Arotaron, Arakataron’s most elite undead.

Axehand could have acted already, but he waited. Everyone did.

Arotaron’s aura grew heavier at incredible speed, to the degree where it shone like a dark sun in Jerry’s soul perception. There was no outward change, but an incredible volume of death energy dived into his body and disappeared. When the energy stopped coming, the mist emitted from Arotaron’s face grew slightly thicker, but that was it.

However, in terms of strength, he was simply incomparable to before.

“I have scoured entire continents to find the most gifted death knight,” said Arakataron. “It is already incredible that your random skeleton can compare, but that’s as far as you can go.”

Axehand and Arotaron stared each other down, then moved so fast they disappeared. Axe met greatsword in the middle of the stone island.

The stone erupted under their feet. A hole was formed in the water. The sound was sharp enough to make Laura scream, and the ensuing shockwave threw all nearby undead into the air. Jerry gaped.

Axehand and Arotaron had reached the limits of physical strength.

And then, they began to fight for real.