Silence stretched for what felt like half a minute. Justin didn't dare interfere.

Valdrik had a daughter. Judging by her age, Irina had almost certainly come from Earth. Valdrik had only been in this world for twenty years, and there was no way someone could reach Level 28 in the same year they adopted their class.

The revelation humanized Valdrik in a way Justin hadn't expected. A dangerous shift—it didn't make the man any less of a threat.

In some ways, it made him more dangerous.

"Irina," Valdrik said at last, recovering his composure. His gaze shifted toward the older woman. "Elena."

Elena and Irina. Names with an unmistakable Eastern European ring.

More than ever, Justin felt out of his depth, like he'd stumbled into someone else's story. He realized then how little he truly knew.

[Warning: the Level of this Vault has ascended to: 48.]

"We know what you're doing, Dragomir," Elena said, her voice cold and steady. "And I am not going to let you get away with it."

Valdrik chuckled, a sound without warmth. "Our own daughter told me to stop, Elena. She has chosen this world over ours, as I knew she would."

"Irina stands with me, Dragomir. As she always has." Elena's staff pulsed with emerald light. "Everything I've done in this world, every sacrifice, was so we could go back home. And at every turn, you have sabotaged me. No longer."

"Don't you see," Dragomir said, with strained patience, "that what I'm doing is better than the life we had in Bulgaria? Even you must see that, Elena. If you would only wait, we can both have what we want—power in this world and a way back to our own. It's exactly what all of us in the Terra Club wanted—what you acknowledged as the ideal. I'm making it real."

"The Terra Club is gone," Elena said flatly. "Its members scattered to the wind. All the pain we've caused... and for what?" Her voice cracked. "If not for you, Dragomir, none of this would have happened. I will not be strung along any longer. You never wanted to go back home. I will find my own path. Whatever the cost."

Dragomir's expression hardened. Blackwood, throughout it all, remained focused on his ritual, his Vranthillis never faltering.

Elena and Irina turned, noticing Justin and the others for the first time. Irina's eyes widened in recognition.

"You," she said, her gaze locking onto Justin. "You're one of us."

Justin shifted uncomfortably, seeing no point in denying it. "How could you tell?"

"I'm a Farseer," she explained. "I can see possible futures and origins. Your story..." Her eyes studied him. "You're from Earth."

A prophetess, then. That explained her arrival—perhaps she had seen this moment coming.

"What is she talking about, Justin?" Myrelle asked.

"I'll explain later," he said, his eyes never leaving the two women. "Your father has caused me a lot of pain, and whatever he's doing here will cause more."

"Which is why I'm here to stop it," Irina said.

[Warning: the level of this Vault has ascended to: 49.]

"Time's almost out," Alistair warned.

"Don't attack him," Irina commanded, raising one hand. "Not until I've had my say."

"With all due respect," Theric said, "we're one level away from an Ascendant Vault. Whatever family business needs settling should probably settle quickly."

"Irina, I don't know your story," Alistair said, "but Valdrik is a Lexicant Necromancer the Templars have been hunting for months. If we don't stop him in the next minute—"

"I will have my say." Her voice was steel. She shared a look with her mother, then stepped forward. "Father. When the Vault becomes Ascendant, we'll help you defeat whatever beast you are summoning. That's what you're doing, isn't it? Summoning something powerful, using your magic to increase the odds of it being Prismatic?" She took a breath. "And if it drops a Prismatic Core, we can use it to go home. Together, if you wish. A chance to leave this world behind and the pain you have caused. To become someone new, just as you made yourself new in this world."

Justin's breath caught. To go home? Could a Prismatic Core create a link back to Earth?

"I must deny your request," Valdrik said, his tone regretful. "Help me if you wish—doing so will further your goal of returning home, if that's truly what you want. But I will not waste a Prismatic Core just to correct my perceived wrongs."

Theric's expression shifted from jovial to sharp interest. "A Prismatic Core?" He let out a low whistle. "Now the stakes become clearer."

"Perceived wrongs?" Elena's voice dripped with venom. "You used a Prismatic Core to travel back to Earth solely to kidnap her. But you never imagined I'd follow you here. You always thought women were stupid." Her staff blazed brighter. "That's why you keep getting outplayed."

Valdrik chuckled. "That's not true, as you well know. There is no point in explaining myself. Even if I did so perfectly, you still would not understand my reasons."

"I'm done with this, Irina," Elena said, her patience exhausted. "I told you this was a fool's game. Whatever shred of honesty your father once had is gone."

"This is not his end," Irina said coolly.

"So we don't fight?" Elena asked.

Irina seemed to consider this, as if seeing something that wasn't there.

"No," she said. "We fight."

Both women raised their staves, emerald and silver light building around them.

Valdrik stared at her for a long moment. Then, with sadness that took Justin by surprise, he answered softly, "So be it, my little sparrow."

"Well," Theric said, his sword already drawn and his earlier levity replaced with focus, "that's settled then. Talemaker, you and your friends take on the undead. I'll handle the count here with these ladies. Try not to die; I'd hate for you not to see what all this Terra Club business is about."

He knew about the club, mentioned so long ago at Harrington's party. Was he also an Earther, or just somehow mixed up in it?

But before Justin had a chance to consider, Valdrik moved, and battle was joined.

Valdrik's staff blazed as he launched himself at Elena. Theric was already moving to intercept, his mirrored shield catching a bolt of shadow that would have struck the Life Enchantress and reflecting it back toward Valdrik. Irina's staff flared with silvery light as she joined the fray.

But Justin had no time to watch. Gareth Everett was already stalking toward them, his pale features twisted into a snarl as he eyed Alistair.

"Long have I waited for this."

The Paladin's jaw tightened, his war hammer glowing. "Death has already taken you, Gareth. Damnation in the Nether will be next."

"The God of Death is more forgiving than you would ever guess. He gave me a second chance. Unlike the Templars."

"What you did could have been forgiven if you had humility."

Gareth laughed, drawing the katana he'd claimed at the Vault of the Sapphire Star—Midnight Fang, wreathed in darkness. "Let's see if your righteousness can save you this time, as it didn't at Highcliff."

The Shadowblade lunged. Alistair met him head-on, hammer against sword, light against shadow. The two broke away from the main group; this was clearly Alistair's fight.

That left Justin and the others facing Wolfram Gravesong and at least a dozen zombies lurking behind.

Justin summoned Atlas from his ring. The spider construct materialized with a whir, red optical sensors immediately tracking the threats ahead. Lightning crackled along its carapace as it positioned itself beside Justin, its new Storm Rebuke ability ready.

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The undead Ranger stood motionless, one of his javelins in hand. His gray eyes fixed on Justin with malevolence.

"At last, I get to slay you," Wolfram rasped. "Morvath take your soul."

"How original," Justin replied.

Reginald launched himself forward. "Have at thee, you moldering miscreant! For Queen and Country!"

Wolfram's response was immediate. The javelin left his hand in a blur, trailing crystalline light. Reginald tried to dodge, but the projectile clipped his wing. The rooster spun through the air with an indignant squawk, crashing into a column close to Lila and not getting up.

"Stunning poison!" Eldrin called out, already drawing his bow. "Hold the line until he recovers."

The zombies surged, a wall of undead flesh. These weren't the shambling corpses from the tunnels. They moved with purpose, some wielding rusted weapons, others crackling with necromantic energy. They were shields meant to absorb hits while Wolfram threw javelins at his pleasure.

[Level 22-25 Zombie Thralls]

"Formation!" Justin called. "Atlas and I will tank. Lila, keep us alive. Eldrin, focus on Wolfram! Myrelle, with me."

Lila's song rose immediately, her voice cutting through the chaos.

[Bardic Inspiration is active! +10 to Coordination.]

The first zombie reached Justin—a massive brute with a corroded greatsword. Justin activated Gentleman's Sidestep, pivoting around the swing. His cane struck the creature's knee with a crack.

[Elegance in Motion is active.]

[1 Advantage gained.]

Two more zombies pressed in from the sides, but Atlas was there. The construct's front leg lashed out, impaling one zombie through the head. The other grabbed at Atlas's carapace, and Storm Rebuke triggered—electricity arced through the undead's body, making it stagger back with a moan.

Justin's cane struck while it was stunned, frost spreading along its limbs and locking it up.

Myrelle was beside him, her Sunsting Cane a blur as she targeted joints and skulls. One zombie reached for her, but she ducked under its grasp and drove the stinger of her cane's head into its eye socket. The creature collapsed, black ichor leaking from the wound.

"Nice!" Justin called.

Eldrin's arrows were flying fast, each aimed at Wolfram.

But the undead Ranger was fast—inhumanly so. He dodged and weaved, and when he couldn't avoid a shot, he used his javelins to deflect the arrows in mid-flight.

Then Wolfram threw—not at Eldrin, but at Lila.

She dove, and the javelin passed through where she'd been standing, embedding itself in a zombie behind her. The creature froze, ice spreading from the impact point, then shattered into frozen fragments.

The javelin vanished and reappeared in Wolfram's hand.

"He's trying to take out Lila," Eldrin said. "This Coordination buff is the only thing keeping us alive."

"Then we need to get aggressive," Justin said. "Atlas, with me!"

The construct chirped and scuttled forward. Justin activated Drake's Breath, frost erupting from his cane toward a cluster of zombies. The ice slowed them, giving him breathing room—but Wolfram was already throwing again.

This time at Justin.

He tried to burn his Advantage for a dodge, but the javelin was too fast. It struck his shoulder, and frigid agony exploded through his body. His arm went numb, his cane nearly slipping from his fingers.

[You have been Frozen!]

[You have been Cursed by Morvath! All healing now causes damage.]

Justin felt his Ring of Hygiene pulse.

[Morvath's Curse reversed by the Ring of Hygiene!]

Justin's Ring of Regeneration triggered immediately after, the healing magic spreading through his shoulder. Without the Ring of Hygiene, that healing would have burned him from the inside.

He reignited Vorthak's Flame, warmth flooding through his veins.

[Freeze reversed by Vorthak's Flame!]

A zombie took advantage of the confusion, its clawed hand raking across his chest. His Shadowhunter's Regalia absorbed most of the impact, but the force still drove him back a step.

Atlas was on it immediately. The construct's leg speared through the zombie's skull, then lifted the corpse and hurled it into two more advancing undead, sending all three sprawling. Lightning danced along Atlas's carapace as it repositioned itself between Justin and the remaining threats.

Reginald rejoined the fight.

"ENOUGH!" the rooster crowed. Violet energy exploded around him. "You dare stun a knight of the realm? You pathetic, pestilent corpse!"

He launched himself at Wolfram like a feathered missile. The Ranger threw a new javelin, but Reginald was ready this time. His wings flared, and a shield of purple light materialized. The javelin struck the barrier and dissolved harmlessly.

Wolfram scowled, attempting to fall back. Only five zombies remained now, their formation broken.

"Oh no you don't, you witless worm!" Reginald squawked. "No one gets the better of Sir Reginald the Bold!"

The rooster struck, creating an explosion of fiery light. Wolfram tried to dodge, but the blast caught him in the chest, hurling him backward into a column, aflame.

"Now!" Justin shouted, pushing through the pain in his shoulder. "Take the rest of the zombies down!"

Lila's Chromatic Knives flew, their notes singing in time with her song. Eldrin switched to his Sunsting Longsword, cutting through two zombies that had gotten too close. Myrelle was a whirlwind, her cane strikes precise and brutal. Atlas scuttled between targets, each strike of its legs accompanied by crackling electricity that left zombies twitching and vulnerable.

Justin targeted a particularly large zombie, softening it up with a few cane strikes before activating A Proper Send-off. The attack knocked its head clean off, while the rest crumpled to the floor.

[A Proper Send-off has refreshed.]

[1 Advantage gained.]

But Wolfram was already recovering. The undead Ranger pulled himself to his feet, somehow having doused the flames, but his face was more wasted than usual. Three javelins materialized in his hands at once.

Activating a skill, he threw all three—one at Reginald, one at Justin, one at Atlas.

Reginald dodged the first. Justin burned an Advantage, the javelin passing through empty air. The third javelin struck Atlas's carapace with a clang. Ice spread across the construct's surface, and it went perfectly still.

[Atlas has been Frozen!]

The construct gave a mechanical whine but was completely locked in place. Justin stood nearby, hoping his flames would make quick work of it.

He pointed his cane at Wolfram and attempted to summon a fireball, but nothing happened.

"Fresh out," he muttered.

Fortunately, he wouldn't need it, as Lila appeared behind Wolfram, coming out of invisibility with two knives ready to lunge—Disappearing Act.

"Dodge this."

Both knives struck true in Wolfram's back, but Lila didn't let up, now singing to throw the rest. By the time she was done, the undead Ranger sprawled on the floor, weakened.

When Reginald joined, there was no hope for Wolfram Gravesong. What Lila started, the rooster finished with his fire magic, creating a funeral pyre for the undead Ranger.

Atlas's ice coating cracked and fell away as the freeze effect wore off. The construct chirped and helped Justin and Eldrin mop up the last two zombies.

Within moments, the area around Justin's party was clear.

Justin leaned on his cane, one hand resting on Atlas's carapace. The construct's sensors swiveled toward him, and it gave a concerned beep.

"I'm all right," Justin assured it. His shoulder still ached from the javelin, despite the healing and the curse being stopped by his Ring of Hygiene. "You did great."

Atlas chirped approvingly.

A crash from across the throne room drew their attention. Alistair and Gareth were still locked in combat, but the Paladin was gaining the upper hand. Gareth's movements were desperate now, his confidence gone.

A final crash echoed—Alistair's hammer connecting with devastating force. Gareth's shriek was cut short as golden Flames of Life consumed him, and the Shadowblade dissolved into ash.

Alistair, with widened eyes, stepped back, watching ash pile as if he couldn't believe it was there. At last, Gareth the Shadowblade had fallen.

Beyond the Paladin, who stood catching his breath, Valdrik, Elena, Irina, and Theric were locked in a battle of magical fury that was almost impossible to follow.

Elena fought with the precision of a healer turned warrior. Shields materialized around her allies, absorbing Valdrik's dark bolts. Between castings, she unleashed volleys of radiant arrows that forced Valdrik to reposition. When one of her arrows grazed Theric's shoulder, emerald light pulsed from her staff, knitting the wound closed without breaking her rhythm.

Valdrik fought like a man possessed, hovering ten feet above the ground. Fire and ice erupted from his staff in equal measure. Shadow tendrils lashed out at Theric, forcing the Dungeon Delver to dodge. Then lightning struck, followed by more fire—an endless barrage of incantations that rippled through the air, as if reality itself were bending to obey him.

Beside Valdrik was a shade wreathed in frost, its form barely corporeal, its eyes burning with blue light. Justin's monocle identified it as a Level 18 Cryoshade—the summon Valdrik had stolen from him months ago. The creature moved in synchronization with its master, hurling ice spears at anyone who got too close.

Theric was the eye of the storm, fighting at the center with a grace that belied his age. His mirrored sword flashed in intricate patterns, deflecting spells back at their caster. His movements were almost too quick to follow—one moment parrying a shadow bolt, the next launching himself toward Valdrik with impossible speed, only to be driven back by the Cryoshade's intervention.

But it was Irina's fighting style that captivated Justin most. The Farseer moved with an economy of motion that seemed lazy compared to the others. She didn't dodge or strike with force. Instead, she simply... wasn't there when attacks arrived. A shadow bolt passed through empty air where she'd been standing a heartbeat before. An ice spear shattered against the floor as she calmly stepped aside. Her staff glowed with silvery light, and when she cast, her spells always found their mark—not through power, but through timing and placement.

She was inexorably working her way closer to her father, moving through the chaos as if she were walking through a garden, her eyes unfocused as if seeing a dozen futures at once and simply choosing the one where she survived.

It was the most unnerving display of combat Justin had ever witnessed.

"We need to help," Justin said, straightening despite the pain. Atlas positioned itself beside him, ready to move. "With Valdrik—"

"Or take out Blackwood," Lila suggested.

She gathered her knives, readying to throw.

But that was when Blackwood's chanting reached a fever pitch, sweat streaming down his face as the blood crystal pulsed faster and faster.

[Warning: The Level of this Vault has ascended to: 50.]

[Congratulations! The Vault of the Throne of Shadows has become PRISMATIC.]

[New Reward: A Prismatic Core!]

The blood crystal shattered, and the Queen slumped forward, unconscious or worse—Justin couldn't tell from this distance.

A humanoid figure appeared in front of the throne, perhaps seven feet tall, radiating death itself. Shadows swirled around its form, bearing a staff made from skulls and decked in ebony armor. The temperature dropped, frost forming in its wake.

When Justin's monocle registered the newcomer, he nearly pissed himself.

Belshar the Nightbringer

Level 50 Lich Emperor

Rank: Ascendant

Atlas's optical sensors locked onto the Lich, emitting a low, warbling alarm—the most fearful sound Justin had ever heard from it.

"Netherfucking hell," Justin said.

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