The tribe gasped collectively. People stepped back, some gazing at Horace with concern and others at the wizard with thinly veiled hatred.

  "No…" A muffled sound came from the ground as Horace struggled to raise his head. Pretending or not, he was clearly hurt. "I really…wasn’t lying…"

  "Bullshit!"

  Another ray flashed past, burying itself in Horace’s ribs. He screamed.

  "Speak, vermin! What are you hiding?"

  "I swear—Gah!" A kick landed on Horace’s side, sending him tumbling and landing face-up—his nose was squashed, and his face was overrun by black blood. Jerry frowned deeply.

  "That’s it," he said, rising to his feet. "I’m going out there."

  "No!" The woman fell on him. His vision returned just in time to see black tears landing on his face. She was panting above him, warring with herself as she begged, "Please! Don’t kill us, please…"

  "Horace is dying out there!" Jerry whispered. "If I—"

  "He’s fine!" she hissed. "Horace is very strong. He will be fine. Just stay back, please!"

  Jerry set his jaw. He wasn’t stupid. He got the concept. Horace was taking a beating to save his tribe, and all of them were choosing to grovel instead of fight. That was fine. It was their choice. However, watching hurt, and most importantly, it wasn’t working! The photomancer wouldn’t let the issue rest. The least he would do was kill Horace as an example.

  Jerry wouldn’t let that happen. The tribe could make its choices, but Horace was his friend now—and, if the Akshiks let Horace die for them after all the sacrifices he made, Jerry would just ignore them.

  Give them a moment more, he promised himself. Just hold on for a moment.

  His vision returning to Birb’s, and he saw the death knight hold Horace up by his hair. The photomancer stood before him, an open palm shining with golden light. It would have been beautiful if not for his terrifying visage.

  "You pathetic creatures should know your place by now," he said, snorting. "You were born inferior. No matter what you do, Curse or not, you are destined to die in the same filth from whence you came, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. You should be grateful we even let you serve us instead of purge you…and you dare lie? Well, if your souls are that weak, let me help you understand."

  Horace gritted his teeth. "I will accept any punishment, Master…" he mumbled, trembling. "Just, please, I’m begging you, don’t touch my tribe…"

  "Begging me? Oh, no, you’ve lost that right. Let’s see; there was another traitor here, right?"

  He pointed towards Granny’s hut. Before anyone could react, light erupted from the ever-dark hut as if a sun had been born inside, and a heart-wrenching, low-volume scream echoed out.

  "No!" Horace growled, pulling at the death knight once before regaining himself, but his black teeth were gritting so hard they could break.

  "You shut up," the photomancer said, placing his palm right before Horace’s face. A wide ray of light shot out, as if the condensed light of a hundred torches, and Horace screamed as he reached for his eyes—even through his closed eyelids, he had been partially blinded.

  The blond man laughed before another sun flared in Granny’s hut, eliciting a new, even more pained scream. Jerry looked over through Birb. He had never seen Granny clearly before—her hut was always dark—but the perpetual darkness had now been dispelled. Light escaped through the soft furs that served as curtains, half of which had been torn.

  Granny was a small, shriveled form, wrinkled beyond belief and lying helplessly on a tidy bed. She was bald and toothless, and her arms were filled with tattoos depicting dark purple feathers crossed out by black lines.

  However, her most striking feature was her skin. It was the color of old paper and looked so thin Jerry could almost see through it. As the light fell on her, the skin turned red.

  Granny’s pain was silent now, as her throat was weak, but her soul lashed out in spiritual despair, shaking everyone’s minds and making their vision sway. Many tribespeople fell on their knees and wobbled, including the woman struggling to keep Jerry down, who instantly lost power in her limbs.

  "A traitor’s screams, what a nice song!" The blond man laughed, his pearly white teeth reflecting the light of the hut. "This was all your doing, wasn’t it? The Wizard Order was kind enough to let you live, and you dare plot against us while letting this pitiful spirit take the blame? Very well. I’d like to see you hold your secrets when your burnt skin is flaking before my sun.” He turned to the death knight. “Ender. If anyone tries to approach me or resist, kill them."

  The death knight bowed, drawing a curved, wicked, blood-drenched blade. Granny’s soul still fluctuated like mad, desperately looking for salvation.

  It reached Jerry, too; the impact was too weak to affect him, but he didn’t even feel an attack. All he heard was a scream powered by desperation, a cry for help.

  Jerry didn’t know if Horace had felt the same, but he knew one thing: he’d seen enough. These death spirits had been so kind to him, and this man treated them like shit. Granny was in terrible pain. Horace was humiliating himself to avoid confrontation and save the tribe, which was commendable, but it wasn’t going to work anymore. The soft path had failed. Someone needed to act.

  Jerry wasn’t easy to anger, but this man had managed it. His eyes turned into dark lakes while crimson flames sparked in the eye sockets of all his undead.

  "I’ve seen enough," he said, pushing the crying woman off him as he regained his vision. With two steps, he reached the door and swung it open. His eyes oozed darkness as he met the photomancer’s surprised gaze.

  "Who the hell are you?" he asked.

  "Whoever I want," Jerry replied.

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  The photomancer frowned, and his previous haughtiness evaporated in an instant. Jerry was clearly a human, yet his eyes oozed liquid blackness. There was only one thing he could be: a necromancer!

  The man closed his mouth, quickly jumping back with golden radiance already shining around his body. "Ender!" he shouted, and the death knight bounded forth like a berserk horse.

  Jerry snorted. "Axehand."

  The tip of an axe rammed against the death knight’s head mid-flight, sending the entire plate warrior crashing into a tree in the distance. Axehand stood there, grunting as his entire body released red steam.

  The photomancer’s eyes widened. "Back off!" he shouted. "I’m with the Wi—"

  "Billies." Jerry’s voice cut him off, and four zombies suddenly appeared and jumped at the wizard.

  "Stay away!" he screamed, his entire body lighting up enough to make Jerry look away, but the Billies were already so close that they didn’t need to see. Closing their eyes, they simply charged where the wizard used to be, all flailing their limbs wildly to catch him.

  They succeeded.

  Zombie arms wrapped around the wizard’s limbs, enduring the blinding light. He retaliated. Illusions appeared all around the Billies, but they still had their eyes closed. To everyone else, however, these illusions were mighty.

  Jerry saw the wizard escaping and the Billies turned to ashes—only his mental link to his undead let him realize it was fake. The tribespeople reacted differently, screaming or shouting and escaping in random directions. A few came for Jerry, mistaking him for the photomancer due to the illusions, but Headless and Boboar appeared by his side to stop them.

  A faint mist glided through the air, diffusing the light and making the illusions unstable. Some tribespeople realized what was happening, some didn’t, but it didn’t matter. Horace jumped up, arrow already nocked—he’d grabbed a spare quiver while everyone was trying to hide—as he shouted at Jerry, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"

  Billy One slapped the photomancer so hard that his illusions flickered for a moment before dissipating, and everything turned quiet. Jerry watched grimly. If not for his necromantic links or the haze that Laura had produced, even he might have fallen for the wizard’s tricks.

  In fact, the wizard himself had been an illusion. His actual body was two feet to the side of where he appeared to be, probably to avoid any sneak attacks from the tribe, but that hadn’t helped him against the Billies’ encirclement.

  One-by-one, his limbs were immobilized as the Billies raised the photomancer in the air, holding him still. His eyes were cloudy as he stared at Jerry.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, not intimidated at all. "Who are you? I’m with the Wizard Order; let go of me right now! And take these disgusting things away!"

  Jerry crossed his arms. "No, I don’t think I will."

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Horace seemed conflicted for a moment, gazing from side to side before a crashing sound got his attention. The death knight had stood up, and its crimson eyes flared as it charged at Axehand, curved blade at the ready. Its speed was nothing to scoff at. It was a serious opponent—and this time, it wouldn’t be ambushed.

  However, Axehand only grunted. He charged right back, axe blades crossed before his chest and red steam escaping his skeletal body.

  "Make your undead stop," Jerry ordered, but the photomancer only laughed.

  "Fool!" he said. "I don’t control that thing!"

  Jerry frowned.

  Axehand and the death knight clashed at the edge of the tribe clearing, exchanging a dozen blows in the blink of an eye. Axes hacked and slashed with tremendous force, but the curved blade was slippery and supported by an unearthly physique.

  Axehand ducked under a slash, then rammed his shoulder into the enemy as both his axes twirled. He hacked with both at once, but the death knight had already jumped back, using its long limbs and longer weapon to attack from beyond Axehand’s reach. Strikes rained on Axehand, chipping his bones as he grunted. He was forced to defend.

  Though the death knight was constantly retreating, it held the advantage—but Axehand would have none of that. The axes were swung together, smacking the curved blade away as Axehand lunged forth—

  —and before the death knight could recover, an arrow whistled through the air and planted itself in one of its eyes. The death knight recoiled, and Axehand capitalized as he rained blow after blow on it, each axe strike denting the plate armor and threatening to crack it open like a dry crab shell.

  The death knight growled—a hair-raising, otherworldly sound. It leaned back and planted a kick into Axehand’s abdomen, but the double-skeleton simply grinned. Using the force of the blow, he rotated, both axes coming for the death knight’s head from below with tremendous momentum.

  The death knight was out of balance and had no time to dodge. It raised its blade to block. The first axe met the blade. Both weapons were flung aside, but nothing remained to stop the second axe.

  An arrow flew true and pierced the death knight’s other eye, inciting rigidness in almost the same moment that Axehand’s full-force strike cleaved through plate armor, bones, and undead flesh to separate the death knight’s head from its body.

  It collapsed, its head following a moment later.

  Axehand grunted with dissatisfaction as he turned towards Horace. The death spirit ignored him as he turned and sprinted towards Granny’s hut, heedless of everything else; Jerry would handle it, that much he’d made clear.

  Everyone else stared wide-eyed at this battle that had been too fast to follow and too menacing to endure. The photomancer’s eyes threatened to jump out of their sockets. Jerry nodded, a hint of a smile shining on his lips.

  "Nice cooperation, guys," he said, while the photomancer stuttered.

  "That… They…" He struggled to find the words. "What have you done!?"

  "I beat that clown up," Jerry replied. "So what?"

  "Fool!" He laughed out loud. "You’re all dead! Ender belonged to Archmage Arakataron! He’s going to—"

  "Jerry!" A shout came from a hut—it was Laura. "Run away! Hide immediately!"

  "What are you—"

  The air above the fallen death knight shimmered. Colors slipped into existence, weaving together to form a circle. The air inside it rippled before distorting, then suddenly calming again, but Jerry could no longer see the trees and swamp behind.

  Instead, all he saw was a skull with green flames for eyes and a long, thin mustache hanging down where the edges of its lips would be. The skull frowned.

  "What’s going on?" it asked coldly, taking in everything at once before focusing on Jerry. "Who are you, and why are your zombies holding my grandson?"