Rain began to fall again, thick and relentless, pattering against blood-soaked mud and cracked bones.
Vanthelis stood still amidst the chaos, one hand clutching his sword—its form warping between a scimitar and a crossbow, reacting to his shifting shape when he shift his body. His other hand hovered near his chest where the Heart of Tarasque pulsed harder, faster. He was healing, yes—but each beat of the heart sent a throb of heat up his spine.
The Queen fired three poison arrows in rapid succession, each tipped with venom strong enough to dissolve armor. Vanthelis dropped the morph, reverting to his true form. A twist of his body, a downward slash, and a pulse of dark mana allowed him to parry the arrows midair—but the third one nicked his thigh.
The poison hissed on contact.
He staggered slightly.
But he didn't fall.
Instead, he smirked and whispered, "Your aim's slipping."
The Queen snarled, rushing him.
She wasn't graceful now—she was furious. The long tail she glided on whipped through the mud, lashing undead corpses aside as she barreled forward. Her coral-plated armor gleamed, her crossbow now used like a club.
They clashed—sword against rage.
Steel rang.
Vanthelis ducked under a sweeping tail, slashed at her exposed side, but the Mana Shield absorbed most of the blow. She retaliated by spitting venom into his face, and he was forced to roll aside, blinking away the stinging blur.
As they fought, the battle behind them roared louder.
The Acolytes were pushed back, their ranks thinned. Some were dead. Some were overexerting, their mana cores trembling, eyes sunken. The gnolls, despite their ferocity, were being split apart by the Naga's superior numbers and watery terrain. Tidecallers had flooded the lower ridges, turning the muddy valley into a half-submerged killing field.
Only the ghouls remained truly relentless.
They died and died again.
And at the center of that fray—Ishlar hunted the Princess.
He marched through corpses and illusions alike, Frostmourne dragging behind him, its blade glowing a deep, pulsing blue. His cloak was torn. His chestplate was cracked. His breath came ragged.
But his steps never faltered.
"I see you," he muttered, eyes narrowing on a faint shimmer in the fog.
The Princess appeared again, just beyond the line of defending Naga warriors, whispering orders to rally the right flank. She looked up—and saw Ishlar walking straight toward her.
She tried to raise her voice for another Voice Echo, but Ishlar was faster this time.
He raised his hand.
Death Coil.
It slammed into her side before she could react, lifting her off the ground and sending her crashing into a rock formation. Blood streaked across the stone. Illusions broke apart around her in a pulse of broken light.
Her command faltered.
Some of the Naga turned to help.
"NO!" she shouted, voice breaking. "Do not break formation!"
But it was too late.
Ishlar leapt, riding Unholy Aura's speed, slashing with Frostmourne at the Naga who dared protect her.
Two fell instantly.
The Princess barely rolled aside and activated her Illusion again, disappearing into the mist once more. Ishlar growled, slashing wildly, shattering one after another until only the fog remained.
He stood there, breathing hard.
Then his hand went to his chest.
"I need more..." he muttered.
He glanced down at a fallen gnoll—still breathing, barely.
His eyes went dark.
Death Pact.
The gnoll's body convulsed once, then shriveled—its soul consumed.
Ishlar exhaled, his wounds stitching back together, his stamina surging.
But the moment of power was fleeting. He could feel it: this battle would not be won by attrition.
They needed to kill the leadership. Now.
Back at the heart of the battlefield, Vanthelis and the Queen collided again.
He morphed—into the Princess this time—and used her Voice Echo. The Queen staggered, caught off guard by the thunderous cry erupting just inches from her.
But she retaliated with a roar of her own and struck Vanthelis square in the chest, knocking him into a tree trunk hard enough to crack the wood.
"You think imitating us makes you powerful?" she hissed. "You're nothing but a parasite."
Vanthelis groaned, coughed blood—but laughed. "Then why do you look so afraid?"
The Queen raised her crossbow again—but then paused.
Behind her, an acolyte used Life sap.