Frost met steel as Ishlar clashed with the Naga Princess beneath the storm-lit sky.
Her three illusions danced around him—each moving with identical precision. Her scimitar lashed out with a deadly rhythm, her Voice Echo thundering once again across the battlefield, sending even the ground into tremors. It cracked stone, shattered bones, and made ghouls scream in unison.
But Ishlar was no longer holding back.
The echoes tore at his ears, blood trickling from one side, but his stance remained unshaken. A slight pulse of Unholy Aura rippled from his body, empowering ghouls that fought on nearby, their claws slicing through scaled flesh faster than before.
"You're too slow," she sneered, slashing across his chest—but met only air.
Ishlar vanished in a blink, reappearing behind her, Frostmourne raised.
The real Princess twisted just in time—but not fast enough.
His blade cleaved straight through one illusion, then the second, and then pierced her side. Blood sprayed. She howled. He didn't stop. Another slash severed her left arm. Her blade fell.
She tried to speak a command, but Ishlar gritted his teeth, eyes burning, and unleashed Death Coil straight into her throat.
The black energy surged through her body.
Her voice died.
The remaining illusion flickered once—then vanished.
The Princess of the Naga collapsed to her knees, eyes wide, lips trembling.
"…You…" she whispered, blood pooling beneath her.
Ishlar looked down at her, chest rising with sharp breaths, pain filling every part of his broken body.
"She was just a child…" he muttered.
And with a final swing, her head dropped.
Across the battlefield, the Queen felt it.
Her eyes widened.
Her connection to the Sirens Command—Naga Princess shattered.
"No… No!" she roared.
Her scream echoed across the battlefield, louder than the crash of waves, louder than war cries. Her tail slammed the ground, snapping a gnoll in half. She turned, poison tears welling in her eyes, and for a moment—just a second—her attention slipped.
It was enough.
A ghoul, seizing the moment, lunged and bit into her neck. She shrieked in pure rage and whipped the ghoul off with her tail.
But Vanthelis was already in front of her.
He struck.
Her scales cracked, and blood flowed. She screamed again, hurling him away with raw force. Her body sparked with energy as her Mana Shield flared and her fury ignited beyond control.
"You killed her… YOU KILLED HER!"
She raised her arms—and the sky turned dark.
Then—
A storm of arrows fell.
Black-tipped coral bolts, poisoned and razor-sharp, rained from the Queen's personal guard hiding in the rear line. These were not simple projectiles—they were filled with a hatred as deep as the abyss.
The towers had already been gone.
But now… everything else followed.
The Graveyard crumbled under the wave of arrows.
The Crypt burned with alchemical fire from enchanted tips.
Spirit Towers toppled, their dark crystals shattering.
The Altar of Darkness cracked and split, the eerie glow within flickering.
And the people—
Acolytes fell, pierced through black robes, their rituals interrupted mid-chant.
Gnolls died, screaming, clutching at arrows buried in their backs.
Dorothy, already crippled and limping, tried to crawl toward a young acolyte—but her body gave out.
She turned toward the sky.
And then—
One arrow struck her head.
Another pierced her side.
She fell beside the altar she once prayed to.
And Bane, the last of the surviving gnolls, was impaled by five bolts at once—still snarling as he collapsed.
In mere moments, the battlefield had turned from fire to ashes.
Only the four remained.
Vanthelis stood bloodied, armor cracked, one hand clenched over a deep wound in his side.
Ishlar, breathing heavily, his arms and legs trembling from blood loss, stood over the Princess's corpse.
Haben, missing one arm, one eye closed from a gash above it, held Kristine's broken scarf in one hand and a rusted blade in the other.
Jayson, the mocking boy turned warrior, leaned against a jagged bone spike—one shoulder broken, one leg barely usable—but still standing.
And across from them, the Queen of Naga hovered—alone.
Blood dripped from her mouth, her scales scorched, her forces annihilated.
She looked at the four of them.
Her voice, hoarse and cold, cracked through the silence.
"…So be it."