Behind the dense barrier of trees lay a circular space of cropped grass. At its center, Nora—the green-skinned necromancer—danced in strange patterns as though performing a sacred ritual, her body twisting and stretching expertly under the dim glow of the moon.
"Just as planned," Natasha whispered, peering at Nora.
But what plan could they have devised that would truly bring down a necromancy user double-infused with Hadas blood?
"Didn’t practice, but here goes nothing," Natasha murmured, her heart pounding under the crushing pressure radiating from Nora, heavy in the wind itself.
Let’s devour this bitch from the inside, Natasha thought. Then, in the blink of an eye, she fell to the ground, crumbling into nothing but thick yellow liquid—the color of her skin.
She didn’t crawl toward Nora. Instead, she loosened the bonds of the liquid she had willingly lted into. And of course, breaking bonds ant losing heat.
Her body began to evaporate, thinning into gas, the air saturating with a visible yellow haze. The bonds were not weak enough to allow random drifting—each particle remained connected, a web of communication that carried her commands across every molecule.
"Ohh my... I never knew she could do that," Elara whispered, still hiding in the corner, watching the gas spread while Nora danced with her eyes closed, seemingly unbothered by the visible haze.
But sothing still gnawed at Elara.
"What’s with this pressure? And the cold... it’s unnatural." Her eyes narrowed on Nora, back pressed against the trees. "Not only that—if she’s controlling the goblins from this far, there has to be a connection."
Elara looked closer with her ordinary eyes, but all she saw was a faintly visible wind swirling around Nora.
That alone confird there was more at work than the low grass and Nora’s strange dance.
Then she snapped.
Elara opened her Ominisight.
Her heart jolted at the sight.
Hundreds of goblin souls spiraled around Nora, caught in the wave of a heavy spiritual wind. Each soul bore a black hole in its chest, from which a chain protruded—elongating across the terrain, tethered to the goblins’ real bodies back at the elf clan.
Nora was controlling them as one—body and soul moving together, their essence forced to dance to her will.
But that wasn’t what froze Elara’s heart.
"Natasha, withdraw!!" Elara scread, stretching her hand as if to pull Natasha’s gas back—but it was already too late.
The yellow haze t the spiral of spiritual wind, and the reaction was like sothing hit by a van at full speed.
Natasha’s body reford violently, blasted backward and sent skidding across the ground. Lifeless. Her soul was already chained among the countless others, bound to Nora’s command.
And through it all, Nora didn’t even open her eyes. She had felt Elara’s scream, but it was nothing more than a mosquito buzzing in her ear.
The reality was clear—within a hundred centiters of Nora, no living being remained. Everything with life had already lost its soul. Empty husks.
Elara’s eyes widened, her heart hamring once every few seconds, her vision blurring with shock, tears, and raw fear as she looked upon Natasha’s lifeless body—felled by an opponent who hadn’t even acknowledged her.
"Na–Natasha..." she whispered, falling to her knees, tears crawling down her cheeks, her outstretched hand retreating.
"This—this is all my fault. If I had known..." she whispered bitterly, her teeth clenching until her lips bled.
"Now see... I’ve cost not just you but—"
She rubbed her face as if to wake from the nightmare.
"D... the... clan—" her voice trembled.
"Don’t disappoint ," Allen’s voice echoed in her mind like a reminder.
We’re counting on you with our lives, Kealion’s voice followed, heavy as a burden.
She saw their faces again from that eting—worried, uncertain, yet still placing their faith in her. What horrified her most was that she herself had placed most of her hope in Natasha’s plan: to beco gas and tear Nora apart from within. Now Natasha’s hope lay lifeless at her feet, chained like the rest.
"I can’t let Lord Allen down. Not Dad. Not the clan. No!!" she scread, her voice cutting through the forest like a fla blade through ice.
But Nora didn’t react. Not even slightly.
"I can’t let this happen," Elara whispered, clenching her trembling fist. "Every second Nora lives is terror for the clan."
She forced bold, shaking steps as she rose to her feet, eyes locked on the necromancer.
"I have to end her."
But at that very mont, the true nightmare unfolded.
Natasha’s body stood again, raised under Nora’s will. Her eyes were dark, her mories blank—her body nothing more than a sack of at dancing on invisible strings.
"Insane!!" Elara exclaid, stepping back cautiously. "Making fight my own comrade?" she snarled.
A sly smile curved at the corner of Nora’s lips, acknowledging Elara’s fear.
But Elara shook her head desperately. She could see beyond the ordinary—this wasn’t Natasha anymore, just Nora wearing her body like a puppet.
"If I’m going to fight you, Natasha," Elara whispered with grim resolve, "I won’t hold back. This is for the clan. And... I’ve always wanted to skin you alive for stealing the frontline every ti Allen was near. Now’s my chance. Immortal or not—I’m not losing to you."
Natasha’s puppet body shifted into a stance, eyes dull but her movents uncoordinated—like a starving man, more zombie than human.
"This might be tough. So, Father..." Elara smirked faintly, her stance firming into that of a true earth manipulator—the only power left to her. "I’ll borrow so of your old moves."
The air tightened with tension. A lone earth manipulator with enhanced vision stood against an immortal puppetmaster—one whose strength alone could already be called immortal.
"The life of the clan is in your hands, Elara", Kealion’s voice echoed one last ti.
Elara drew a deep breath, her toes pressing firmly into the earth, fists clenched tight—ready to fight for the kingdom her father cherished, even if it ant facing not just a rival, but a friend.
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