Erica was the first to reach the body. She fell to her knees. Her hands hovering over Edgar’s still form. Not knowing what to do.
"No... no, he was... he was just here. He was fine. I saw him fighting."
Her voice broke.
Tears welled in her eyes.
The others gathered around. Their faces masks of shock and sorrow.
This was different from Neil and Juno’s deaths. They had died in the heat of battle. Killed by a clear enemy.
This felt crueler. To survive his own personal hell. Only to die alone monts later.
’Perfect. Let them grieve. Let them feel the loss. It makes what cos next so much sweeter.’
Dante let them have their mont of sadness. Let the silence stretch.
Then, he began his performance.
A rough roar of fake rage tore from his throat.
"AAAARGH!"
He slamd his fist into a crystal tree. The impact echoing through the silent room.
CRACK!
"Damn it!" he scread. His voice cracking with manufactured pain. "DAMN IT ALL!"
They all flinched. Turning to stare at him.
He had his back to them. His shoulders shaking with fake sobs.
’Co on. Sell it. Make them believe.’
"He was already dead when I broke free," he choked out. Turning to face them. His eyes blazing with righteous fake fury.
"His copy must have landed a fatal blow in its final monts. He... he defeated it. But the damage was done."
He gestured violently at the shattered crystal copy near Edgar’s body.
"He was so close... He won, and he still... he still died. Alone."
His voice broke on the last word. Perfectly tid.
He stalked over to the body. Kneeling beside Erica.
He placed a hand on Edgar’s shoulder. The shoulder he had just stabbed through.
"He was a good man," he said. His voice thick with fake grief. "A loyal friend. A brother in arms. He believed in us. He believed in ."
’He believed in a lie. And that belief killed him.’
He looked up. His gaze sweeping over their sad broken faces.
"I will not let this stand," he vowed. His voice ringing with terrible, solemn promise. "I will not let this world take another one of us. Not like this. Never again."
He stood up. His fists clenched.
"Derek told sothing before... before we lost him," he said. His voice dropping to sothing quieter. More dangerous.
"He said the Goddess grants a wish to the first to complete the trial. A single wish. For anything."
Their eyes widened.
"I swear to all of you," he said. His voice rising again. "I will be the first. I will claim that wish."
"And I will use it to bring him back. I will bring Edgar back to us. No matter the cost."
A wave of shock rippled through them. Then hope. Desperate, beautiful hope.
Erica looked up at him. Her tears forgotten. Her eyes shining with fierce light.
"You... you can do that?" she whispered.
"I will do that," he corrected. "For Edgar. For all of us."
’For . Always for . But you don’t need to know that.’
His promise was a comfort to their grief. A purpose to their pain.
"But..." he paused. His face shifting to troubled thought. "There’s a problem."
They leaned in. Hanging on his every word.
"To bring him back, the Goddess will need a trace of him. His soul. His essence."
He looked down at the body. Then back at them.
"Souls don’t linger long after death. They fade. Dissipate. In minutes, he’ll be gone forever. Lost to the void."
Erica’s hand flew to her mouth. Talia’s eyes widened with horror.
"There is only one way to save it," he said. His voice grave. "I have to make him my summon. I have to bind his soul to . Just temporarily. Until I can use the wish to set him free. To bring him back to life."
’The lie is so perfect. So believable. Because it has just enough truth mixed in.’
They nodded. Their faces full of grim understanding.
It was a dark act, yes. But a necessary one. A noble one.
He knelt. Placing both hands over Edgar’s chest.
He closed his eyes. Furrowed his brow. Began to fake struggle.
He let out a fake pained grunt. "I can’t," he gasped. Clutching his head.
"What?" Erica said. Panic in her voice. "What do you an?"
"My limit," he said. His voice strained. "I already have five summons. My necromancy has a hard cap. Five and no more."
"His soul... it’s too pure. Too strong. I can’t hold it. There’s... there’s no more room!"
’This is the key mont. This is where I take everything.’
He looked up at them. His face a picture of desperation. Of noble anguish.
"The pendant," he said. His eyes locking onto the glowing artifact hanging from the athyst tree. "The Manacore Pendant."
"It doubles the user’s mana pool. Perhaps... perhaps if my own mana is larger, if my capacity expands, I can break my limit. Just for a mont. Just long enough to anchor his soul."
No one argued. No one questioned. No one even hesitated.
In their eyes, he was not claiming the most powerful artifact in the zone for himself.
He was taking up a heavy burden. A necessary tool. To save the soul of their fallen friend.
’You beautiful, gullible fools.’
Talia, her own grief pushed aside by sense of duty and the. she walked to the athyst tree.
She retrieved the pendant with reverent care. Walked back and handed it to him.
The Manacore Pendant.
His prize. His goal. The thing he had manipulated and murdered for.
And they were giving it to him with tears in their eyes.
He clasped it around his neck.
A surge of imnse power flooded his body.
His mana pool doubled in a dizzying and intoxicating instant. The sensation was overwhelming. Euphoric.
He could feel his limits shattering. His ceiling rising. His power expanding beyond anything he had felt before.
’This. This is what power feels like. True power.’
"Now," he said. His voice firm. Controlled.
He knelt again. Placed his hands on Edgar. And this ti, he let the summoning happen which he knew it would have worked even before.
A shadow, darker and purer than any before, rose from the body.
Its form giving off a feeling of complete loyalty even in death.
His sixth summon.
He stood up. Swaying slightly for effect.
"It is done," he breathed. "His soul is safe with . Bound until I can free him with the wish."
He looked at his team. At their grateful, trusting, tear-stained faces.
His plan was complete.
He had his new puppet. He had the pendant. He had their undying loyalty, forged in the fire of their grief and his lies.
’Everything is mine. Everything is going according to plan.’
It was in that mont of quiet triumph, as he looked past the faces of his team, that he saw her.
Lana.
She was no longer in the corner where she had been resting.
She was standing silently behind the great athyst tree. Partly hidden by its trunk.
He had completely forgotten her.
’How... how did I forget about her?’
He hadn’t seen her move. He didn’t know how long she had been there.
Her face was unreadable. Her wild athyst eyes giving away nothing.
But she was watching him.
And for the first ti since entering this labyrinth, he felt a real, chilling flicker of doubt.
’What did she see? How much does she know?’
Their eyes t across the room.
She smiled. Just a tiny curve of her lips.
And in that smile, he saw sothing that made his blood run cold.
She knew.
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