Annie stood on the fractured marble floor, her boots crushing shards of broken bone and rusted armor as she watched the scene unfold.
The faint glow of her Light Creation shimmered around her like a protective veil. She wasn't surprised to hear that the Skeleton Queen had arrived. In truth, she had been expecting it.
Just like the werewolves had once pledged their alliance to the Purgatorists, so had the undead.
There had been far too many bone traps, too many hollow footsteps echoing without source.
It had only been a matter of time before the queen showed her face—and probably the Skeleton King too.
"They're trying to reclaim their glory," Annie murmured, her eyes narrowing as she saw some skeleton's traps on her path.
"The days when Purgatorists, Demons, and Skeletons marched together… When the world nearly crumbled beneath their combined power."
Lunara stood beside the Skeleton Queen, gripping the hilt of her massive sword with both hands. Her crimson eyes flickered with restrained fury.
"A thousand years ago," Annie continued, "they almost succeeded in wiping out humanity. If it hadn't been for the Reaper, the strongest human alive, the Fairy Queen, and those other heroes…"
Her voice trailed off, but the memory of those names still echoed in the old tomes.
Lunara's breath came out in a slow, steady rhythm. She was listening, but her gaze was fixed on the undead horde rising from the shadows. Their hollow sockets glowed like dying stars.
"I've fought countless skeletons before," Annie said softly, "I know their patterns, their strengths, their weaknesses…
But the Queen? She's different. She's not just strong—she's intelligent. Dangerous. But I believe in your victory."
Lunara finally turned to her, a rare softness lighting her otherwise sharp features. "Thank you, Mother."
Annie smiled. "You are the future queen of our clan. Go remind them why."
Without another word, Lunara surged forward, her sword leaving a crescent of wind in its wake as she dove headfirst into the undead ranks.
The Queen's skeletal guardians screeched in response, raising their decayed weapons to meet her charge.
Meanwhile, the battle in the corridors had taken a darker turn.
The witches, spread thin across the winding paths of the ever-shifting castle, were doing their best to hold their ground. But the enemy was unpredictable.
Skeletons were dropping from the ceilings, bursting from the walls, crawling from the cracks in the floor like a never-ending swarm.
One of the witches let out a cry as a jagged blade tore through her left eye, blood gushing down her cheek as she stumbled back, dazed.
She blinked rapidly, her remaining eye scanning the hall in desperation. A low, mocking chuckle echoed through the dark. She knew that laugh.
She grabbed her twin daggers, ignoring the blood soaking her sleeve, and dropped into a defensive stance. A goblin—vile and hunched—lurched out of the shadows, its sharp claws raised high.
But before it could get close, both of its eyes suddenly turned pitch black. Her daggers had already found their mark.
The goblin collapsed to its knees, twitching violently as it bled out. Calmly, she reached up and removed the ornamental hairpin that had held her long hair in place—it was a blade too. In one fluid motion, she slashed the goblin's throat open.
Breathing heavily, she turned and spoke into the small crystal pinned to her collar. "They're ambushing us from all sides. I just took down a goblin in the shadows. We need to regroup."
Her voice crackled in the ears of the other guardians.
"This corridor never ends!" Saphyra snarled. "How the hell are we supposed to find each other if everything just keeps looping?!"
The tension was rising. Fear, even among the strongest witches, was beginning to creep in.
Then, a voice spoke calmly from the one side of the group. "I may have a solution."
All ears turned to Garrick, whose presence had always been a point of contention.
He stepped forward slowly, his tone measured and deliberate. "This castle… It isn't infinite. It's a trick. I've been moving forward with my illusion body—while keeping my real body a few blocks behind."
"What?" Sylvara said coldly.
He nodded. "Every time my illusion advances, I noticed the blocks we pass reappear further ahead. The castle shifts them, recycles them. It's not endless—it's just a loop."
The guardians were uneasy.
"I can use this to our advantage," Garrick offered. "If I make the Purgatorists believe that all of us are pushing forward, we can mask our real movement. While they're chasing ghosts, we slip out."
Saphyra crossed her arms. "And why should we believe you won't stab us in the back the second we drop our guard?"
"I'd expect no less," Garrick replied with a small smirk. "That's why I allowed you to place the sensor. If I make a move, you'll know."
Even so, the guardians were unsure. The risk was undeniable.
Then Annie started talking.
"We don't have much of a choice," she said firmly. "If we stay trapped in here, we won't be able to reach the potions carriage—and we need those supplies to help Zayne and the wounded. This might be our only chance."
She turned her attention to Garrick. "But if you try anything… anything at all…"
"I won't," he interrupted. "I know what's at stake."
With a nod, Annie gave the order.
Garrick raised his hand and activated his Creation. In an instant, copies of every witch—including the wounded—shimmered into existence and began moving forward through the corridor.
The real ones, however, silently took a different path, waiting for the blocks to shift and open a new exit.
All except for Annie, Lunara, and Menma.
As the real group began moving, a witch asked Annie, concern on her face. "Why aren't you coming with us? We can make an illusion of you too."
Annie shook her head. "If all of us disappear at once, the enemy will know something's wrong. Someone has to stay, to fight, to distract. I'll buy you time. You all focus on protecting the resources and helping the wounded."
The witch opened her mouth to protest, but Annie's words silenced her.
"I'll be fine," Annie added with a small smile. "I've survived worse."
With that, she turned toward the battlefield once more.
As the skeletons advanced, their rusted weapons raised high, Annie called forth her Light Creation.
A dozen ethereal swords hovered around her, each glowing with radiant energy. They spun in synchronized patterns, deflecting the incoming blades before they could touch her.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Bone met light, and light won every time.
Annie moved like a dancer, weaving between strikes, the swords orbiting her like loyal guardians. The air around her shimmered with magic and purpose.
She wasn't just a fighter. She was a symbol. A protector. A mother.
Far ahead, Lunara's sword clashed against the Skeleton Queen's blackened scythe, and sparks flew like lightning in the darkness.
The war was far from over.
But they had a plan.
And they had hope.