I could have chosen any class, but I chose the most perverse one

"We, the keepers of secret light,
Stand firm against eternal night..."

Kanna's voice cracks as the barrier flickers, ready to shatter under the immense pressure.

Her hands are white from the strain, the muscles in her arms rigid with pain. It’s not just exhaustion, not just the wounds, not just Ques's relentless assault, but also her own power. Having renounced Chand, the light within her has become a double-edged sword, and every spell exacts a price.

Ques senses the impending collapse, and with a dark hiss, he pours even more power into his bolts of dark energy.
Shadows rise around him like a tidal wave, ready to consume Kanna.

"Thou shalt not pass, thy fate is sealed,
To realms where darkness is revealed!"

With a final word, Kanna raises her mace above her, channeling her will into the circle.

The light erupts in a blinding wave, sweeping away the darkness that had surrounded her.

An explosion of power bursts from the magic circle, filling the temple with a light so intense that even the deepest shadows falter.

[SEAL OF UNHOLY]

From the circle drawn on the ground, a divine light bursts forth, filling the entire temple and overwhelming everything in its path. The light races along the floor, up the columns, and over the debris, enveloping the skeletons summoned by Ques and reducing them to dust with a crackling hum.

The bone gate, symbol of the Lich's dominion, creaks.
The massive ossuary door, which had emerged from the ground like the maw of hell spewing an endless stream of skeletons, is the primary target of the ritual's power.

The sacred seal crashes against the arch of bones, and the cold, smooth surfaces of the skulls shatter with a deafening crack like glass. The grotesque, imposing door collapses under the purifying power of Kanna’s magic.

With a furious scream, Ques realizes that his main source of power has been destroyed.

The Door to The Ossuary, his armory, the source of his undead army, is gone.

His skeletons collapse into dust, the crumbled bones mingling with the temple’s debris, and the darkness he had summoned dissipates like black smoke swept away by a breeze of light.

Ques watches, helpless, as the divine light spreads everywhere, nullifying his magic and causing his puppets to fall one by one.

 

Kanna, exhausted, collapses to the ground. Her breath is ragged, her body drained, but she smiles.

"Now... we have a chance," she whispers, her voice broken by fatigue.

She has won her battle, at least for now.

Ques, consumed by uncontrollable rage, turns toward the cleric.

His confidence falters as he realizes that his primary defense has fallen, and his secret weapon has been neutralized. He cannot summon the ossuary again—the powerful spell has a significant cooldown, and now he is forced to fight directly.

The Lich, who preferred to stay in the background, manipulating his undead puppets, now finds himself compelled to step into the front lines. His cadaverous face twists into an expression of pure hatred.

 

The glow of the professor's spell fades, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air.

Kanna's breath is ragged.
Her skin is cold, her hands still trembling, and her body feels as heavy as if it had been drained of all energy. But the seal worked. The ritual is complete.

The Lich’s access to the ossuary has been destroyed, and much of his army reduced to dust.

A fragile smile crosses her face, as relief mixes with the pain pulsing through every part of her wounded body.
At last, she has been useful. Finally, her knowledge has proven crucial. This time, she didn’t fail.

Luysia and Welze rush toward her.

The blonde is the first to reach her, her breath heavy from the running and exertion, but her eyes show the pride she feels for her companion.

"Are you alright?" Luysia asks, her voice tinged with concern. She kneels beside her, her halberd planted in the ground for support.

Kanna nods weakly, her head still spinning. "It's not over... not yet..." she murmurs, glancing at the enraged Lich, fully aware that he is plotting his revenge.

"The Lich is still here, and he's a terrifying enemy. But at least... we've destroyed his main source of power." Her voice is tired, but steady. Even in that moment of weakness, her will is unwavering.

Welze, still trembling a little and short of breath, crouches beside Kanna. "You were amazing, Kanna! I... I never thought you could do something like that."
There’s admiration in her eyes, hidden behind her glasses.

Kanna nods, leaning briefly on Luysia to get back on her feet. "I couldn't have done it without you... Welze, Luysia... you gave me the time I needed to complete the ritual. I couldn't have done it alone."

Luysia offers her a hand to help her stand. "You're the one who gave us a chance, Kanna. You're the reason we're still alive."

Welze nods vigorously. "Exactly! You're a force, Kanna. Truly."

Kanna smiles weakly, grateful for their support. Even though her body is exhausted, their presence gives her renewed strength.

Then, her expression hardens again. "We can't let our guard down yet. Not while Ques and Ivanhold are still in play."

The attention of the three women shifts to the Lich, whose skeletal hands are now pulsing with increasingly dense dark energy. His gaze burns with pure hatred, the empty sockets of his eyes now brimming with power.

 

On the other side of what now feels like an infernal arena, the battle between the zombie mage and his enemies rages on without pause.
Not even Kanna's powerful spell, the [Seal of Unholy], was able to interrupt the fierce fight. The purifying light did not reach Ivanhold, but even if it had, the mage would have responded with one of his ice barriers.

His talent is undeniable, and despite being a living dead, he retains all the skill he had in life.

Even as a zombie, Ivanhold fights like the great venture he once was, showing an unexpected resilience and agility for someone in his condition and for his class, which is typically unsuited for close combat.

Tersiflare and Deedee, a deadly alliance of fire and fury, move against him.

The roar of Tersiflare's flames fills the air, mingling with the sound of the ice crystals Ivanhold conjures with a simple gesture of his hands.

Thick, gray smoke rises, enveloping everything in a choking mist, as shards of ice explode, scattering in sparks and splinters.

Deedee moves through the ice pillars like a wounded panther, her eyes locked on Ivanhold, but every time she tries to strike with her blade, ice barriers spring up from the ground, breaking her trajectory.

Every movement is filled with rage and desperation, her blows forced, her body driven by a foreign will, unable to stop, unable to hesitate.

Her breath is ragged, the cold wrapping around her body, slowing her reflexes, but she can’t stop.
She must fight. She must kill Ivanhold.

Tersiflare is by her side, its incandescent fire ribbons swirling. The flames vibrate with movement as if they have a life of their own, seeking a way to attack Ivanhold. Each ribbon strikes with devastating force, but the air around the mage solidifies into ice defenses, reflecting the flames in a thousand shards, scattering light and darkness everywhere.

The frost contracts and expands, ready to counter every offensive.

Deedee seizes the moment, darting forward with her bow-sword ready to strike. Her feet barely touch the ground, her heart racing, but before she can land the blow, another ice barrier rises, impenetrable.

Ivanhold doesn’t retreat an inch, his face rigid, his figure cloaked in an aura of frost so intense that even the air around him seems to shudder.

His empty eyes shine with a disturbing light, completely devoid of emotion, but for a brief moment, there’s a flicker, a distant reflection, which fades almost immediately.

Ivanhold raises his hand, and a column of ice erupts from the ground, attempting to trap Tersiflare in a frozen tomb.

The fire spirit moves gracefully, dodging with elegance, but the frost begins to slow its movements, struggling to maintain its fiery dance.

Suddenly, a crackling sound in the air catches Xiaikai's attention.

The storm clouds above them thicken further.

Ivanhold has already prepared his spell.

A second later, the sky opens, and a rain of ice cascades down onto the battlefield with devastating force. The ice crystals cut through the air like knives, aiming to strike anyone beneath them.

Tersiflare struggles to keep its flames alive and protect its summoner, but the ice is gaining the upper hand.

Deedee moves in a zig-zag pattern, her body tense with every muscle straining as she dodges the shards of ice, but one of the crystals strikes her in the back, knocking her to the ground.

The cold seeps into her bones, the pain is sharp, but the huntress grits her teeth and pushes on.
With an unnatural leap, she rises again, forced by the demonic will of her Master.

She is a slave to the contract, a slave to the pleasure of the hunt, a slave to the twisted pleasure Strauss Wagner, the worst bastard she’s ever met, knows how to give her. The mark on her neck burns, her eyes fill with tears. She both revels in and suffers from the torment, becoming more and more a tool with each moment.

Each missed strike deepens the despair of her torment, but she cannot stop.
She must hunt, she must fight, she must obey.

She curses herself, she curses Strauss. His absolute commands echo in her mind, a directive she cannot ignore.

Her bow-sword arcs wide, seeking an opening in Ivanhold’s ice defenses, but the zombie mage responds with inhuman speed. With a mere gesture of his hand, another barrier rises, and Deedee crashes against it, blocked once more.

The combination of the [NORTHERN ROSE] and [WINTER'S GRASP] has made the mage untouchable. His defenses are impenetrable, his ice magic brutally enhanced, and the winter aura surrounding him weakens his opponents more and more with each passing moment.

Xiaikai, stoic and focused, intensifies her evocation's attacks, infusing them with even more power. The flames multiply, creating a vortex of fire that seeks to consume Ivanhold, but the mage, unfazed, continues summoning ice that seems inexhaustible.

Every shield that falls is immediately replaced by another, every crack in the ice is instantly repaired.

The pink-haired woman realizes that, despite being stronger, she cannot win this way against such a defense. If she continues, she’ll soon run out of energy, while the mage's aura will gradually weaken her.

It’s like fighting winter itself—no fire can burn forever in eternal frost. Every heat is destined to fade in the end.

 

Just as the two women begin to lose confidence, the mage's eyes ignite with an unreal blue glow.

A sense of imminent danger fills the air.

Deedee, despite her confusion and rage, feels the shift. Her heart pounds, her breath condenses in front of her as the cold intensifies.

The Winter Mage's counterattack begins.

*SWOOOOOSHHHH*

With a sweeping gesture, Ivanhold summons a snowstorm.

The wind lashes out with brutal force, whipping up ice and snow into a deadly vortex.
Visibility, already compromised by smoke and sparks, drops to zero.

The battlefield is engulfed by a wall of snow, the wind howling like a ravenous wolf, and the temperature plummets even further, allowing the cold to seep through every layer of protection.

The blizzard descends with unimaginable ferocity. Snowflakes, large and sharp as shards of glass, whip through the air, slicing through metal, skin, and flesh.

Deedee raises her arm to shield her face, but every movement becomes slower, more difficult. The cold engulfs her, every muscle tensing in an attempt to resist, but the storm is merciless.

Tersiflare, wrapped in flames, tries to shield Xiaikai from the devastating cold, but the blizzard is so intense that even the fire begins to fade, suffocated by the icy winds.

The fiery ribbons thrash in the air, struggling against the storm, but Ivanhold’s ice magic is unstoppable. They extinguish, erasing every trace of warmth.

The mage, at the center of the storm he summoned, seems almost at peace.

His cold eyes move slowly, observing the cataclysm he has created.