Terror was a weapon, and Dante had just turned it against its masters. The shadow puppet, a perfect, dark shape of the boy Erica had vaporized, rose from the smoking crater.
Its violet eyes, empty of life or memory, fixed on its former teammate, the Wardcraft user who was still scrambling to his feet.
The remaining members of Derek's team stared, their desire to kill momentarily frozen by a deep, primal fear. They had dealt death, but they had never seen it twisted and thrown back at them like this.
"What... what is that thing?" the Wardcraft user stammered, stumbling backward.
The shadow puppet didn't answer. It simply obeyed Dante's will. He pointed. "Attack."
The creature lunged forward, moving with an unnatural, silent speed. It didn't have the full power of the boy it once was, but it carried an echo of his abilities.
A faint, sickly green mist began to leak from its shadowy form as it closed the distance — a ghost of the Toximancy it once used.
The Wardcraft user screamed, throwing up a shimmering barrier. The puppet slammed into it, its shadowy claws scraping against the magical shield, the weak poison mist eating away at the energy field.
That moment of horror was the opening Dante's team needed. Rina, her face pale but determined, rushed to Jin's side, her hands glowing as she began the difficult process of healing his battered body.
But Derek was not a man to be frozen by fear. He was a predator, and his rage quickly burned away his shock.
"It's just a puppet!" he roared, his voice snapping his teammates back to reality. "Forget the shield-wall! Kill the puppet master! He falls, they all fall! Focus on Dante!"
His command gave them new energy. Their coordinated attack, though missing one person, began to play again. The Maleficium user, a thin boy with sunken eyes, turned his attention from Erica to Dante. "Curse of the Leaden Mind," he hissed.
A wave of mental fog crashed into Dante. His thoughts grew slow, his commands suddenly feeling distant.
At the same time, the Phantasm user — a wiry boy with a cruel twist to his lips — waved his hands wildly.
The battlefield shimmered, and suddenly, three more versions of Derek's charging brawlers appeared, their paths designed to confuse and overwhelm his protectors.
"Dante, watch out!" Eric yelled, planting himself in front of him, a living mountain of defiance.
The injured Graviton user, clutching his bleeding thigh, pointed a trembling hand at Dante. The air around his feet grew heavy, trying to root him to the spot.
The spell was weaker now, but combined with the mental curse, it made directing the battle nearly impossible.
"We have to protect him!" Masha shouted, launching a volley of ice shards to intercept one of the brawlers, real or not.
Talia, a silver ghost, danced between the illusions. Her Kinetic Eye struggled to track the true threats through the confusing magic. She parried a blow meant for Masha, her rapier ringing out in the chaos.
Their support members, Neil and Juno, were now their most vulnerable assets. They stood behind the frontline, desperately trying to provide the information the team needed to survive.
"His greatsword has a flaw!" Neil shouted, his eyes wide with the focus of his Lore Archive skill. "There's a sigil on the hilt — it's an artifact that grants him strength, but it drains his stamina with every swing! He can't keep this pace up!"
It was a vital piece of information. But in shouting it, he had made himself a target.
One of the brawlers, a hulking brute who had been ignored in the chaos, suddenly broke off his attack on Eric. He had been an illusion.
The real one, hidden by the phantasm, had circled around their flank. He charged out of the shadows, his mace raised high, his target clear.
"Neil!" Juno screamed, seeing the real threat on the edge of his vision.
But it was too late. Neil looked up from his analysis, his face a mask of sudden, final understanding. He had no combat skills, no time to react.
WHOOSH!
The mace came down with a sickening, wet crunch.
CRUNCH.
Neil collapsed without a sound, his vital knowledge silenced forever.
A wave of collective shock and horror washed over the team. Erica screamed his name, her voice cracking with grief. The loss was a physical blow, staggering them.
And their enemies took advantage of it.
"One down!" the Maleficium user cackled. He turned his hateful gaze on their other analyst. "Your turn, artist!"
He flung another curse. "Hex of Shared Pain!"
Juno, who had been trying to find Derek's weakness, suddenly cried out in agony. He clutched his arm as if it had been struck.
CRACK!
A sharp sound echoed as his own bones snapped under the sympathetic magic, mirroring an injury Eric had just sustained. He fell to his knees, his skill now useless.
They were falling apart. They had lost their intelligence network in the span of ten seconds.
"Dante!" Derek's voice was a triumphant roar. He had finally pushed past Eric, who was now fighting off two other brawlers. "Your little tricks are over!"
He charged directly at Dante, his greatsword held high for a killing blow. Dante's mind was still slow from the curse, his feet heavy from the gravity spell.
His shadow puppet was still locked in a struggle with the Wardcraft user. He was defenseless.
Masha tried to form an ice wall, but the Phantasm user created a shimmering distortion in the air, causing her spell to form a foot to the left of its intended target.
Talia was too far away, locked in combat with the gravity mage and another brawler.
This was it. Dante's strategy had failed. His cold calculations hadn't accounted for the sheer, brutal efficiency of their savagery.
Derek's blade began to fall. Dante could see the cruel victory in his eyes, the reflection of his own shocked face in the polished, blood-stained steel.
Then, a spear of pure, white-hot plasma screamed past his head. It wasn't aimed at Derek, but at the ground right in front of him.
BOOM!
The earth erupted in a blinding flash, the force of the blast throwing Derek backward, away from Dante.
He turned to see Erica, tears streaming down her face, her expression a terrifying mixture of grief and pure, unfiltered rage.
Her hands were held together, the air around them crackling with an unstable, overwhelming power.
She had saved him, but she had poured all her remaining energy, all her pain for Neil, into that one, desperate blast.
The battle was not over. They were still alive. But they were crippled, grieving, and standing on the very edge of destruction.