Cassandra McConnell's Perspective
Cassandra was happy.
In her opinion, this was how a mage should fight: without worrying about anything except the damage she could unleash on her enemies.
No need to ration spells.
No need to calculate every move.
No need to hide behind improvised walls or run across the battlefield like prey.
Until now, no enemy in this dungeon had given her that chance.
Either they clung to the Tank like leeches, forcing her to hold back so she wouldn't hit him too.
Or they scattered like wild beasts, chasing her as if the only thing they wanted was a piece of her flesh.
But now… now it was different.
Finally, she had found a worthy target.
The boss.
A goblin shaman who, to Cassandra, felt more like a second-rate villain.
He stood there, taking her attacks head-on, trying to retaliate with his own magic — and failing miserably, because his flames, lightning, and curses all crashed uselessly against the earthen walls Matteo raised.
It was almost laughable.
They had two mages.
While Matteo held everything with solid defenses, she was completely free to unleash her power without restraint.
And she had to admit: it felt good.
Very good.
Every ice arrow she conjured drove deep, ripping howls from the boss.
Every fireball burst against his body, spreading flames and smoke.
Every magic missile streaked through the air in perfect rhythm, striking different parts of him, slowly breaking down his endurance.
There, in that storm of spells, Cassandra felt what it truly meant to be a mage.
Overwhelming power, relentless, crushing the enemy without giving him space to breathe.
And for the first time since stepping into the Black Tower, she smiled sincerely.
But in the end, as much as she didn't want to admit it, she lost control a little.
And honestly, who wouldn't in such a delightful situation?
The boss — a perfect target.
The battlefield under her command.
Spells detonating nonstop, each one ripping screams of pain.
It felt like reigning. Like owning the fight completely.
She only snapped out of that trance when Hana's scream cut through her ears:
"CASSANDRAAA! STOP ATTACKING! … DEFEND YOURSELF!"
It took her a second to process.
And then she realized what had happened.
Her damage and Hana's had stacked up far too quickly.
Much faster than anyone expected.
In less than a minute, the shaman's health had plummeted like a bullet in freefall.
And, like every boss in this damned dungeon, the moment he neared death, he went berserk.
The throne exploded in magical energy.
The goblin's eyes blazed crimson, and guttural words poured from his mouth — ancient curses spreading in invisible waves through the hall.
Spells erupted everywhere.
Bolts of lightning split the air.
Flames spiraled into existence.
The stone atop his staff trembled, spewing raw power in erratic surges, beyond all logic.
It was chaos.
Pure, absolute chaos.
Hana was the first targeted, forced to roll behind a shattered wall, using debris as cover.
Matteo was next, throwing up an earthen wall in haste, his teeth clenched as the barrier shook under the barrage of curses.
And then it was her turn.
Cassandra barely had time to react.
A fireball larger than anything she could ever conjure formed before the shaman's staff.
It spun in a vortex of flame, spitting sparks that scorched the air around it.
And with a roar, it shot toward her.
The fireball was so massive it seemed to fill the entire hall.
A miniature sun, roaring in its path.
Cassandra's eyes widened.
If it hit her, there would be no resistance.
No healing could possibly save her.
She'd be burned alive.
Completely.
Fortunately, she had just enough time to respond.
A hurried gesture, words spat faster than they should have been, and an earthen wall rose before her.
A poor, doomed wall.
The massive fireball struck it with a detonation that shook the entire floor.
For a moment, the flames devoured everything in front of her.
Then the wall shattered, reduced to fragments of stone and burning dust.
Heat slammed into her, scorching the air in her lungs.
She raised a hand to her face, certain her hair had turned to ash.
But no — it was intact.
Her red strands, only singed at the tips, were still there.
She was alive.
Still alive.
But she didn't hesitate.
She sprinted toward Matteo, who still held up a solid wall before him.
Runes and cracks glowed faintly across the dirt and stone, proof that the spell was stretched to its limit — but it was enough.
Enough for her to take shelter behind him.
Only then did Cassandra allow herself to breathe and take in the battlefield.
And what she saw… was chaos.
Aslan no longer looked like the reliable Tank who had impressed her so much until now.
At the far end of the chamber, he was hacking a guard in half, each axe strike more savage than the last, each impact sending shards of armor and flesh flying.
It was a grotesque spectacle, worthy of a raging madman.
Eleanor was behind him, watching with wide eyes, hands still glowing with light, struggling to keep up with the insane rhythm of wounds opening and closing on his body.
Hana crouched motionless, hidden behind broken stone, steadying her breath so as not to draw attention.
Her bow was ready, but she waited for the right moment.
And then Cassandra saw it.
A bolt of lightning.
Raw, violent, ripping across the chamber in a straight line.
And not aimed at Aslan.
Not at the frenzied Tank.
But at Eleanor.
"ELEANOORRR, GET DOWN!" she screamed, her voice raw with desperation, louder than any spell she had ever cast.
But it was useless.
Her friend was too far away.
The hall was too loud.
The fight swallowed every sound — explosions, roars, chaos drowning her words.
Eleanor didn't hear.
Fortunately, someone else did.
Someone heard the desperate cry that cut through the chaos of the hall.