The elevator shuddered upward, then CLANGED to a halt at the exit.

Nevia released the heavy wheel, blowing on her slightly reddened palms. Good thing it was her here—if Kaelen had been turning this stubborn thing, Nevia doubted she’d have made it to the surface at all.

The memory of Kaelen’s dramatic farewell still made her want to laugh.

Just as a giggle escaped her lips, a grating bone-on-bone scrape cut through the air. Nevia froze, darting behind a boulder.

Those eerie green flames in undead eye sockets weren’t just for show. Though they sensed life force, pinpointing exact locations required visual confirmation through their soul-fires. Hiding behind cover should buy her time to escape. Yet the next undead that lurched from the shadows headed straight for her hiding spot.

Talk about instant karma. Nevia bolted from cover.

*"Since when are undead this smart?"* she grumbled inwardly, irritation flaring—but beneath it, a trace of anticipation stirred. Maybe it was the thrill of battle she’d missed.

No running now. Time to fight head-on!

She only needed to hold out until backup arrived.

Counting silently—*one, two, three*—Nevia flashed a small smile at the skeletal grunt. From her backpack, she pulled a vial of unstable herbal concoction, repurposed as makeshift explosives. She’d brought six for scaring off bats; one was already used rescuing Kaelen. Five left.

Undead weak points were their heads. Rotted bodies ignored damage—even shattered limbs kept attacking. Only extinguishing the soul-fire in their skulls would reduce them to harmless bones. Her vials wouldn’t kill, but the blast could create an opening.

She hurled a vial at the skull. The explosion knocked the undead sprawling. Nevia snatched a rock, leaped forward, and smashed it into the creature’s eye socket.

Bones crunched.

Black mist seeped from the shattered skull. The corpse collapsed into a pile of broken bones and rotting flesh.

One down. But more undead emerged from distant tunnels, drawn by the noise. Nevia sprinted toward the narrow passage—her rabbit-like agility would let her outmaneuver them in tight spaces.

They moved faster than she’d ever seen. Before she could reach the tunnel, three undead blocked the only exit.

This wasn’t the mindless horde she remembered. *An undead mage must be controlling them.* One bloated corpse, two skeletons—one wielding a rusted iron blade.

"Stand down! Friendly fire! I’m on your side!" she yelled into the darkness. If she could still cast dark magic, she’d prove her allegiance instantly.

Nevia had secretly practiced her innate dark arts, but this body lacked talent. All she could manage now were weak curses and mental interference spells. She had no desire to face even a novice undead mage. Demons and undead were uneasy allies—like Germany’s relationship with Italy in WWII: a useless ally, but one you couldn’t abandon.

As she shouted, she unleashed a minor curse: *Eternal Gloom*. It wouldn’t harm the mage, but the mental backlash along his control threads would make him feel it. *Maybe he’ll retreat.*

No such luck. The three undead lunged without hesitation, coordination screaming of puppet mastery. Her second mental probe vanished like a stone sinking in deep water.

No more illusions. Nevia hurled her torch at the clothed undead on the left. Grease-soaked flames engulfed its rotting rags. As it stumbled burning toward its companions, she tossed a vial at the center skeleton’s feet.

Smoke erupted. The blast flipped the skeleton onto its back. Nevia spun, driving her heel into the last skeleton’s knee joint. It buckled. She raised her rock and smashed its skull.

Two down. One burning.

She could flee now—but her torch! A veteran "loot everything" gamer never abandoned gear. Panting, sweat streaking her face, she dropped the heavy rock. From her boot she drew Gonijiaer’s dagger, hidden in her leather gaiters.

The blade-wielding skeleton rose, swinging its rusted sword. Nevia ducked under its horizontal slash, slipped behind it, and sliced upward. The skeleton split cleanly—but its halves still crawled. One more strike would finish it.

Before she could, a burning undead lunged beside her. Nevia pivoted, kicked its skull mid-air, and used the recoil to flip backward.

She landed crouched, clutching her throbbing foot. *Ow.* Still, she drove the dagger into the crawling skeleton’s skull.

Only one remained.

*Too late to run now,* Nevia thought with a hint of childish glee. The undead charged, fearless and screeching. She sighed at her own silliness—controlled undead felt no fear.

But the creature tripped over its fallen comrade. Her *Eternal Gloom* curse hadn’t been useless; it had subtly frayed the mage’s control. That’s why this fight felt easy.

Nevia dusted off her hands, reclaimed her torch, and crushed the last struggling skull with a rock. Pity about the rusty blade—no loot worth keeping.

As she exhaled in relief, black threads snaked across the ground, connecting the fallen undead. They converged rapidly, drawing darkness from walls and floor into a swirling mass.

No mage. *These threads were controlling them.*

Nevia’s blood ran cold. She knew this shadowy form coalescing before her—an Enderman. A mindless wraith of pure dark energy, feeling neither pain nor fear.

No wonder mental spells failed. Her entire combat style was useless against this.

The shadow twisted, then *moved*. Faster than sight. One moment it was yards away—the next, its arm had morphed into a spear stabbing toward her abdomen.

She barely twisted aside. Agony ripped through her as the spear tore flesh, crimson blooming across her white robes. Weakness flooded her limbs.

Black tendrils coiled around her body, lifting her like a kitten.

"How disgraceful," Nevia murmured, no pain on her face—only a strange smile, eyes gleaming with bloodthirst. Unseen by her, faint crimson flickered deep within her irises.

This wound had reignited an old companion: fear. The same razor’s-edge terror from her first desperate days in this world.

From her left eye, deep black flames surged.

*Black Lotus.*

A silent sigh echoed in her mind. The darkness she’d hoarded for so long erupted from her pupil, engulfing her in inky fire.

Her hand shot out, snapping the shadow-spear embedded in her gut. The darkness dissipated. Her wound sealed itself before her eyes.

She smiled at the Enderman.