A Necromancer's Guide to Clearing a Game Like Tower

He sent them up the center line ahead of any living foot. The first one made four steps before the marked mud drained it out from under its own weight and it dropped into a pile of bone. The second made it six — far enough to cross the thick line itself — before it came apart, and James watched exactly how fast the ground pulled it down.

Six steps. That was the window. Not long.

"Cillian. Center line, where the second one fell. Everything you’ve got."

Cillian brought both hands together and the air around them started to scream.

"Maeve. Brand it the second he’s ready."

"Ready," Cillian said. His whole body had gone tight around the charge.

Maeve threw the brand. The thick line lit orange down its length.

"Now," James said, and fired Necro Blast down the path at the same point.

Cillian released.

BOOM.

The lightning came down on the branded line and the Necro Blast hit it from the side and the brand burned between them, and the thick line in the mud cracked open like ice splitting under a kettle.

The shrine bell made a sound like it broke.

The red haze guttered, dimmed, and dropped.

On the steps, the Saintess stopped praying.

The pressure came off all at once.

Ronan’s shield arm came up easy. The marks in the mud stopped crawling outward. The shapes in the doorways went still. Maeve’s field, which had been bowing inward at the edges, settled and steadied, and her shoulders dropped half an inch.

"Window’s open," she said. "It won’t stay."

James looked at Finn.

"Go," he said.

Finn went.

No word, no wind-up. One stride and he was moving, axe up, crossing the dead center line while it was still dark. Ronan swung the shield left to wall off the path behind him. Cillian raked lightning along the two lines still trying to flicker back to life and kept them down. Maeve threw both hands forward and the gold field stretched with Finn as he ran, riding his back across the mud.

The Saintess watched him come.

She didn’t run. She didn’t raise a hand. She stood on her steps in white with that same calm on her face, waiting for the prayer to reach up and catch his arm the way it had caught at Cillian’s boot.

The prayer was dead. Nothing caught.

Finn reached the steps and swung from the hip with everything he had.

THUNK.

The axe went through her neck and came out the other side.

Her head left her shoulders.

It dropped into the mud at the foot of the steps.

Her body stayed up for a full second. White dress unmarked. The Cross at her open throat still glowing. Then the knees went and the body folded down onto the steps and stopped.

The village went silent.

Maeve’s hands came down. Cillian’s fists opened. Ronan stayed exactly where he was, shield still up, because James hadn’t said to drop it.

On the stream, the chat lost its mind.

[VIEWER COUNT: 1,204,000]

[LondonTowerWatch]: FINN HALE JUST TOOK THE BOSS’S HEAD OFF

[SeoulRaidBoard]: IS THAT IT?? IS IT CLEARED??

[IRL_Fangirl22]: I’M SHAKING

[StormFistFan]: maeve and cillian held that ENTIRE phase

[Anonymous donated €20,000]: FIRST FLOOR 15 CLEAR LETS GO

James didn’t move.

He was watching the corner of his vision where the clear notice should have come up.

It didn’t.

No prompt. No chime. No reward window. A boss died and the System said nothing, and James had cleared enough floors to know that the System always said something.

"Hold your positions," he said. "It’s not done."

"Her head’s off, James," Cillian said.

"It’s not done."

In the mud, the Saintess’s head opened its eyes.

Then it laughed.

It started small. A soft sound out of the severed head at the foot of the steps, almost private, the laugh of someone who set up a joke an hour ago and is only now watching it land. Then it spread, and it did not spread the way sound spreads. It came from the head and from the kneeling body on the steps and from the dark of every open house at once, the same laugh layered over itself from every direction in the village.

The headless body pushed itself back up off the steps and stood.

Above the doors, the Cross began to beat. Slow. Steady. Like a heart that had just been switched on.

In the doorways, the still shapes dropped to their knees together, a whole village of them, bowing toward the body on the steps.

The head rolled in the mud, turning itself over until the eyes came around and found James.

It was still smiling.

"You think that stops me?" she said.

No one answered her.

The head turned a little more, until it was facing the small camera clipped to Cillian’s shoulder, until it was looking at the million people on the other side of it.

"All hail Mother," she said.

Every red line in the village reversed at once.

The veins in the mud, the threads in the houses, the lines running off the shrine — all of it stopped flowing outward and rushed back the other way, pouring into the headless body on the steps.

The white dress split from the inside.

Black metal came through it. Not strapped on, not lowered over her — it pushed up out of the body itself, through cloth and skin, plating over the forearms, the shoulders, the chest, the legs, sealing as it went. The joins where it met flesh were too clean. Like the armor had been under the white the whole time and was only now being allowed up.

The severed head dissolved where it lay, breaking apart into red-black light.

The light lifted off the mud, drifted to the body, and poured down into the empty neck. It gathered there and hardened and packed itself in tight until a helm sat on the shoulders. Black. Smooth. The visor shut.

Maeve’s field bent inward under it. She set her feet and held both hands up and held it without a word.

Ronan braced with his whole body behind the shield.

Finn was still up on the steps. He took one step back down them, axe up, eyes on the thing wearing the body he’d just beheaded.

Cillian had gone quiet. The arrogance was gone off his face completely. He stood square, both fists lit, looking at the armored shape like he was doing the maths again from the start.

James looked at it and understood, finally and completely, that the Saintess had been the mask. The whispers, the prayer, the circuit, the head in the mud — none of it had been the fight. It had been the part before the fight.

The System chimed.

[BOSS IDENTIFIED: DARK KNIGHT OF THE SUCCUBUS CROSS]

The black helm turned toward Team Zero.

Then the Dark Knight reached up, over its shoulder, and drew its sword.