The corridor grew noisy with a series of intermittent footsteps. The dead followers at the entrance to the restroom bowed their heads, carrying eyeballs as they approached.

They stopped beside Necross, surrounding her like stars orbiting the moon.

I prepared to counterattack.

But the followers seemed to have regained their senses, beginning to ask panicked questions and feeling their own bodies in confusion.

"Is someone there? Is anyone nearby?"
"Liadrin, I'm here! Can you not see either?"
"My hand won't listen... Where are we? Your Grace..."

Necross ignored them and continued speaking to me.
"In my long trials, I have occasionally doubted myself, and occasionally met people like you who claim to fear no death. I like you all the most."

The followers drew ritual daggers and, amid screams of fear and cries of pain, slit their own throats and pierced their own heads.
Grey, I'm giving you ten more seconds. If you don't get up, I'm going in myself.

Necross smiled.
"Because by making you experience death a few more times, I can see from your expressions, again and again, that I am walking the correct, radiant path."
"You seem impatient, but please allow me to tell you one last thing."

I channeled magic into my arms and legs.
"Out with it."
"By keeping the target in an ambiguous state between life and death, resurrection spells that only trigger upon actual death cannot activate. The person you are waiting for will never wake up."
...Seriously?! Grey! I told you not to go around blabbing about your magic!

"Then let me correct you on one thing as well."
Necross tilted her head with interest.
"Please do?"
"It's not 'never.' It's only until I chop you into a thousand pieces. Then the spell will break."

The stone tiles cracked beneath my feet. Magic flowed into my legs like lava, muscles swelling and roaring.
The murals on the corridor walls blurred into streaks of color as I shot past, the wall lamps cracking as I streaked by.

The last syllable of my sentence hadn't even traveled down the hall before my sword point, splitting the stagnant air, was already aimed straight for Necross's chest.

She didn't retreat but instead advanced, letting her torso be shredded by the blade as she reached out to embrace me.
Saw that coming!

I tensed my wrist, pushing my sword speed to the limit. Her arms had only moved a fraction forward before being diced into a bloody mist by a dense flurry of slashes.
Good, keep up the pressure—

The walls on both sides, carrying massive magical energy, crushed inward.

I barely managed to leap back in the nick of time, but the ceiling and floor then slammed together like jaws, trapping me between them.

The immense pressure bore down on my spine. I had to pour in a huge amount of magic to avoid being crushed into pulp.
She animated the walls and floor again. And this time, she poured in far more magic than before, massively increasing their strength and hardness.
Great. Optimistically speaking, this person's mana pool is also at least ten times mine.

Necross pulled an arm from a follower and attached it to her own shoulder.
"My dear Sylvia, don't waste your magic resisting. After physical death, the soul takes seven minutes to depart, vanishing only after flying into the heavens or sinking into the deep sea."
"I will revive you in time, reshape your form, and let you experience death over and over again."
"Come now, curse me, wail, pray—if it can lessen even one ten-thousandth of your fear."

I felt a bit exasperated.

Necross wasn't even using her full strength. She could still switch herself to a "dead" state, enter the world only the dead can go to, and drag out a bunch of powerful beings she'd killed to gang up on me.
This person is essentially a summoner, but right now she's just soloing.
Whether it's Grey or Necross, why do they all think they can beat me with just basic attacks? Do I really look that much like a weakling?

"Then, allow me to confess. I deceived you."
"Deceived? About what..."
Halfway through her sentence, Necross's expression shifted from pity to surprise. The muscles in her face twitched uncontrollably, as if trying to say something, but her lips couldn't seem to meet.

I strengthened my arms, tore open the ceiling and floor that were biting into me, and leaped over the scattering debris to stand before the immobilized Necross.

"I am the elf of stagnation and freezing. I know more than just how to swing ice around. And..."
I forged a massive, person-sized greatsword, raised it high overhead, and brought it down like a hammer, pulverizing Necross into a bloody paste.
"...a cowardly, utterly unimpressive creature like you, no matter how high your magic, doesn't count as a formidable enemy."

Under my devastating swing, Necross was completely destroyed... or so you'd think.
Didn't work at all. The paste under the sword is already starting to squirm.
The followers in the corridor all began to smile and applaud me.

I sighed, lifted my sword, jumped back, and spread my perception glyphs throughout the hallway.
Can't count on Grey. I have to find the core myself.
Quick, search. Look for anything dead that's being carefully protected or is moving away from the battlefield. That must be where the core is.

Necross rose from the ground like clay being molded, her distorted flesh first sprouting crooked eyes and a mouth.
She said,
"I see. Your essence is to stop an object's motion, or to fix an object's state."
"Paired with physical enhancement magic and swordsmanship, you're no less formidable than that former hero over there. Did you participate in the Human-Demon War? What name did you use then?"
Ugh, she's sharp. But don't compare me to that corpse-laying shut-in.

I raised the greatsword.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. To save us both time, could you please just die quietly?"
"Such incredible confidence. Say more, keep talking! I'm looking forward to your dying expression more and more!"

Ignoring Necross's monologue, I focused on searching for the magical source housing the core.
First, rule out Mary and Grey. They naturally have magic, but because their souls are still present, they can't be the core.
The floor and the walls on both sides of the corridor are all imbued with faint magic; she's probably animated them all. The floor beneath my feet was spared until just now, but not anymore.
Then, there's a distinctly denser magical source inside the wall to my left front. Judging by the outline, it's Adam. Poor kid.
Finally, there's the group of followers in front of me. Each follower has been allotted a similar amount of magic. These guys are the most suspicious. Is the core on one of them?
That's as far as I can narrow it down. Just have to beat them all up...

...Wait, why is my sword also emitting a faint trace of magic? It's a magical creation, yes, but I haven't cast any spell on it right now?
Oh no!

I suddenly realized and hurled the greatsword at Necross. The deadly weapon sheared off half her body, its momentum undiminished, embedding itself in the ground only after smashing several applauding followers.

However, the hand I had used to grip the sword had already withered and deformed, now looking like it belonged on an antique appraisal show.
In the instant the sword contacted the flesh paste, Necross had already turned the greatsword into part of her body.
And I, in contact with both the greatsword and the floor beneath my feet, am being pushed bit by bit from life toward death. Hey! God! Scenario Writer! Look at her!