Ethan scarcely had time to gather his frayed wits before Lysandus came at him again. The towering King let loose a guttural, half-human howl, his ice blade raised high. All around them, the last remnants of the Dauntless still burned, but now great sheets of frost were creeping over the flames and smothering them under a thick glaze. Wherever Lysandus stepped, the air howled with the frigid aura he exuded.

Yet here and there, the battered ship's timbers still crackled, locked in a macabre struggle between ice and fire. Shifting lumps of sundered hull had formed an uneven, tilting battlefield. Smoke drifted overhead like a storm cloud, blotting the sky, while shards of drifting ice bobbed on the water all around.

Ethan gripped Greybane in one hand, flexing his other clawed fingers. Half of his bark armor had blistered from the last explosion's heat, and the rest felt chilled to the core. But there was no time to dwell on the pain. Lysandus's presence loomed larger than ever, eyes black with hatred beneath cracked plates of ice.

"Stand aside, everyone!" Ethan barked toward his companions, who struggled to regroup around the smoldering debris. "He wants me!"

Tara, battered and breathless, only nodded, limping away with Fauna's arm slung over her shoulders. The Hopla tried to catch Ethan's gaze, but he seemed even further detached from her now. Battle frenzy had claimed his features all over again.

Klax, meanwhile, crouched near them, ears flattened. Lamphrey, staff in hand, hovered in the shadows, her gaze darting between Ethan and the twisted monarch. None of them looked eager to leave Ethan alone, but they didn't have a choice. The King was fixated on him.

[System Notification!] Enemy 'Lysandus the Frostbound King' – Berserk State

Ethan read the glowing letters that manifested in his mind. A Berserk State… He could practically feel the fury radiating off Lysandus—hatred and agony entwined. The King's once-noble face was now a warped mask, half-encased in jagged shards.

Another feral roar tore from the King's mouth. He thrust his free hand upward, and the sea responded, frothing violently. In moments, watery figures began to slither onto the icy arena that formed around the Dauntless's hull. Human-shaped silhouettes of brine and swirling foam—water elementals—took form, each robed in a sheen of frost that gave them rudimentary arms tipped with razor-sharp icicles.

Water Elemental (Grade C) x10

HP: 100/100

IMMUNITY: Physical Attacks

"There!" Fauna managed, voice shaking. She recognized them at once: lesser servitors conjured by powerful aquatic sorcery. "He's summoning minions. Lesser elementals."

"A King has his knights," Klax growled grimly, pulling himself to his feet. Tara hissed agreement, and the pair lurched forward, deciding in that instant to engage the tide of watery shapes. The foam-limbed elementals lunged with surprising force, colliding with the hybrids in a swirl of biting cold.

"We'll take care of them, Ethan!" Klax yelped. "Bring that bastard King down!"

Lamphrey, her serpent-like pupils narrowing, brandished her staff to muster some defensive wards. At the same time, Fauna shook off her own lingering chills to conjure small bursts of flame from her staff's tip, wincing at every motion. One by one, the water elementals hissed under the scorching tongues of fire, but there were more surging behind them.

Ethan and Lysandus stood apart from the chaos, at the center of a wide plane of ice now forming beneath their feet. Lysandus wanted isolation; he wanted a final confrontation. And the King's will was strong enough to reshape the environment to his demands. Already, the battered deck was freezing over with unnatural speed, the swirling pattern of frost flowing outward like a spiderweb.

Ethan warily adjusted his stance, recalling the new skill loadouts he had available. If his Onixia blade could not carve Lysandus's hardened ice, he had to rely on the myriad talents he'd honed:

"Alright, your majesty, let's see how you deal with this," he muttered, brandishing his free hand in a swift motion and activating Thorn Whip.

A mass of writhing vines shot out from Ethan's wooden forearm. They lunged for Lysandus's chest, each vine bristling with cruel barbs. The King snarled but made no effort to dodge, almost daring the Archon's attack to land. The tendrils caught hold, coiling around the King's midsection and shoulders, forcing him to stagger.

For a heartbeat, Ethan's hopes soared—I have him. But that hope was short-lived. Lysandus unleashed a burst of frigid aura from within, the ice plating around his torso erupting in jagged spines that cut through the Thorn Whip's fibers. The vines split and froze, shedding in lumps onto the newly-formed ice floor with a brittle clatter.

Grimacing, Ethan launched himself forward, aiming to exploit the King's brief entanglement. He swung Greybane overhead, trying for a downward chop at Lysandus's unarmored shoulder. The blade collided with the half-broken plating, producing a sharp crack that actually dislodged a chunk of icy armor. Encouraged, Ethan pressed the attack—only to find Lysandus's free hand flashing up, summoning a wall of ice between them at close range.

Ethan slammed into it, stunned. That instant of confusion let Lysandus pivot his sword arm, slicing across Ethan's chest. Barkskin splintered under the blow, sending shock waves of pain through Ethan's body. He coughed in shock, staggering away.

Blood—or some plant-like equivalent—oozed from the deep cut in his wooden torso. The cold stung more deeply than the actual laceration. Lysandus followed up with another horizontal slash. Desperate, Ethan raised his left arm and deployed Repuslor Shield.

A shimmering barrier manifested as swirling motes of violet-hued energy around his forearm. When Lysandus's blade slammed into it, the entire shield thrummed, distributing the force away. A swirl of sparks and frost crackled outward. Ethan exhaled in relief; the skill still holds.

But the King was unrelenting. He hammered at the shield, blow after blow, each strike sending shivers of numbness through Ethan's bones. The battered plane of ice beneath them cracked from the repeated impacts. With each blow, more of Lysandus's armor flaked off in shards, revealing raw, scorched flesh beneath. Each new tear in the King's hide unleashed a hiss of steam, as if the cursed man was barely containing the tension of opposing elements inside him.

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Between strikes, Ethan saw Lysandus's twisted face—an agonized, furious visage that might once have worn the crown of Westerweald. Now it bore only unbridled hatred.

They separated for half a heartbeat, each panting. Then Lysandus exhaled a furious cry that sent a flurry of icy shards out in all directions, forcing Ethan to raise the Repulsor Shield again to block them. The shards peppered the deck, embedding themselves in the rotted wood.

From the corner of his vision, Ethan glimpsed Klax spinning in a clash with a pair of water elementals. Tara's daggers glinted as she darted about, luring another elemental onto precarious ice so Fauna's spells could flash-cook it. Lamphrey hovered near the rear, channeling some dark chanting that held two elementals pinned in swirling illusions. The party was far from safe, but at least they were alive.

"Time to push harder," Ethan growled.

He dashed forward again, letting the shield drop for a split second to put full momentum into his next move:

[System Notification!] Wing Buffet (Grade B) – Gale-Force Gust

His Drytchling wings unfurled in a snap, creating a shock wave of wind that propelled him right into Lysandus's guard. The King slashed blindly in reflex, but Ethan ducked under the blade. He thrust Greybane upward in a rending motion, shearing away another chunk of the King's battered ice pauldron. This time, he drew blackish blood from Lysandus's shoulder.

Lysandus roared in pain and whirled, swinging his sword in a lethal arc. Ethan crossed his arms, channeling the last vestige of the Wing Buffet's gust to knock himself backward just out of range. The sword clanged against the ice floor, sending shards spraying.

Chunks of Lysandus's armor continued to tumble away. The King's body was partially exposed now: ravaged flesh, scarred by burns from the ship's explosions and riddled with creeping frost crystals that pulsed in time with his ragged breathing. For a moment, Ethan's eyes locked on the tattered remains of a regal crest, half-fused to the King's chest by frost. A faint memory stirred: Lysandus had been revered for his kindness, his sense of justice. Yet now that legacy lay buried under cruelty and torment.

The King's ragged voice rasped with each breath. "A…r-chon…" He lunged again, sword high, but Ethan caught the blow on the Repulsor Shield, braced his legs, and then shoved outward, pushing Lysandus back. Lysandus staggered, losing balance on the slick surface.

Seizing the advantage, Ethan channeled Thorn Whip again, sending barbed vines whipping around Lysandus's ankles. This time, the King stumbled, half-kneeling. Ethan hammered Greybane down at the nearest unarmored patch, clashing with the man's chest. Another fracture formed, spiderwebbing the ice that clung to Lysandus's torso.

"Just…fall," Ethan hissed through clenched teeth.

Instead, Lysandus's eyes blazed with renewed fury, and a pulse of glacial power burst from him. The plane of ice beneath them groaned and shifted. Ethan felt a horrible chill seep into the air, deeper and sharper than before.

All at once, walls of sheer ice erupted around the two fighters. The rest of the Dauntless's deck, or what was left of it, vanished behind crystalline barricades. A dome was taking shape, bracing itself on the half-submerged timbers. Lysandus was creating a tomb of frozen water, sealing both himself and Ethan inside.

"Ethan!" he heard Klax shout from somewhere beyond the forming ice. Then all voices were muffled. A frigid gloom descended.

They stood in a curved, coffin-like chamber, the only illumination a pallid glow filtering through layers of ice. The cold was immediate and paralyzing. Frost crystals accumulated on Ethan's bark-skin in seconds. Even breathing felt like inhaling shards of glass. He took one step and nearly slipped. Lysandus advanced, his eyes glinting with savage intent from behind the half-shattered visor.

[System Notification!] Environmental Hazard: Glacial Prison Temperature: Sub-zero – HP drain. Movement speed reduced by 40%. Warning: Prolonged exposure can be fatal.

Ethan's breath came in ragged gasps, each exhalation forming icy vapor. His limbs felt heavy. The King wasted no time, lunging forward to batter Ethan's shield aside. Greybane scraped across the ice floor, leaving a shallow gouge, as Ethan fought to keep from toppling. The cold was so intense that even his host form—used to harsh conditions—could not fully cope.

Lysandus hammered blow after blow, sword crashing against Ethan's arms and shoulders. The archon's strength flagged. He tried to respond with strikes of his own, but each slash felt sluggish. The corners of his vision blurred.

At last, Lysandus locked blades with him, the ice blade pressed to Greybane's edge. Their faces were inches apart. Then, from the King's mouth spilled a hollow laugh—more a deathly rattle than real mirth. He exhaled, and Ethan's entire upper torso stung with cold. He sensed the frost creeping in, threatening to freeze him from within.

Desperate, Ethan channeled Thorn Whip one last time, aiming to lash Lysandus's neck. The vines coiled—but the King's unstoppable will manifested as a localized storm of ice that sheared them apart yet again.

"I—I can't hold…" Ethan gasped. Another savage blow rattled him, and he slid backward, chest heaving. He had no illusions: if this went on much longer, the tomb would become his real grave.

With a surge of effort, he lunged, his sword meeting Lysandus's corrupted weapon. The blades sparked with clashing energies, frost on one side and Onixia's dull embers on the other. Ethan stared into Lysandus's face, seeing raw mania—dark lines etched into once-human features, eyes like shimmering black crystals.

"Die," Lysandus hissed, forcing Ethan back once more. Their swords were locked in a heavy cross. The frost swirling in the King's breath made every nerve in Ethan's body scream for warmth. He was losing feeling in his limbs, the dryness in his throat choking him.

"DIE!"

His eyes darted up to meet the King's. In that fleeting moment, the reflection in Lysandus's frozen pupils pinned him. He saw not just his own face, but the mirror of raw anger contorting his own features: half-bestial, consumed with the desire to fight and kill.

"All…Hybrid…Archon…die…"

A sick lurch twisted Ethan's gut. In the King's tormented expression, Ethan recognized the same fury that had fueled his every attack. He saw the reflection of an Archon who had spat curses, soared into battle, and led destruction. There wasn't a man behind the creature of raw emotion in front of him any more – he'd seen as much when he stripped the armor from the ice warrior's form. There was nothing but the burning desire to kill that sustained this once-man.

The desire to push forward…no matter the cost.

His sword arm trembled mid-lock. Lysandus readied to deliver another punishing strike. Yet Ethan hesitated, staring wide-eyed into the King's gaze as a roiling wave of dread welled in his heart.

For once, Ethan did not follow through. He paused.

That instant of indecision, of recognition, changed everything. The locked blades slowed, and the King, though still savage, seemed briefly startled by Ethan's abrupt standstill. They stood chest to chest, swords crossed, the icy dome pressing in. The hush felt crushing.

Ethan's breathing came in ragged gasps, white frost forming on his lips. The King's stare held him captive—human eyes submerged in cursed crystals, echoing back the hatred Ethan himself carried. He forgot to move, forgot to push or pull.

Lysandus' unnatural muscles contorted in effort against his.

But Ethan was done fighting. He closed his eyes, sighed in the face of the King's hateful gaze, and ignored his cries of rage.

His mind flashed back to Malak, to Tara, to Artorious and Carliah, to the child in the slave camp and to everyone in this world who'd born resentment in their hearts.

"Lysandus," he said. "Time to let go."

The eyes of the ice-hearted monarch bored into his, momentarily twisted with a confusion that was all too human.

"You're just a symptom, aren't you?" he said. "I bet you don't even know why you hate us anymore."

He felt the blade of the Ice King twist, edging closer to the heart of his Host.

Then, with a distinct clang of power, the ice tomb broke apart.

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