Coilgun

The door groaned as it swung open, its ancient hinges shrieking under the weight of time. Beyond the threshold lay a vast chamber, dark and oppressive. The air itself was heavy, thick with the stench of decay and the palpable residue of ancient magic. Each breath felt like inhaling centuries of death, the very essence of the room clinging to their skin like invisible chains.

Torchlight flickered weakly from sconces mounted on the stone walls, casting erratic shadows that danced across rows of crumbling pews. Pillars, towering and worn by time, stood like solemn sentinels, their surfaces etched with runes long forgotten by the living world. The symbols were cracked and faded, barely visible beneath layers of dust and grime. Every surface seemed to tell a tale of faith now twisted, of hope turned to despair.

At the far end of the chamber, beneath a vaulted ceiling that seemed to stretch endlessly into darkness, stood an altar. It was a pathetic relic of its former grandeur—cracked, crumbling, and draped in rotting ceremonial cloth. The altar was draped with the remnants of holy vestments that had once been vibrant but now lay like a corpse's shroud, steeped in the foul aura of the place.

But it wasn't the altar that held Michael's attention.

A figure stood before it—still, ominous, waiting.

Clad in tattered, ceremonial robes that hung loosely from a skeletal frame, the creature's hollow eyes gleamed from within a bleached skull. Dark, swirling energy crowned its head, a twisted halo of corrupted magic, giving off an unsettling aura of power. In its bony grip, the figure clutched a staff of blackened wood, its surface etched with dark runes that pulsed faintly, as if alive. The tip of the staff glowed with faint, necrotic energy, casting an eerie light that shimmered over the skeletal hands.

"A lich," Michael muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing with both recognition and disgust.

The creature's empty eye sockets flared with malevolent energy as it turned its hollow gaze upon them, the air in the chamber growing colder by the second. Its voice, a distorted rasp, slithered through the air like nails on a chalkboard, making the hairs on the back of Michael's neck stand on end.

"Another intruder in the sacred halls… how many souls must I claim before I am free?" The words oozed with torment, centuries of madness and imprisonment laced in every syllable. Once a man of faith, now reduced to this hollow shell, bound to a cursed eternity.

A shiver crawled up Michael's spine, cold and sharp. The weight of the lich's presence was overwhelming, its power suffocating. He could feel the malevolent magic surrounding them, pulsing with the rhythm of something ancient and evil.

"We need to be careful," Michael murmured, his voice low but steady. His grip tightened around the remnants of his arm, where pain still lingered like a phantom reminder of his mortality. He could sense Valencia beside him, her power thrumming in the air, a force both dark and vibrant.

Valencia stepped forward, her crimson eyes locking onto the lich with a mixture of curiosity and caution. "He was once a holy man," she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness as if she could feel the echoes of the man the lich had once been. "I can sense the remnants of light magic… buried deep beneath the corruption. Whatever happened to him, this wasn't his choice."

Michael glanced at her, his heart quickening with admiration. She had always been perceptive, but the depth of her understanding now was almost uncanny. He knew Valencia had grown stronger since her transformation, but seeing her recognize the complexities of their enemy's nature reminded him of just how brilliant she truly was.

"How do we kill him?" Michael asked, his mind racing through possibilities. He could feel the edges of a plan forming, but the sheer power emanating from the lich made him hesitate. This wasn't just a battle of strength—it would require precision, timing, and something new.

Valencia's eyes gleamed as her mind worked quickly, analyzing every detail. "Brute force might work, but it would take everything we have," she said, glancing at the lich, whose aura of necrotic energy twisted around him like a dark storm. "If we can hit him hard enough before he regenerates, we might stand a chance."

Michael's thoughts shifted, his mind piecing together fragments of his past and present. He remembered the conceptual weapons from his former life—technology that had the power to pierce through the toughest of defenses. His magic had grown darker, more lethal since his transformation, but there was still something he could harness, something swift and deadly.

His gaze shifted to the pile of scrap metal he'd collected during their journey, and an idea sparked.

Forcing mana from his core, he formed a sequence of thin, glowing magic circles that appeared in midair, each one pulsing in sync like a heartbeat. They hung in the space before him, forming a perfect trajectory. At the center of the closest circle, a thin, metallic oblong disk floated, its surface shimmering as it caught the faint light of the torches.

"Hold him off," Michael said, his voice steady, his focus narrowing as he concentrated on the magic forming before him. "I'm going to try something."

Valencia nodded, already moving forward with fluid grace. Her eyes gleamed with fierce determination, and with a flick of her wrist, dark tendrils of magic coiled around her fingers. A moment later, she unleashed a torrent of crimson fire toward the lich, forcing it to raise a barrier of decaying energy to deflect the attack. The dark flames collided with the shield, sizzling and cracking, as the air filled with the acrid stench of burning magic.

While the lich was occupied, Michael poured more of his mana into the formation. The magic circles pulsed faster, their light growing more intense. He envisioned the weapon in his mind—a coilgun, capable of firing projectiles at terrifying velocity. The thin metal disk began to spin, gathering kinetic energy as Michael's magic fed it with power, the coils of mana wrapping tightly around the projectile like a bowstring ready to snap.

The spell was taking shape, the magnetic coil spinning faster and faster, crackling with raw energy. Michael gritted his teeth as the strain began to mount, his mana reserves draining rapidly. But the potential for destruction, the sheer force of the spell, was undeniable.

With a final surge of power, Michael unleashed the projectile.

The spinning metal disk shot forward, a deafening crack splitting the air as it tore through the lich's decaying shield. The coilgun spell hit with incredible force, shattering the barrier into shards of ethereal energy. The projectile ripped through the lich's torso, sending bone fragments and dark energy flying across the room.

The lich let out a blood-curdling screech, its body staggering back from the impact. Thick, black smoke billowed from the gaping hole in its chest, its skeletal frame trembling under the strain of the damage.

For a moment, it seemed as though Michael had won. But then the lich's hollow eyes flared with renewed malevolence, and the wound in its chest began to close. Slowly, the bones reformed, the dark energy stitching the lich back together as if nothing had happened.

"Damn it!" Michael cursed, frustration gnawing at him. "That wasn't enough!"

Valencia's voice cut through the tension, sharp and clear. "He's regenerating too quickly! We need to hit him again—harder this time!"

"I can't fire another one without draining my mana completely," Michael growled, his reserves dangerously low.

Valencia's eyes flashed with inspiration. "Let me help." She stepped closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, her magic flowing into him. "I'll amplify your spell. Together, we can create something powerful enough to finish him."

Michael nodded, trusting her instinctively. As their magic intertwined, he could feel her energy merging with his, boosting the potency of the spell. The magic circles reformed, larger, more powerful, their glow now an intense, blinding light. The air hummed with lethal energy, the coils crackling with force.

Together, they unleashed the spell.

The second projectile blasted through the air, its velocity so great that the very ground beneath them trembled. It hit the lich dead center, the force of the impact disintegrating its entire torso, leaving nothing but dust and fading remnants of dark energy.

The lich collapsed, its staff clattering to the floor as the light in its hollow eyes flickered once, then faded into black.

Silence fell over the chamber. Michael and Valencia stood together, their breaths heavy, the remnants of their combined magic still crackling in the air.

"That… was impressive," Michael said, glancing at Valencia with a mix of awe and admiration. "You're a genius."

Valencia smirked, her crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Told you we'd make a good team."

As the last of the lich's remains disintegrated into dust, they turned their gaze toward the altar. Something about it seemed... off. There was more to this place than they had initially realized.

"We should move," Valencia said softly, her voice tinged with both curiosity and caution. "Whatever's behind that altar—it's waiting for us."

Together, they walked forward, ready for the next challenge.