A Necromancer's Guide to Clearing a Game Like Tower

Chapter 167: Chapter 167: The Confession Court Breaks I

Seraphine pushed herself up out of the wreckage of the booth, and pieces of red-stained wood fell off her torn veil as she rose.

James’s hand was still half-raised, the cast never finished, and he understood exactly how close that had been. A half-step slower on Declan’s part, and there would have been nothing left for him to finish raising it for.

Declan stood between them, shield arm forward, boots planted.

Seraphine looked at him first — the wall that had stopped her — and then her eyes came past him to James, and they did not leave him again.

Declan didn’t wait for her to decide anything.

”Formation,” he said, and the group closed around James without being told twice.

The Ironwall officer locked in at Declan’s shoulder. Maeve pulled the support behind the shield line with one hand on her collar. James sent the Python sliding low across the floor to cover the near lane, called the Dark Knight up beside him, sword low and burning, and set the wolf to the far side near the broken booth line.

Every angle to James now had something standing in it.

Seraphine’s eyes moved across the shape of it — Declan in front, the officer beside him, the Python on the floor, Camillia at James’s shoulder, the wolf covering the flank — and for the first time since she’d walked into the corridor, she understood she was not looking at one boy anymore.

She tested it anyway.

She came at Declan’s side, fast, and the Ironwall officer closed the gap before she could turn the angle into anything. She cut toward James through the space that opened, and Camillia’s blade came up and forced her hand back before it crossed the distance. She dropped low, going for the floor path, and the Python’s coils were already there, forcing her to jump back instead of through.

James put a Necro Blast through the half-second gap the three of them made together.

[JAMES GANNER — NECRO BLAST]

[SERAPHINE — HP: 54,000/54,000 → 51,800/54,000]

Small. But it landed, and it landed because five other people had built the space for it to land in.

Seraphine pulled back, breathing harder than the hit should have made her.

She stopped trying to fight them like this was a fair exchange.

She raised both hands, and the confession booths answered.

Doors swung open down both walls, one after another, faster than before. Chains slid out of the broken wood and across the floor and down from the ceiling in long dragging lines. From inside the booths, the sewn-mouth whisper of the Wraiths started up again, and along the stone the dead Chained Penitents from the first wave began dragging themselves upright, collars scraping against the floor.

[COURT EFFECT ACTIVE]

[CONFESSION CHAINS MANIFESTING]

The fight had just stopped being eight against one.

It was eight against Seraphine and every wall of the room she stood in.

The chains went for the roles, not the people.

A length of iron wrapped Declan’s shield arm and yanked, trying to pull it wide open, and he set his boots and refused to give it the room. Another chain caught the Ironwall officer around the ankle and dragged him a full step out of position before he cut it free with the edge of his own shield.

Behind them, the support’s hands started shaking mid-cast, the whisper of a Wraith working into the timing of her spell.

Maeve caught her wrist before the light could misfire.

”Rhythm’s not yours right now. Borrow mine.” Her own Radiant Field pulsed once, steady and even, and she held the support’s cast inside it until the light matched the beat. ”Now.”

[MAEVE CALLAHAN — RADIANT FIELD — PULSE]

The heal went out clean, into Declan’s side where a chain had scraped him raw, and closed the wound before it could slow him down.

Through all of it, Seraphine’s eyes kept coming back to the Dark Knight.

She watched Camillia turn her blade with James’s undead certainty, moving exactly where the fight needed her and nowhere else, silent inside all of it.

”Camillia,” Seraphine said. Not loud. Not yet.

The Dark Knight did not answer.

James did not tell her to. He never had to.

Seraphine’s folded composure cracked another degree, and she reached for something older than her own strength.

[BRIDAL AUTHORITY ATTEMPTED]

[TARGET: CAMILLIA]

The chains nearest Camillia turned toward her, dragging themselves halfway across the stone toward the Dark Knight’s boots.

They stopped there.

[AUTHORITY FAILED]

[CURRENT CONTRACT: JAMES GANNER]

Camillia did not kneel. Did not turn. Did not so much as lower the burning sword still pointed at Seraphine’s guard.

Seraphine’s face went still.

Her hands, still half-raised toward Camillia, did not finish the gesture. They dropped.

Whatever Alice’s claim on Camillia had once been, it was gone before James had ever raised her.

He understood that much just from watching Seraphine’s hands fall.

She stopped being controlled after that.

She came at Declan without waiting for the room to soften him first, chain and claw together, and this time she got through — a cut opened across his side, shallow but real, blood running down into his belt.

He did not step back.

She dragged the Ironwall officer half a stride toward an open booth with a chain around his waist before he cut it and threw himself clear. The support’s cast wavered again and Maeve had to spend real mana holding it steady, more than she’d needed a minute ago.

James saw the lane opening on his own side and sent the Python across it before Seraphine could use it.

She was not losing easily. The group was surviving because every one of them was doing exactly the job they’d been built for, and not one job less.

James stopped watching Seraphine and started watching the room.

Every time a booth swung open, the chains along the floor pulled tighter. Every time one of his summons tore into a booth frame, the chains near it went slack for half a second before recovering.

He watched it happen twice. Then he understood it.

The booths weren’t set dressing. They were anchors, and the chains were only as strong as the wood they were rooted to.

He didn’t need to beat Seraphine.

He needed to burn the room down around her.

”Wolf on the booths,” he said. ”Python holds the floor chains. Camillia keeps her off me.”

The wolf broke off and tore into the nearest booth frame, splintering wood and dragging a shrieking Wraith out into the open by its collar.