The fourth monarch lived in an underground cavern teeming with subterranean creatures, practically a small world unto itself.
Deep within the cavern stood an enormous mound of bones. An old lich in a tattered black robe sat atop it, two gray-green flames of soul fire burning in his eye sockets.
"The Sage of Withered Bones, Stigma Intermediate Stage. He commands Soul Severing and Bone Curse and is one of the Netherworld's long-established monarchs. His strength is no trifling matter."
Lynn entered the cavern.
The Sage of Withered Bones seemed content to wait for his prey to take the bait. Rather than attack, he sat atop the bone mound and watched Lynn with an inscrutable gaze.
Seeing how composed he was, Lynn could not help wondering what gave this fellow such confidence.
"Boy, you shouldn't have come here." The Sage of Withered Bones spoke in a hoarse voice, like bones grinding against bones.
"But I'm already here," Lynn said.
"You reek of the living. You are not welcome in the Netherworld."
"What a joke. Do I need your welcome?"
The Sage of Withered Bones stood, extending two withered hands from beneath his black robe.
"Very well. An unwelcome guest is an enemy, then."
"Stay, and embrace your new life in this Underground World!"
As he spoke, he raised both hands.
Countless curse runes began appearing across the gray-white surfaces of the cavern's bone walls.
The runes peeled away from the walls and floated in the air, revolving in concentric rings around Lynn.
Every rune carried the power of Soul Severing. Like countless invisible hands, they reached for Lynn's soul from every direction, seeking to wrench his consciousness out of his flesh.
Lynn stood without moving.
His soul power automatically expanded into a barrier. The curse runes struck it and shattered into