The witches strike what looks like a remarkably well rehearsed pose, extending their catalysts towards the spell circle, forcing the heart off the ground, held aloft on spears of magic, the dark mist of Rotunda's plague draining from it. As the gleaming lances dig into, and through, the corrupted, shrieking remains, you place weapons side by side, joining formation with the young witches.
And as you prepare to fire, you feel an unexpected force join you. The Librarian stands at your side, spells charged and prepared to join you.
The heart pulses one more time, straining itself to flush out every last dark tendril, every ounce of plague it has stored, trying to hold itself together for one final attack to force you back.
But you give it no such pleasure.
You glance at those around you. These ragtag heroes that braved a city of death and disease, a mire of misery, and the home of corruption itself. Who faced unspeakable terrors of all shapes and sizes, living and dead, skirting death but always grasping victory.
And now you stand here, before the origin of all this madness, arms in hand, hoof, mouth and telekinetic grasp, prepared to show, for once and for all, what you are capable of when you are united.
In a silent nod, and a slight smile, you unleash your ultimate combined attack. And at the end of a spectacular display of magic, bolts, bullets, hadoukens, throwing knives, bears and assorted war cries, the Origin of Corruption is no more.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3-S9eQo0Os#t=42m15s