The dust hung in the air like ash from a dying star. Every player froze, instinct telling them the next wave would not be like the others.
The system text confirmed it:
[ Wave 10 – Begin ]
A low horn echoed, not from the city, but from beyond the horizon. The sound reverberated through the marrow of every player, each note hammering like a war-drum. From the void of the broken gates, they came—black-armored figures marching in lockstep, their footsteps shaking the very streets.
The Undying Legion.
Their armor was fused to bone, their shields etched with runes of despair. Chains bound their limbs, clattering in rhythm with their advance. Each faceless helm glowed faintly with pale blue fire.
"They're not beasts…" someone whispered.
"They're soldiers."
The first rank planted their shields, the second lowered their spears, and the third drew their swords in one perfect motion. The sound was too clean, too sharp, as though death itself had trained them.
