The war drums began at dawn.
Low and slow, echoing across the valley like the heartbeat of something ancient. The Black Host did not speak, did not march — they simply waited, lining the battlements of Veyrath Keep in perfect silence. Thousands of armor-clad corpses. Deathless. Unblinking.
Kael stood before them with Ashrend resting against his shoulder, red lightning pulsing from its edge with each slow breath he took. The blade was warm — hungrier than ever.
Behind him, the Stormbreaker Company was arrayed in a battle formation etched from weeks of blood and scars. They stood quieter now, more seasoned, but not afraid. These were warriors forged in fire. Survivors of Rath Dura. Sons and daughters of fallen banners.
And this morning… they had no choice but to storm a fortress of the dead.
"We need a crack," Lyra said beside him, pulling her daggers free. "That wall won't break without something catastrophic."
Garros chuckled, hammer resting on his broad shoulder. "Catastrophic is what we do."
Malrik cracked his neck. "What are we waiting for? A written invitation?"
Kael didn't respond.
He stepped forward.
Ashrend burned red — then black — then red again, pulsing with chaotic rhythm.
He lifted his blade high.
And when he brought it down—
"Ashrend: Sundering Vow!"
A shockwave erupted from the swing. The earth split forward in a straight line, ripping through soil and bone, through spike-trenches and cursed sigils. It slammed into the fortress gate with thunderous force—
BOOM.
The front wall cracked. The deathless stirred.
The Black Host began to move.
Thousands of them — armor scraping, limbs twitching, ancient weapons drawn in eerie unison.
Kael turned to his army.
"Today we carve through legends. Today we prove death is no throne. Move!"
The battle that followed was chaos embodied.
Stormbreaker clashed with the Black Host beneath a sky of red lightning. Arrows flew, blades met bone, screams were swallowed by the roar of undead warhorns.
Kael moved like vengeance incarnate.
"Crimson Fang."
"Sovereign's Bane."
"Veilpiercer."
Each strike cleaved through ranks of cursed knights, red lightning trailing his swings like fire-torn ribbons. His blade sang with power — the second shard fully awakened now. It fed on darkness, cut through ethereal armor like silk, and repelled necrotic energy with every counterstrike.
At his side, Lyra danced through shadows, her daggers severing tendons and necks with surgical precision. Garros crushed enemies with bone-breaking swings. Malrik speared through larger beasts, roaring with joy at the challenge.
Selene remained behind the frontlines, glyphs spiraling around her as she chanted protection spells and soul-siphoning seals. She whispered death to magic. Her eyes glowed with violet flame.
The tide was brutal. But it shifted.
For every three Stormbreakers that fell, ten of the Black Host collapsed in heaps of cursed steel.
The fortress wall eventually cracked again.
Kael saw the weak point. With a surge of will, he raised his blade high — black lightning lashing the sky.
"Ashrend: Eulogy Break!"
He brought it down.
The gate shattered.
Bone and steel exploded outward in a deafening burst of crimson force.
The Stormbreakers charged.
Within the fortress, the Black Host fell into defensive formations — tighter, faster, deadlier. But Kael and his companions carved a path through the central courtyard, cutting down undead commanders and silencing cursed siege engines.
Then he saw it — atop the inner sanctum tower:
The third Veilstone Fragment.
Set within a black crown. Guarded by a towering knight in obsidian armor, its face locked behind a skeletal helm of golden flame. It radiated power older than the kingdom, colder than death.
Kael met its gaze.
The creature did not speak. But he felt its presence like a voice in his spine.
You are not worthy.
Kael tightened his grip on Ashrend.
"Then I'll carve my worth into your bones."
The path to the tower was still blood-soaked, but Kael and his core companions moved fast — slicing through residual defenders, using coordinated strikes honed through relentless battles.
Lyra took down spellcasters before they could utter a word.
Garros rammed through shields like a living siege ram.
Malrik felled a deathbeast with a spear to its third heart.
Selene sealed the exits with runes of binding, locking the courtyard in a circle of silence.
And Kael?
Kael led them with every swing — a general, a brother, and a storm.
They reached the base of the tower.
The knight of golden flame descended the steps slowly, one hand resting on a blackened greatsword that pulsed with the same sickly light as the Veilstone.
It pointed the sword at Kael.
"Mortal flame… will die in the dark."
Kael stepped forward, Ashrend flaring crimson in answer.
"Then let's set the dark on fire."
And with that — they clashed.