The ground beneath us trembled with every motion of the Warlock. The place of battle felt alive, as if the walls themselves were groaning under his power.
Dust fell from the ceiling, stones cracked along the floor, and shadows twisted unnaturally in every corner of the dungeon.
His crimson eyes glowed under the shadow of his hood, like molten pits burning with endless hatred.
Whenever he shifted his gaze, it was as though the air grew heavier, pressing down on our chests.
His staff—dark, sinister, and crowned with a skull engulfed in pale fire—throbbed with an eerie pulse.
Strange glowing runes crawled along its surface, moving like living veins filled with poison.
Even the air itself bent around him, as though reality was terrified of what he might do next.
He didn't need to shout.
"Come," he hissed, his voice sharp. "Come and show me what you think passes for strength."
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The soldiers stood frozen, fear clawing at their throats. But then one of them—a young man, his armor cracked and dented, his face pale but determined—stepped forward.
He raised his battered sword, the blade trembling in his grip.
"You heard him!" the young soldier shouted, though his voice shook.
His courage fought with his fear.
"For the King! For Theralith!"
"FOR BLUE PLANET!" the others roared in response. Their voices thundered through the dungeon.
The cry gave them strength, and together, five of them charged forward, weapons raised.
The Warlock tilted his head, his lips curling into a cruel smile. His eyes blazed brighter, almost delighted by their defiance.
"Show me your courage," he whispered. "And let me enjoy the moment when it turns to despair."
The first soldier reached him, sword raised high. The blade shimmered faintly, a trace of weak arcane energy flowing along its edge.
With all the strength in his body, he swung down at the Warlock's chest.
CLANG!
Sparks scattered into the air, bouncing against the Warlock's dark robes. The young soldier stumbled back, breath ragged, eyes wide with hope that the strike had landed.
But nothing happened.
The clash began the moment the Warlock raised his staff. A sickly green light burst from the skull atop it, and the corpses around us began to twitch.
Their broken limbs cracked as they bent at impossible angles, bones grinding against stone.
Then, with a horrible screech, they rose.
Six of us stood shoulder to shoulder, our breaths heavy, weapons trembling in our hands.
The air stank of rot and smoke, thick enough to make my lungs burn. All around us, the dead shuffled closer, jaws gnashing, their eyes glowing faint green like lanterns in the dark.
Steel rang against bone as we met them head-on. My blade cleaved into the first skeleton, splintering ribs and spine, but before I could catch my breath, another lunged at me, teeth snapping inches from my face.
I shoved it back with my shield, sparks flying as its claws raked across the iron.
Beside me, one of my brothers-in-arms screamed as a rotting corpse caught his arm.
He smashed it with his mace, the creature's skull cracking like glass, yet even shattered, the body crawled on, grasping blindly for him.
Another soldier, older and battle-worn, swung his halberd in wide arcs, cutting two of the monsters down in one sweep.
His voice roared above the chaos, steadying us.
"Hold the line! Don't let them through!"
But the tide was endless. For every one we cut down, two more clawed their way up from the stone floor, summoned by the Warlock's unholy chants.
His voice thundered through the chamber like a curse, each word pulling the dead tighter into his grasp.
Sweat poured down my face, my arms swore from the constant strikes.
The clang of weapons, the crack of bones, and the snarls of the dead filled the air until it felt like the dungeon itself was screaming.
Then, one of the soldiers from behind me shouted towards five of them.
"Oyyy… no… he's too strong!"
He was right—the Warlock hadn't moved from his place, hadn't even lifted a finger since summoning the dead.
He just stood there, crimson eyes glowing, watching us struggle with twisted amusement.
One glance at him was enough to send a shiver crawling down my spine.
His grin widened, his staff pulsing brighter with every life we lost.
The truth was clear: we weren't just fighting the undead—we were fighting his will itself, a storm of death that bent the world to his command.
Still, even as fear rose like a tide, we did not stop.
The soldier who had cried out tightened his grip on his sword, his fear turning into rage.
He spat on the ground, raised his weapon again, and shouted hoarsely, "Strong or not—we cut our way through!"
With renewed cries, the six of us pressed forward again, blades flashing in the dim green glow, determined to keep standing no matter how hopeless it seemed.
Though Dakin dagger was mage, he was too powerful.
The Warlock stood unmoving, his robes were untouched and unscratched, not a single tear upon them.
His flesh was unmarked—no blood, no wound, not even the faintest scratch.
The young soldier's confidence faltered. He stared at his sword as if it had betrayed him.
"What…? How…?"
The Warlock chuckled. His voice crawled into their ears like venom.
"Is that all? That is your strength?"
The Warlock lifted his staff slightly, and the skull at its top burst with green fire.
The light spilled across the dungeon, painting the soldiers' faces in sickly hues.
The young soldier's heart pounded. He gripped his sword tighter, but his hands shook. His strike, which he had believed would bring down the enemy, had done nothing.
The Warlock leaned closer, whispering, his tone mocking yet sharp.
"Your blade… is as weak as your body."
Behind him, the other four soldiers shouted again and closed in, weapons raised. They had seen the first strike fail, but still they came. Desperation burned in their eyes.
The Warlock's cruel grin widened as he straightened. He didn't retreat, didn't defend. He welcomed them, his entire stance daring them to keep trying.
"Come," he said softly, almost lovingly. "Strike again. Strike until you understand…"
His crimson eyes flared brighter.
"…that nothing you do matters."