Malzareth screamed as he retreated frantically across the shattered arena floor.
He clutched the stump of his severed arm, dark blood pouring between his fingers. His crimson eyes burned with a mixture of fury and fear.
If he died here, he would die forever.
Unlike his clone, which could be resurrected after destruction, this body was his true form. If it were destroyed, there would be no second chance.
For the first time in countless years, the Demon Prince felt genuine terror.
He was not ready to die.
He was a prince of an ancient, forgotten empire, an empire that had once ruled vast territories before its downfall.
His goal had always been to escape the Abyss and reclaim the lost glory of his fallen empire.
Everything he had endured in the abyss had been for this purpose.
To die here, in such a meaningless battle against a human necromancer, was unacceptable.
Yet the reality before him was merciless.
From every direction, the undead army attacked him.
