The enclave's fires flared as the dead pressed closer, the smoke painting the night sky in muted reds and oranges. Kael moved like a specter, his Sight guiding him through the devastation. Shadows shifted unnaturally, pale faces and skeletal hands pressing against barricades. Each movement was calculated, every thread of the undead mapped with meticulous care.
Then Kael sensed something different...a cluster of corrupted, chaotic souls moving with intelligence and malice. They were stronger, more aware, their threads tangled and dark. Hunger gnawed at him, urging consumption for immediate dominance. Kael paused, feeling the seductive pull, and forced himself to observe. Instead of taking, he redirected the chaos, weaving their energy into a defensive lattice around the enclave.
The living fought fiercely, spurred on by Kael's manipulation. Spears and arrows cut through clusters of undead, and the horde faltered under the combination of strategy and controlled intervention. Kael moved constantly, his body a conduit between the Sight, the hunger, and the reality of the battlefield. Pain throbbed in his muscles, sweat stinging his eyes, but the thrill of mastery mixed with moral resolve kept him grounded.
By midnight, the battlefield had become a dance of fire and shadow, a testament to Kael's ability to integrate hunger, Sight, and purpose. The Witch's voice echoed in his mind: Control without consumption preserves more than just life. It preserves yourself.