Chapter 49
"Brothers of the underworld, aid me in my conquest!"
Grey fog poured from Anastas's body like smoke rising from a fresh grave—thick, cloying, carrying the unmistakable stench of damp earth, old blood, and something far colder. The mist rolled outward in slow, deliberate waves, coiling around his feet before spreading across the cracked crimson ground of the artificial battlefield. In a matter of seconds the fog thickened and birthed horrors.
Zombies clawed their way upward—rotting flesh peeling from bone, jaws hanging slack, eyes glowing a sickly green. Skeletons followed in rattling waves—joints locking into place with dry clicks, ribcages exposed like cruel armor, long blades fashioned from their own femurs glinting with necrotic light.
"Heh." Anastas smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Oh wretched souls of darkness, the ones who hover above the waters of the underworld—heed my call."
