The first thing they saw was color.
Dozens of figures hung in the air, suspended on streams of wind that coiled beneath their feet. Their skin carried the same deep cerulean tone, but everything else set them apart as individuals.
Some wore armor that still held the dents they died with. Others carried wicked spears or rusted axes or bows that hummed with blue light.
Their eyes glowed faintly, alert and aware. These were not the lifeless eyes of the mass army that they knew Devil could summon with the spell [March of the Damned]. Those were true minions, capable of listening to orders but losing individuality.
But these… They knew them. [Awaken] was a different spell, calling on a whole different tier of subordinates.
These were the elites of the One True Necromancer.
A hundred bodies.
A hundred weapons.
A hundred shadows drifting in the night sky.
And at the front of them all, hovered a single, smaller figure.
Lilith felt her stomach tighten.
Bronnya's jaw clenched.
