At their city, there weren't any members of the council, there weren't any members of the influential families.
No great warrior, no wise mage, no legendary hero, no unstoppable beast. Nothing strong was on their side.
They were just a group of men and women, facing the strongest army in the world—the perfect army, one that no amount of strategy, no threat, no fear, no power could stop.
A giant army of the undead, marching forward silently. Their hollow sockets were focused on them, ready to doom more humans to join their ranks.
All hope in the soldiers' eyes was extinguished. Nothing would save them now.
If they died by the blade of one of the skeletons, their bodies would rise again—not by their own will, but by the will of another. They would be forced to obey the necromancer, and they would have no choice but to march deeper into their empire's territory, killing their friends, loved ones, the men, the women, the children—forcing all of them into this eternal torment.
