The ancient structures disgorged their dead. From the crumbling temple, a new wave of skeletal warriors poured into the market square, still clad in chainmail gone green with verdigris.
Unlike the shambling dead, these moved with purpose. They formed a cohesive line, their corroded blades held at a ready angle, their attacks coordinated. This was not a mob; it was a ghost of an army.
"Second wave incoming!" Xavier called out, his voice cutting through the chaos as he deflected a corroded blade with his dagger. The rusty metal screamed against ironwinter steel before he pivoted into a perfect riposte, driving his weapon through the gap where the guard-skeleton's gorget had rotted away. Vertebrae exploded in a shower of bone dust as his technique found its mark.
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The plaza had become a charnel house. Steel rang on bone. Crossbow bolts whistled past. The shouts of the living were a desperate counterpoint to the hollow clatter of skeletal jaws.
