The city square had become a wasteland. Flames licked the edges of shattered buildings, smoke coiling into the crimson sky. Dead bodies littered the ground, the undead forces relentlessly clawing forward, their numbers staggering against the royal guard and Edward's summoned shadows.
Amid the chaos, four figures moved as a singular force. Edward's eyes locked onto the Lord of Undead. The armoured monstrosity towered above the battlefield, its blackened armour etched with shifting runes.
Edward did not speak. He did not need to.
He sent a mental command to his summons, and they all moved in unison. The Shadow Commander surged ahead, its massive shadow-tinged armour gleaming, shielded arms swinging to intercept incoming undead. The Shadow Reaper melted into the darkness, disappearing from sight, coiling through smoke and debris like a living shadow. Arthur pressed forward, blade steady, matching the rhythm of the shadows.
