The horde descended like a tide of darkness, their skeletal forms moving in waves that threatened to crush everything in their path. The enclave erupted in chaos: the clash of steel, the screams of the living, and the mindless groans of the dead formed a symphony of destruction.
Kael's Sight flared, threads of souls stretching outward, and he acted with precision, redirecting clusters of undead, stabilizing fragmented souls, and restraining those that threatened the living. Hunger pulsed violently within him, a siren call that would have driven most men to abandon all restraint. Kael resisted, threading fragments carefully, preserving both power and self.
He moved among the walls, his body a conduit for Sight, guiding the Wardens, reinforcing barriers, and subtly manipulating the dead to minimize casualties. Each movement was a delicate balance, a dance of control and morality.
Hours passed, and the horde adapted, exploiting gaps and weaknesses. Kael's mind burned with the intensity of maintaining simultaneous threads of control over hundreds of souls, the strain stretching him to his limits. Yet even as fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, he persisted, knowing that each restrained soul was a victory, each act of mercy a reinforcement of the humanity he clung to.