Adrenaline pumped through her veins and pulsated with an intoxicating cocktail of invulnerability and abject horror.

Hemlock took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slow to calm the inner stir. By sheer grace alone was her family returned to her, thanks to the unmistakable power of her lord breathing life back into the lifeless. They had all been innocent. Lives nearly lost forever at the hands of a plague.

And this eve would mark the beginning of her promise to wipe the world clean of such pestilence.

She knelt atop a hill that sat some distance from the small town.

Inside the city walls were roughly twenty constructs in total, most being housing. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the aged, though sturdily built, wooden structures. The streets were nearly empty at this hour. The few townsfolk still about, confidently walked here and there, going about their evening business unconcerned. It didn’t matter the distance made it difficult for Hemlock to hear their conversations, she was uninterested in what they had to say.

This was a bastion of filth and a seat of arrogance and murder. This, was a player city.

On the outskirts of her lord’s lands, this town was a beacon for those who wished to slaughter, kill, and maim. Even the non-players sold their decency for a bit of coin, supplying healing potions, repairs, and the odd weapon to players who stopped here before they set off to raid Castle Midnight or its vassal states.

Justice would be brought down upon the corrupt tonight. To those players who willfully meted out death and destruction.

“Mistress,” a raspy voice croaked behind her, raising gooseflesh along the back of her neck.

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Hemlock didn’t need to turn, her second in command exuded an aura unique to himself.

No flesh remained on Cobalt’s boney frame, as was generally seen among the Skeletal Warlords. Years of warfare and battle after their initial death had long since scraped away every ounce of life’s remnants in the most violent ways. Bone white runes carved into his skeletal frame stood out against the blue dye that gave Cobalt his name. These runes, each tiny sources of power and protection, allowed him to move, and remain as safe as if he wore enchanted plate. They gave him a ritualistic appearance that struck terror into many in the Borderlands.

The pungent odor wafting off him was telling. He’d recently dyed his bones, which meant the runes were fresh for the coming battle.

She waved a hand, beckoning him to continue.

“The scouts report that all is as expected. The town quiets for the evening. It will be time soon.”

“Good.” Her voice was an edged whisper, almost more thought than sound. “Be sure we are ready.”

Cobalt bowed his head and returned to his duties.

Hemlock’s gaze followed the smoke from the buildings lazily drifting into the sky. It seemed strange that a place so peaceful could house beings of such destruction.

A distant young laugh drew her attention. A boy ran with a few other children through the street, dodging pedestrians. Though the adults hurried off, clearly annoyed, the children had not a care in the world.

From the hill, the ordeal was barely heard in the quiet of the night. But his laugh, it tugged at her.

The boy’s arms were extended out at his sides, and he made a buzzing sound as he whooshed about. The mothers exchanged a knowing smile, finished their conversation, and the boy’s mother swept him up in her arms, rustling his hair.

Hemlock could hardly make out their exchange, but she could not look away. The boy’s shameful frown and the mother’s knowing smile was enough.

An uneasy pain bubbled in Hemlock’s chest. They may soon be among the dead.

Though that wouldn’t be necessary. She wasn’t here for the innocent and could ensure the boy, and potentially his mother, were left alone.

“It is time, Mistress.” Cobalt’s voice pulled her from her focus.

She turned an annoyed glare on him. Mentally pushing away that irritating pang, Hemlock tempered her unfettered nerves and rose to her full height.

The people in the city remained unaware of the shadow on the hill in the distance preparing to unleash their overdue judgment.

“Let us begin.”