As Zavet, Talich, Runner, and Gauge journeyed through the desolate lands toward Nuri'fon, the atmosphere was thick with the stench of decay. The skies were overcast, casting a gloomy pall over the landscape. Despite the occasional groans and shuffles of undead creatures, the group moved unhindered. Mah’nethotep's ritual, which cloaked them in an aura of undeath, made the mindless zombies perceive them as kin, allowing them safe passage through the hordes.

After several hours of travel, the ancient walls of Nuri’fon loomed on the horizon, their dark silhouettes stark against the gray sky. Gauge abruptly halted the group, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any immediate threats. Satisfied that they were momentarily safe, he spoke up. "Wait. Let me message Lina to see where they are."

With practiced precision, Gauge knelt and traced a large circle in the dirt, carefully inscribing it with arcane runes. As he completed the ritual setup, the air seemed to hum with latent energy. Settling himself within the circle, he unfurled a scroll and began writing:

Baroness Lina, this is Gauge. I have Zavet, Talich, and Runner. Where do we need to go?

The tension was palpable as they waited for a response, but after a few moments, the scroll instantly ignited, burning to ash. Gauge’s brow furrowed in concern. Without wasting any time, he pulled out another scroll, hastily scribbling a new message:

Your Majesty Merlot, this is Gauge. Where was Krimlond sent to? My baroness is not replying to my messages.

This time, the response was swift, the scroll glowing briefly before revealing its reply:

Hello Gauge, they were headed to their Embassy. I will be sending a unit of soldiers to aid you. We have reclaimed Solond—best of luck.

Gauge took a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and looked up at the group. "Okay, so this may have turned into a rescue mission."

Talich, ever the pragmatic warrior, shrugged and adjusted the grip on his mace. "Well, let's not keep them waiting. Runner, go ahead of us and scout out the keep. Report back as soon as possible."

Runner nodded, his expression serious. He took off briskly, his form quickly melding with the shadows as he moved silently through the terrain. The remaining trio watched him go, the gravity of their mission sinking in.

The journey to the keep was fraught with tension. The once vibrant city of Nuri'fon now stood as a grim reminder of the necromantic scourge that had befallen the land. Broken gates and crumbling walls hinted at fierce battles fought and lost. As they drew closer, the eerie silence was broken only by the occasional distant wail of a tormented soul.

Talich's hand rested lightly on the hilt of his mace, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Zavet moved with a determined stride, his mind focused on the task. Having completed the messaging ritual, Gauge now led the way with cautious optimism.

After what felt like an eternity, Runner reappeared out of the shadows as silently as he had left. "The keep is heavily guarded by undead," he reported. "There are signs of a struggle, but I did not get a good look at the undead inside the keep. "

Talich nodded. "Then we proceed with caution. Let's find Krimlond and get them out safely."

The group moved forward, each step bringing them closer to the heart of the danger. As they approached the Embassy gates, the group stood before the massive iron structure, rusted and partially broken yet still imposing. An assortment of undead creatures now surrounded the once grand entrance, their lifeless eyes wandering. The mindless undead were no threat on their own, but in numbers, they could overwhelm even the most seasoned warriors.

Gauge, Talich, Zavet, and Runner moved with purpose, the aura of undeath still masking their presence. The undead paid them no mind, treating them as fellow wanderers of the night. Talich signaled for the group to halt just short of the gates, his eyes narrowing as he assessed their targets.

"The stronger ones first," Talich whispered, his voice barely audible. "Take them out quietly."

Gauge nodded and drew upon his healing magic, his hands glowing with a soft, purifying light. Talich hefted his two maces, their spiked heads ready to crush bone. Zavet, with his dagger in hand, flexed his tail, which shimmered with an enchantment that made it as sharp as a sword. Runner readied his massive two-handed sword, the blade gleaming ominously.

Talich was the first to strike. With a fluid motion, he stepped behind a hulking undead knight, its rusted armor clanking softly as it shambled. With a swift and brutal swing, Talich brought both maces down on the knight's head, crushing its skull with a sickening crunch. The knight crumpled silently to the ground, its death unnoticed by its brethren.

Gauge moved next, his steps light and precise. He approached a particularly large zombie that seemed to command a small group of lesser undead. He channeled his healing magic into the zombie, placing his glowing hands on it. The zombie writhed and convulsed as the magic purified its corrupted flesh, causing it to disintegrate into dust. The surrounding undead remained oblivious.

Runner took his cue, his powerful frame moving with surprising agility for someone wielding such a massive weapon. He approached an undead archer perched on the gate's remains. With a mighty swing, he cleaved through the archer, the force of the blow sending the creature's upper body flying. Runner was already on the move, bringing his sword down on another strong undead, slicing through it with ease.

Zavet, advancing on a skeletal mage hovering near the gates, moved with deadly precision. With a swift thrust, he drove his dagger through the ribcage and into the spine, shattering the bones with a sickening crunch. Simultaneously, his tail lashed out, slicing through another undead's neck, its head rolling away as the body collapsed. The skeletal mage disintegrated into a pile of bones and dust.

With the stronger undead dispatched, the group turned their attention to the weaker ones. Talich led the charge, his maces swinging in wide arcs, crushing through zombies and skeletons with practiced ease. Each strike was calculated, and every movement was efficient and deadly.

Gauge moved like a shadow, his healing magic proving deadly against the undead. Each touch caused the creatures to dissolve, the purifying light erasing their corrupted existence.

Runner's two-handed sword whirled through the air, slicing through decayed flesh and brittle bone. He moved with a predator's grace, his eyes sharp and focused as he dispatched one undead after another.

Zavet fought with a ferocity that matched his companions. His dagger darted and stabbed, finding the weak points in the undead's decaying bodies, while his tail struck with the speed and precision of a seasoned warrior. A burst of red light accompanied each strike, Mah’nethotep’s protective magic enhancing his attacks.

The Embassy gates, once a formidable barrier, were now surrounded by the remains of the undead. The group stood amidst the carnage, their breathing heavy but their resolve unshaken. They had reclaimed the entrance, but the real challenge lay within the Embassy itself.

Talich wiped the blood and grime from his maces, his eyes meeting those of his companions. "Let's move. Lina and the others may be undead inside. Stay sharp."

As they surveyed the carnage around the Embassy gates, Zavet turned to Talich, concern etched on his face. "You think they got turned undead?"

Talich's expression was grim as he nodded. "It's possible. We need to be prepared for anything."

Taking point, Talich led the group toward the keep's entrance. The heavy wooden doors, once a symbol of strength and security, now hung ajar, creaking ominously as they pushed them open. Inside, the scene was even more chaotic.

The interior of the keep was a stark contrast to its grim exterior. It was decorated in a manner that suggested a history of piracy. Nautical maps adorned the walls, alongside tattered pirate flags and maritime relics. Shelves lined with dusty bottles of rum and old treasure chests added to the atmosphere, giving the impression that a band of marauding seafarers had taken over the keep at some point in its past.

But what caught their attention were the golems—or rather, what remained of them. Once formidable granite golems, the keep guardians lay in heaps of shattered armor and broken stones. Their once imposing forms, designed to protect the keep from any intruders, were reduced to lifeless rubble.

"Damn," Gauge muttered, his eyes scanning the wreckage. "My granite golems are a pile of lifeless stone now. Those were so expensive. There’s something big inside if they could kill those guys."

Talich knelt beside one of the fallen golems, inspecting the damage. "These golems were powerful. Whatever did this has considerable strength and skill."

Runner stood in the doorway, his massive sword ready. "We need to find Lina and the others quickly. They could be in serious trouble if whatever did this is still here."

Gauge nodded, his hands glowing faintly lit as he prepared his healing magic. "Stay close and watch each other’s backs. We don't know what we're dealing with yet."

The group moved deeper into the keep, their senses on high alert. The pirate-themed decor seemed almost surreal against the backdrop of destruction. Broken furniture and scattered treasures littered the floors, and the flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the walls.

Talich led them through the main hall, their footsteps echoing in the vast space. They passed by rooms filled with more pirate memorabilia—rusty cutlasses, ornate pistols, and faded portraits of notorious pirate captains. It was clear that whoever had once inhabited this place had a penchant for pirate life.

As they ventured further, the sense of foreboding grew stronger. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and distant, unsettling noises occasionally broke the silence. The group remained vigilant, their weapons ready for whatever they might encounter.

Suddenly, they heard a faint sound, like a whisper in the wind. Zavet signaled for them to stop, his keen ears picking up the noise. "Did you hear that?"

Talich nodded, gripping his maces tighter. "Sounds like it’s coming from ahead. Stay sharp."

They moved cautiously, the tension palpable. As they turned a corner, they found themselves in a large chamber. At the far end, a grand staircase led up to the higher levels of the keep. But what drew their attention was the figure standing at the base of the stairs.

It was a death knight, its eyes glowing with a malevolent red light. Unlike the mindless zombies outside, this creature exuded intelligence and purpose. It was clad in dark, tarnished armor, and a heavy sword hung from its belt.

Talich stepped forward, his voice steady but firm. "Who are you, and what have you done with the inhabitants of this keep?"

The death knight regarded them with a cold, calculating gaze. "You seek the living? They are beyond your reach. This keep belongs to the undead now."

With that, the knight drew its sword, the sound of metal scraping against metal echoing through the chamber. The group readied their weapons and prepared for the battle ahead.

As the undead knight drew its sword, its eyes glowed red with a malevolent light. Gauge turned to Talich, anxiety evident in his voice. “How do we fight this guy, Talich?”

Talich's expression hardened as he assessed the situation. Without a word, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a weapon that immediately drew the attention of his companions. It was a flail, its heavy spiked head gleaming with an otherworldly light. This was no ordinary weapon—it was the Sanctifier, one of the kingdom's most revered artifacts. Gauge recognized it instantly, but he kept that knowledge to himself, understanding the significance of its presence here.

“We work as a team,” Talich said, calm but commanding. “Gauge, focus on healing Runner. Zavet and I will keep its focus.”

Talich began to spin the Sanctifier in his hand, the chain rattling ominously as the spiked head whirled through the air. Zavet nodded, tightening his grip on his dagger, his tail poised and ready to strike. Runner, his massive two-handed sword at the ready, set his jaw in determination.

With a unified battle cry, Zavet, Runner, and Talich charged at the undead knight. Runner, using his incredible strength and agility, leaped into the air, bringing his massive sword down in a wide, arcing swing aimed at the knight's head. At the exact moment, Zavet darted low, his lithe form slipping beneath the knight’s legs. With a swift motion, he coiled his tail around one of the knight’s armored legs and yanked hard.

The undead knight, caught off guard by the dual attack, lost its balance and fell to one knee with a resounding crash. Runner's sword strike hit its mark, the blade biting deep into the knight's shoulder. But instead of crumbling under the blow, the knight seemed to absorb the attack, its resilience far beyond that of a typical undead. The impact, while significant, only did half the damage that Runner had intended, the knight’s unnatural endurance shielding it from the full force of the strike.

Talich watched as Zavet and Runner executed their attacks with precision. He saw his opportunity as they began to retreat, creating an opening. With a practiced movement, Talich swung the Sanctifier in a deadly arc. The flail's spiked head connected with the knight's armor, and the Sanctifier lived up to its name. The force of the impact decimated the armor, leaving a gaping hole in the knight’s chest. A burst of healing magic erupted from the flail, the holy light searing the knight’s undead flesh, causing it to stagger back, hissing in pain and fury.

The undead knight glared at the flail, recognizing the threat it posed. It took a more serious stance, its sword raised defensively, waiting for their next move.

But the death knight acted with terrifying speed before Talich could give the order to press the attack. It lunged at Runner, its sword flashing with deadly intent. Runner raised his sword to block, but the knight's strength was overwhelming. With a swift and brutal motion, the knight bypassed Runner’s guard and drove its sword through his chest. The blade pierced through the armor and flesh, emerging from Runner’s back in a spray of blood.

“Runner!” Zavet shouted, his voice filled with shock and rage.

The undead knight twisted the blade viciously before withdrawing it, and Runner fell to his knees, gasping as blood poured from the fatal wound. Gauge, who had been preparing to heal, rushed forward, his hands glowing with healing magic, but it was too late. The light in Runner’s eyes dimmed, and he collapsed with a final shuddering breath.

Talich’s grip tightened on the Sanctifier, his eyes blazing with fury. Zavet let out a feral growl as he charged at the knight again, his tail whipping like a living weapon, aiming for the knight’s vulnerable points. But the death knight was ready this time, its movements more calculated, more deadly.

The battle had taken a deadly turn, and now, with the loss of Runner, the stakes had become even higher. Talich knew they had to end this fight quickly before more of them fell.

“Stay focused!” Talich barked, rallying Zavet and Gauge.

With renewed determination, the remaining three prepared to unleash everything they had on the death knight.

Gauge’s mind raced as he saw Runner fall, blood pooling around his lifeless body. The situation was dire, but Gauge wasn’t ready to give up on his comrade. Summoning all the power within him, he focused on the most potent healing spell he knew—one that could defy death.

With a determined shout, Gauge raised his hands, which now glowed with an intense, silvery light. “By the Moon of Life, I revive you!” he incanted, the ancient words reverberating through the chamber.

A radiant beam of moonlight descended from above, bathing Runner’s body in its ethereal glow. For a moment, everything stood still, the air thick with anticipation. Then, with a sharp gasp, Runner’s chest heaved as life surged back into him. His eyes flickered open, and he pushed himself to his feet, the wound in his chest sealing as if it had never been.

Runner stood, breathing heavily but alive, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Talich and Zavet were locked in a relentless battle with the death knight, their strikes swift and precise, but the undead warrior was formidable. The knight dodged and blocked every attack with unnerving skill, its sword moving with a speed and precision that belied its decayed form.

Without hesitation, Runner darted forward to rejoin the fight. He knew his attacks alone might not be enough to harm the knight significantly, but he could disrupt its defenses, creating openings for Talich and Zavet to exploit. His massive sword flashed through the air, targeting the knight’s sword arm to prevent it from parrying Talich’s devastating strikes.

With Runner playing interference, the dynamic of the battle shifted. The knight found itself increasingly hard-pressed to fend off the coordinated assault. Talich, wielding the Sanctifier with deadly intent, swung the flail with crushing force. Each time the spiked head connected with the knight’s armor, it unleashed healing magic that seared the undead flesh beneath, sending the knight staggering back a few feet. The damage was taking its toll, and the death knight knew it couldn’t withstand many more blows from the Sanctifier.

Zavet moved with lethal grace. With Rumpwhip, he darted in and out and struck at the knight’s exposed joints. With Runner’s interference, they landed multiple hits, each wearing down the knight’s defenses. The flail’s explosions of healing light were weakening the knight, and it was running out of time.

Desperate and aware that another hit from the Sanctifier could be its end, the death knight lashed out with a sudden, brutal strike. Its sword connected with the flail’s chain, wrapping around it in a tight coil. With a mighty yank, the knight tore the Sanctifier from Talich’s grasp, sending it skidding across the stone floor, far out of reach.

Talich’s eyes widened as he realized his weapon was gone, but there was no time to retrieve it. Seeing its chance, the death knight moved in for the kill, its sword raised high, ready to deliver a fatal blow.

But Zavet was faster. Seeing Talich disarmed and the knight poised to strike, he knew he had to act. In a last-ditch effort, he pulled out his dagger, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light. Zavet’s instincts guided his hand as he threw himself at the knight, driving the dagger deep into its chest.

Surprisingly, the dagger pierced the knight’s armor quickly, sinking into its undead heart. The death knight froze momentarily, its glowing eyes widening in shock. Then, something extraordinary happened.

The knight let out a final, bone-chilling scream as its body began to disintegrate, its bones turning to ash. But instead of scattering into the air, the ash swirled around Zavet, wrapping itself around his body. The swirling mass of bones and ash merged, forming a suit of armor that encased Zavet from head to toe. The once-deadly bones of the knight were now fused to him, providing both protection and a grim reminder of the battle fought.

The chamber fell silent as the last remnants of the death knight vanished, leaving Zavet standing in the center, clad in the new armor that had emerged from the hidden power of his dagger. The armor was dark, almost black, with faint traces of silver that seemed to pulse with an eerie energy. It felt oddly natural as if it had always been meant for him.

Talich, still catching his breath, retrieved the Sanctifier and approached Zavet, his expression one of cautious respect. “That… was unexpected,” he said, eyeing the armor.

Zavet looked down at himself, flexing his arms and testing the new armor. It was lightweight, yet he could feel the power coursing through it. “It seems this dagger held more secrets than I realized,” he murmured, his voice tinged with awe.

Runner, now fully recovered and steady on his feet, clapped Zavet on the shoulder. “Well, whatever it is, it saved our hides today.”

Gauge, who had been watching the entire scene with relief and amazement, finally relaxed. “That was close,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Let’s hope we don’t run into anything worse inside.”

Talich nodded, his gaze shifting to the dark corridors leading deeper into the keep. “We’ll need to be on our guard. But we stand a better chance with this new armor and the Sanctifier. Let’s finish this.”

The group ascended the grand staircase of the keep, its wide steps lined with faded banners and tarnished relics of battles long past. The air grew colder as they climbed, a subtle reminder that the heart of the keep held darker secrets than they had yet encountered. At the top, Gauge took the lead, his keen sense of direction guiding them to the left.

“This way,” Gauge said, motioning to a corridor lined with doors. “These lead to our private quarters. Let’s see if we can find anything useful or get some answers.”

The group moved cautiously, their footsteps echoing through the deserted halls. The walls, adorned with cracked paintings and the occasional pirate-themed decor, bore witness to the passage of time and the chaotic ownership that had claimed the keep. As they approached the door to what had once been Gauge’s quarters, a sudden change overtook Zavet.

The bone armor that had so dramatically enveloped him during the battle began to crumble, the once-solid plates turning to dust and drifting to the floor. Zavet looked down in surprise as the last remnants disintegrated, leaving him clad only in his usual gear.

“Awe, no way!” Zavet exclaimed, stomping his foot in mock frustration. “The armor was temporary?”

Talich shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It seems so. It only lasts for a few minutes.”

Before Zavet could reply, a sudden, sharp movement caught his attention. Gauge had turned to open the door when a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, its movements swift and deadly. Instantly, multiple blades flashed through the air, striking Gauge with brutal precision. He gasped in pain as he was stabbed repeatedly, his blood spraying across the stone floor before the attacker dragged him into the shadows.

“Gauge!” Runner and Zavet shouted in unison, rushing forward to help. But before they could close the distance, they were met with a barrage of vials, smashing against the ground and releasing a toxic mist that enveloped them.

The poison worked quickly, far more potent than anything they had encountered before. Runner and Zavet staggered, their vision blurring as their bodies betrayed them. They fell to the ground, convulsing as blood began to seep from their eyes, ears, and mouths, the poison eating away at them from the inside.

Talich, horrified by the sight of his comrades falling, narrowed his focus on the figure emerging from the shadows. It was Flynn—or rather, an undead version of the man who had once been their ally. The sight of Flynn, twisted into a mockery of his former self, filled Talich with a cold fury.

Without hesitation, Talich charged, the Sanctifier swinging in deadly arcs as he closed the distance. Now an undead abomination, Flynn moved with unnatural speed, but Talich was relentless. He struck with precision, the Sanctifier’s holy power flaring with each impact.

The first hit shattered Flynn’s guard, the second crushed through his corrupted armor, and the third sent Flynn crashing to the ground, the healing magic within the Sanctifier incinerating what remained of his undead flesh. Flynn’s body convulsed once, then lay still, the unholy energy animating him dissipating into the air.

Talich didn’t waste a moment. He dropped to his knees beside Gauge’s prone form, frantically searching through the pouches on his belt. His fingers closed around a small vial—a healing potion, one of the few remaining. Talich quickly uncorked it and poured the contents down Gauge’s throat.

For a tense moment, nothing happened. Then, Gauge’s body convulsed as the potion took effect, his wounds knitting together with unnatural speed. His eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air, the color returning to his face as the potion worked its magic.

“Gauge, you’re alive,” Talich said, relief flooding his voice as he helped Gauge.

Gauge, still disoriented but alive, quickly assessed the situation. Seeing Runner and Zavet still suffering from the poison, he didn’t hesitate. Channeling his healing magic, he knelt beside them, placing a hand on each chest. His magic surged through them, purging the poison from their bodies and sealing their wounds. Slowly, their breathing steadied, and they opened their eyes, free from the deadly toxin.

“Damn,” Gauge muttered as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Flynn almost killed us.”

Still recovering from the ordeal, Runner looked at the remains of Flynn’s undead body. “So... the rest of them are probably undead too?”

Gauge nodded, grim determination in his eyes. “Most likely. But that’s fine. As long as we kill their undead versions, we can resurrect them at our Embassy halls downstairs.”

Talich, still gripping the Sanctifier, glanced at the doors leading deeper into the keep. “Then let’s finish this. We need to find the others before reinforcements come..”

They push forward, checking the rooms, Zavet Killing the lesser undead they find. The armor the dagger creates out of mindless undead is much weaker than the armor he gained by killing the death knight.

Talich Had an idea—he looks to have: “Hey, the next mindless Undead you see. Don't kill it. Let me control it and have it follow us so if we do find a stronger undead, you can get the armor, for we fight it.”

Zavet’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he nodded in agreement. “Good idea.”

Gauge scanned the dimly lit corridor, the shadows casting an eerie gloom over the remnants of what had once been a lively keep. “Alright, that’s the last of the private quarters. Let’s check the mess hall. We might find more clues there—or at least, more of the bastards responsible for this.”

As they approached the wing leading to the mess hall, the air grew thick with the stench of decay. The once well-maintained corridors were now teeming with undead, their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. The group moved in formation, cutting through the swarming undead with practiced efficiency. Each swing of their weapons was precise, every spell cast with purpose as they steadily made their way toward the heavy oak doors of the mess hall.

When they reached the doors, they paused momentarily, catching their breath. The relentless tide of undead had taken a toll, but the real challenge awaited them on the other side. Talich, his muscles tense with readiness, reached for the door, but before he could push it open, it swung inward of its own accord, revealing the mess hall beyond.

Standing in the center of the room, surrounded by broken tables and shattered dishware, was an undead version of Hoat. Once full of life and determination, his eyes glowed with an unnatural light. One of his spears rested in his hand while the other hovered beside him, its sharp tip glinting ominously in the dim light.

Runner cursed under his breath, recognizing the deadly warrior before them. “Oh, shit. This is not good. Hoat’s going to put up one hell of a fight.”

Zavet, undeterred by the challenge, stepped forward. Without hesitation, he lunged at one of the lesser undead lingering near Talich, his dagger flashing as he drove it deep into the creature’s chest. As the undead fell, the familiar sensation of armor wrapping around his torso returned, though it only covered his chest and back this time. It was enough—a protective shell for the fight ahead.

Talich, recognizing the need to take the lead, moved forward purposefully. He raised his shield just in time as Hoat hurled his spear with deadly precision. The weapon struck the shield with a thunderous impact, but Talich stood firm, deflecting the blow; the spear attempted to return to its master, but Runner and Zavet were already on the move.

With swift coordination, they turned to intercept the spear. Runner’s two-handed sword clashed with the weapon, parrying its path, while Zavet’s quick reflexes allowed him to redirect its course. The spear, no longer able to return to Hoat, spun wildly in the air, searching for an opening.

Talich seized the opportunity. With the spear momentarily neutralized, he advanced on Hoat, his flail ready. The undead warrior, now deprived of one of his primary weapons, fought back with tooth and claw, his movements a furious mix of desperation and skill. Despite his ferocity, Hoat was outnumbered and outmatched. The group’s teamwork was impeccable, and their attacks were coordinated to exploit every opening in Hoat’s defenses.

The Sanctifier flail, imbued with holy magic, became a blur in Talich’s hands. With each swing, it chipped away at Hoat’s corrupted armor, the healing energy searing through the undead flesh beneath. Hoat tried to hold his ground, but the relentless assault was too much. Finally, with a powerful strike, Talich shattered the remnants of Hoat’s defenses, the flail crashing through his chest and sending him sprawling to the floor.

Hoat twitched once, then lay still, the dark magic animating him dissipating into the air. The floating spear, now without a master, clattered to the ground, its menace extinguished.

Talich breathed heavily, lowering his weapon as he surveyed the fallen warrior. “The spear wasn’t much use in these tight corners,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

Zavet glanced down at the fading remnants of his bone armor. “We were lucky to keep him off balance. That could have gone much worse.”

Runner nodded in agreement, still catching his breath. “Yeah, but we’re not done yet. There could be more of them deeper in the keep.”

Gauge, who had been scanning the room for any lingering threats, joined them. “Let’s hope that was the worst of it. But stay sharp—we can’t afford any more surprises.”

“Gauge?” A small, trembling voice emerged from a corner of the mess hall, catching the group's attention. Talich raised his flail cautiously as they turned towards the sound. From behind a heavy wooden closet door, which creaked open slowly, stepped Scarlet, one of the members of Krimlond. Her eyes were wide, and her face was pale, but she was alive.

Gauge blinked in surprise, lowering his weapon slightly. “Scarlet? I thought you stayed in Razlond,” he said, his voice thick with confusion.

Scarlet nodded, her movements slow and deliberate as she stepped forward, her gaze flickering between the group members. “I did, but I came with the Queen. I couldn’t leave her alone and besides. Runner’s friend Ally came too.” She stepped aside, revealing another figure huddled behind her. Ally, a younger woman with a mess of brown hair and a determined look in her eyes, poked her head out and gave the group a small wave.

Ally’s presence seemed to lift the tension in the room slightly, though her appearance was far from reassuring. Her clothes were tattered, and there was a haunted look in her eyes. “Hoat’s been after us for a while,” she said, her voice hoarse as she stepped out fully. “We got separated from Lina. Things, things went bad quickly. A Death Knight killed Flynn, and then Hoat—Flynn and that same Death Knight killed him.”

Scarlet nodded, her face grim. “It all happened so fast. We barely had time to react, and we had no choice but to run. We’ve been hiding here, hoping to find a way out. Or at least survive long enough for help to arrive.”

Zavet and Runner exchanged uneasy glances, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on them.

Talich tightened his grip on the flail, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “Flynn turned undead, and then Hoat… It explains why he was so relentless.”

Gauge took a deep breath, his mind racing to piece everything together. “So, you two have been hiding here, hoping to find Lina or anyone who could help?”

Scarlet nodded again, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Yes, we didn’t know what else to do. The keep is crawling with undead, and we’ve lost so many already. But hearing your voices—knowing you’re here—gives us hope.”

Gauge stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Scarlet’s shoulder. “You’re safe now. We’ll find Lina, and we’ll get through this together. We’re not going to let them take any more of us.”

Talich glanced at the group, his face set with resolve. “Alright then, no more hiding. We move together, we find Lina, and we will reclaim the Keep.

Gauge turns to the group. “Me, Runner, and the girls will go downstairs and get the resurrection hall back in working order. I have the ritual to recreate it.”

Knowing Zavet and Talich's resilience, Gauge felt relief, especially with their necromantic abilities. They were more than capable of handling themselves, even in the darkest corners of the keep. With a quick nod, he led Scarlet and Ally down the staircase, leaving Zavet and Talich to their task.

As the two moved through the shadowy halls, the eerie silence was broken only by the occasional clatter of a distant, unseen threat. The path led them to the kitchen, a place once filled with warmth and the comforting scents of food, now cold and lonely. The flickering torchlight cast long, distorted shadows across the room, revealing a handful of undead, mindlessly wandering among the remains of shattered pots and spilled grains.

Zavet, his tail swishing silently behind him, glanced at Talich. “Let’s make this quick.”

Talich nodded, his dual maces held at the ready. The undead in the kitchen were no match for their combined might. With swift, precise strikes, they dispatched the creatures with ease. Talich’s maces crushed skulls and shattered bones while Zavet moved like a shadow, his dagger flashing out to deliver swift, lethal blows. The kitchen was cleared within moments, and the undead threat was eliminated without breaking a sweat.

With the kitchen secure, they moved toward the common room, where the barony would typically gather. The closer they got, the heavier the air seemed to become, laden with dread. The door to the common room was slightly ajar, creaking ominously as they pushed it open.

Inside, the scene was heartbreaking. The room, once filled with laughter and camaraderie, was now a twisted mockery of its former self. Lina, the formidable Baroness of Krimlond, stood at the center, her eyes glowing with the unnatural light of undeath. Around her were several undead, once loyal members of the barony, now reduced to mindless followers.

Talich’s heart sank at the sight of Lina. “Damn it, Lina,” he muttered under his breath, gripping his maces tightly.

Zavet’s eyes narrowed, taking in the scene with sorrow and determination. “We can’t leave her like this.”

Sensing their presence, Lina turned her head slowly, her undead gaze locking onto them. There was no recognition in her eyes, only the cold, empty stare of a creature no longer in control of its own will. The lesser undead around her moved in unison as if reacting to an unspoken command.

Talich took a deep breath, steeling himself. “We take them out—quickly, cleanly. No hesitation.”

Without another word, they launched their attack. Talich, leading the charge, swung his maces with brutal efficiency, smashing through the undead ranks. Zavet darted in and out of the fray, using his speed and agility to strike at weak points, his dagger flashing like a shard of darkness.

Lina, though undead, still possessed the formidable strength and combat skills she had in life. She fought back with a viciousness that made her all the more tragic. Talich, forced to defend himself against her powerful strikes, gritted his teeth, each blow a painful reminder of what had been lost.

Zavet, his heart heavy, moved in behind Lina. With a swift motion, he wrapped his tail around her legs, pulling her off balance just as Talich landed a powerful strike with one of his maces. The blow sent Lina stumbling, and in that brief moment of vulnerability, Zavet struck.

He drove his dagger into her heart, a quick, clean blow that ended her suffering. Lina’s body went still, and the light faded from her eyes as she crumpled to the ground. The undead around her, suddenly leaderless, were quickly dispatched by Talich.

As Lina lay at their feet, Zavet knelt beside her, his hand resting gently on her cold, lifeless form. “I’m sorry, we will resurrect you downstairs.”

Talich, his maces still stained from the recent battle, glanced at Zavet as they prepared to descend the staircase. "We need to find Gauge," Talich said, the weight of their recent encounters heavy in his voice. Without another word, they moved together, the echoes of their footsteps reverberating through the dimly lit corridors of the keep.

As they descended into the lower levels, the air grew colder, thick with the lingering scent of ancient magic and stone. They wound through narrow, twisting corridors, their path illuminated only by the faint, otherworldly glow emanating from the far end of the hall. The weight of the keep’s history pressed down on them, a reminder of the countless rituals that had occurred here over the centuries.

The resurrection hall loomed ahead, its grand wooden doors slightly ajar. Talich pushed them open, revealing the vast chamber within. The room was a testament to the kingdom’s deep-rooted connection to life, death, and rebirth. The walls were etched with intricate carvings, depicting scenes of resurrection and renewal, their lines glowing faintly as if imbued with a life of their own.

The group was already hard at work in the center of the hall. Gauge stood at the heart of the chamber, orchestrating the preparation of the resurrection circle. The floor was meticulously prepared, with intricate designs of magical symbols traced into the stone. These symbols, drawn with a mixture of crushed gemstones, sacred oils, and other arcane substances, glowed with a soft, pulsating light as the circle began to form.

Runner moved efficiently, fetching materials and assisting where needed. He ensured every detail was attended to, knowing that even the slightest error could jeopardize the ritual. When he noticed Talich and Zavet entering, he quickly nodded before returning to his task.

Zavet, still on edge from their earlier encounters, chose a position near the entrance, his tail coiled around him as he sat vigilantly. His sharp eyes scanned the room, alert for any signs of danger. The battles they had faced had taught him that safety was never guaranteed, not even within these hallowed walls.

With the circle complete, Gauge took a deep breath and stepped into its center. His hands moved through the air, tracing complex patterns that matched the symbols on the floor. As he chanted the ancient incantations, the circle responded, humming with energy as the glow intensified, filling the hall with a warm, ethereal light.

This was an ordinary resurrection. The bodies of Flynn, Hoat, and Lina had dissipated in the battles, leaving nothing behind. But the circle of resurrection didn’t require physical remains. Instead, it drew upon the deep connection between soul and memory, reaching into the ether to reconstruct their forms from the essence of who they had been.

The first to be reborn was Flynn. As Gauge completed the final words of the incantation, the air above the circle shimmered, coalescing into a mist that began to take shape. Slowly, Flynn’s body reformed, the mist solidifying into flesh and bone, his features emerging as if sculpted from the air. Within moments, he was whole again, lying on the stone floor, breathing once more as life returned to him.

Runner, anticipating the return, stepped forward with a robe. He knew the rebirth left the resurrected without clothing; their new bodies formed anew. Flynn accepted the robe, still dazed and disoriented from the experience but alive.

Next was Hoat. His form appeared in the circle, first as a ghostly outline, then gradually becoming solid. The wounds that had ended his life were gone, erased by the magic of the circle. He drew his first breath of life, eyes fluttering open as he returned to the world of the living. Runner was there, offering another robe as Hoat shakily rose to his feet, his expression a mix of confusion and awe.

Finally, it was Lina’s turn. Talich watched intently as the mist began swirling again, his heart pounding as Lina’s form took shape. The light from the circle seemed to brighten as her body was recreated, her figure becoming more distinct with each passing second. When the process was complete, she lay there, whole and alive, as if she had never been touched by death.

Lina nodded weakly, still processing the shock of her resurrection, her voice trembling with relief and the weight of what she had just experienced. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she tried to steady her breathing. “That spell... the one over the city... it’s more than just a curse. It’s a trap. Our souls were locked in our bodies while we were undead. I’ve never encountered anything like it before.”

Talich, standing nearby with his arms crossed, gave her a sympathetic nod. He managed a small, humorless chuckle, trying to bring some fun to the grim reality. “That’s only a side effect of the spell. Its main purpose is far more sinister. The longer someone remains undead under its influence, the stronger they become. It allows them to retain all the power they had in life and more. But it’s also why we have to act quickly—if we wait, the undead will only become harder to defeat.”

Zavet, who had been quietly listening, tilted his head in thought. His tail flicked in curiosity as he looked at Lina and the others who had just been resurrected. “So if we can come back to life, why is everyone so scared of dying or being resurrected?” he asked, his tone more curious than fearful.

Lina turned to him, her expression softening slightly as she explained. “It’s not that simple, Zavet. Resurrection isn’t something we can take for granted. No one truly knows how many times a soul can return from death before it’s too weak to come back at all. It’s a gamble every time, and the odds get worse the more you die and come back.”

She took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Think of the soul like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it becomes. But if someone were to stop using it—if they were to retire, stop fighting, stop pushing themselves—then their soul would weaken. Imagine someone who was a powerful warrior in their prime but then retired and spent years in peace. If they died five years later, there’s a chance they might not come back at all because their soul hasn’t been exercised, so to speak.”

Zavet’s eyes narrowed as he processed this. “So as long as we stay active, we can keep coming back?”

Lina shook her head, a faint trace of sadness in her eyes. “I wish it were that simple. But it’s not just about staying active. Each time you resurrect, your soul loses a bit of its strength. The ancient mages who studied resurrection wrote that a soul can only withstand so many returns. They estimated that if you die and resurrect more than ten times a year, your soul might become too weak to resist the pull of the final death.”

Talich added in a low voice, “It’s like a flame. Each time you die, it’s like relighting that flame. But each time, the flame gets a little smaller, a little dimmer. And one day, there might not be enough left to ignite it again.”

The gravity of their words tempered Zavet’s usual bravado. He glanced around at the others, who bore the weight of this knowledge on their faces. “So every death is a risk,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Lina nodded. “Yes. And that’s why we can’t take this lightly. We might have a chance to come back now, but if we’re not careful... there won’t be a next time.”

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the reality of their situation settling over them like a heavy shroud. They were alive, but each of them now understood just how fragile that life had become. The urgency of their mission had never been more apparent, and with it came the unspoken agreement that they would do everything in their power to ensure they wouldn’t have to test the limits of resurrection again.

The group made quick work of the remaining undead within the keep, their movements synchronized and efficient. Each swing of Talich’s maces and Zavet’s dagger, combined with Runner’s powerful strikes, dispatched the undead with little resistance. With the keep secure, Gauge focused on reinforcing their defenses. He carefully recast the protective wards around the perimeter, ensuring they were strong enough to deter further undead incursions. As a final measure, he crafted a series of low-quality golems—rudimentary but effective guardians to stand sentinel over the newly reclaimed keep.

Once the wards were in place and the golems began their patrols, Zavet, Talich, and Runner regrouped outside the keep. The air was thick with the lingering scent of decay, but the skies above the embassy district were clearing, a sign that their efforts were beginning to purge the undead from the area.

Runner glanced around, the weight of their mission still heavy on his shoulders. “I think there are two more members of Krimlond who are missing,” he said, his voice tinged with concern. “We need to find them.”

Talich nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “We’ve come this far. We can’t leave anyone behind.”

Zavet, never one to back down from a challenge, shrugged nonchalantly. “Lead the way,” he said, falling in step behind the others as they began their search.

The three of them moved through the embassy district, their senses heightened as they navigated the abandoned streets and rubble-strewn paths. Once a place of diplomacy and order, the district was now overrun with the remnants of undead. Still, Zavet, Talich, and Runner moved with purpose, cutting through the clusters of enemies with ruthless efficiency.

Zavet, taking the lead, used the chaotic energy of the battlefield to his advantage. Each time they encountered a group of undead, he would strike first, his dagger gleaming with deadly precision. With each kill, the dark magic within his dagger activated, drawing power from the defeated undead and manifesting it as bone armor around Zavet's body. The armor started as a thin, brittle layer, barely covering his chest and shoulders. However, the bone plates grew thicker and more intricate with each successive kill, weaving themselves into a more formidable defense.

As the armor accumulated, it began to pulse with a faint, eerie light, reflecting the growing power within. Yet despite its increasing strength, the armor had its limitations. The magic within the dagger allowed the armor to exist only for a short time, forcing it to decay and crumble back into dust after several minutes. Even so, the armor was strong enough to deflect the blows of weaker undead, their claws and weapons clattering harmlessly against it.

Talich and Runner provided support, cutting down any undead that strayed too close to Zavet as he methodically worked his way through the enemy ranks. Talich’s maces crushed skulls and shattered bones, while Runner’s powerful swings cleaved through the undead with deadly precision. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with, their teamwork honed to near perfection.

As they continued their sweep of the district, the streets grew quieter, the echoes of battle slowly fading as the number of undead dwindled. Zavet’s bone armor, now a formidable shell covering most of his torso, pulsed with a faint glow. However, the time limit on the enchantment was unforgiving, and just as it seemed the armor might envelop his entire body, the bones began to splinter and crack. Within moments, the once-impressive armor crumbled away, exposing Zavet’s body again.

Zavet smirked as he watched the last remnants of the bone dust fade into the air. “Looks like I’ll have to find more of these guys if I want to stay protected,” he quipped, though his tone was more determined than light-hearted.

Talich grunted in agreement, scanning the area for any signs of movement. “Let’s keep moving. We’ll find those missing members and clear out the rest of this district.”

Runner, ever vigilant, took point, leading the group further into the heart of the embassy district. The three of them moved as one, their focus unbroken as they hunted for any remaining threats—and for the two missing members of Krimlond.

The air grew colder as the group pressed further into the city, and the sense of dread deepened. They could feel the power of the undead intensifying with each step they took toward the palace at the city's center. The embassy district was now behind them, and the streets were filled with the eerie silence of an undead presence that only grew stronger.

At the far end of the district, where the city opened into a vast courtyard leading toward the palace, they encountered a sight that sent a chill down their spines. Four greater undead stood in their path, their malevolent auras radiating darkness: a death knight clad in ancient, battle-scarred armor; a lich, its skeletal form draped in tattered robes with a faintly glowing gem embedded in its crown; a dread ghoul, hunched and grotesque with sharp claws; and a revenant, a vengeful spirit with glowing red eyes.

Zavet's eyes widened with excitement at the sight of the formidable foes. His heart raced, not with fear, but with an almost uncontrollable desire to fight. Talich noticed Zavet’s eagerness and reached out to stop him, but it was too late. Zavet had already surged forward, the thrill of the battle driving him onward. Runner, loyal to his core, wasn’t about to let Zavet face the undead alone. He sprinted after him, his greatsword gleaming in the dim light.

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Talich, more strategic in his approach, remained hidden in the shadows, observing the undead and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His instincts told him that this battle would require precision and cunning.

As they approached the undead, Runner quickly assessed the situation. “I see one death knight, one lich, one dread ghoul, and a revenant. We need to kill the lich first,” he called out, his voice steady despite the danger.

The lich turned its hollow gaze toward them, its empty eye sockets glowing with dark energy. It tilted its head slightly, as if considering its opponents, before beginning to chant a powerful necromantic spell. The air around it crackled with magic as it summoned its strongest attack. But before the spell could be unleashed, Zavet leaped into the air, his dagger in one hand and his rumpwhip ready in the other. The lich’s dark magic surged toward him, but instead of being harmed, Zavet absorbed the energy, his body being healed of the minor wound he had suffered while killing the other undead.

With a roar of determination, Zavet launched himself at the lich, slashing with his dagger in a flurry of strikes. He struck the lich five times in rapid succession, each blow aimed with deadly precision. But before he could land a final strike, the revenant intervened, grabbing Zavet and hurling him across the courtyard. Zavet tumbled through the air before landing hard on the ground, but he was back on his feet in an instant, his eyes locked on the lich.

Seeing Zavet thrown aside, the Runner focused his attacks on the lich, determined to prevent it from regenerating. His greatsword cut through the air with a heavy swing, keeping the lich occupied and unable to heal itself. Zavet, undeterred by the revenant’s attack, charged back into the fray, his eyes now fixed on the death knight advancing on Runner, its sword raised to strike.

With a swift motion, Zavet whipped his tail around, knocking the sword from the death knight’s grasp just as it was about to strike Runner. The death knight staggered, momentarily disarmed, allowing Runner to slash deeply into its leg. Though the attack didn’t cause significant damage, it slowed the death knight down, keeping it from retrieving its weapon.

Zavet, seizing the moment, turned his attention back to the lich. He noticed the glowing gem in its crown, its power source. With a fierce grin, he shouted, “Ha, I knew it! The gem is what makes the lich!”

Without hesitation, he leaped at the lich again, his dagger aimed directly at the gem. With a single, precise strike, he shattered the gem, and the lich let out a bone-chilling wail as its body crumbled into dust. The dust swirled around Zavet as if drawn to him, and before he knew it, the remains of the lich began to coalesce into bone armor, wrapping around his body.

Talich, seeing the lich defeated, stepped out of the shadows and attacked the dread ghoul. He struck it several times with his maces, weakening it significantly before stepping back and calling out to Zavet, “Zavet, finish off the ghoul! Then we can deal with the death knight.”

Zavet, now clad in the heavy, dragon-like bone armor, felt a surge of power, unlike anything he had experienced before. He wasted no time, charging at the dread ghoul with ferocious speed. The ghoul, already weakened by Talich’s blows, could do little to defend itself as Zavet’s dagger sliced through its neck. The creature’s head rolled to the ground as its body disintegrated, and once again, its bones turned to dust and joined with Zavet’s armor, strengthening it further.

The armor now covered him from head to toe, each plate thick and durable, resembling the scales of a dragon. Zavet knew he had only minutes before the magic would dissipate, so he turned his attention to the death knight, the most formidable of the remaining undead.

“Leave him to me,” Zavet growled, his voice echoing with the power of the armor. “You guys handle the revenant.”

Runner and Talich nodded, their focus shifting to the revenant as they charged at it. Runner’s greatsword and Talich’s maces struck in tandem, each attack forcing the revenant back, preventing it from aiding the death knight.

Zavet, now alone with the death knight, tested his new armor by allowing the undead warrior to land a heavy blow on him. The force of the attack sent Zavet flying through the air, but when he landed, he realized that the armor had absorbed most of the impact. What would have been a fatal blow without the armor now caused only minor damage.

With a renewed sense of confidence, Zavet charged at the death knight, his movements quick and precise. He whipped his tail around again, wrapping it around the death knight’s leg and forcing it into a painful split. Zavet aimed for the death knight’s neck, but his strike wasn’t strong enough to decapitate it in one blow. He quickly rolled back, avoiding the death knight’s retaliatory swing, and then whipped his tail around again, trapping the knight’s sword arm.

With a quick maneuver, Zavet dived under the death knight’s legs, causing it to lose its balance and flip forward. The undead warrior landed hard on its back, its head facing Zavet. Seizing the opportunity, Zavet stabbed at the death knight’s head repeatedly, but the creature’s resilience was immense, and it took several blows before the skull began to crack.

In a final desperate move, the death knight grabbed Zavet by the leg and lifted him off the ground, slamming him down with tremendous force. The impact shattered Zavet’s bone armor, the magical protection dissipating into dust. Zavet grimaced as he felt the strain on his body, but he quickly severed his leg using his necromantic powers, allowing himself to escape the death knight’s grasp.

Healing himself with a quick surge of necromantic energy, Zavet cursed under his breath as he watched the last remnants of his armor fade away. “You big mean—” Zavet started, his tone more frustrated than fearful.

The death knight, caught off guard by Zavet’s unexpected insult, paused momentarily as if confused. “What?” it rasped, its voice echoing hollowly from within its helmet.

Taking advantage of the brief moment of hesitation, Zavet gathered a mass of necromantic magic in his hands and formed it into a shimmering shield. The shield deflected the death knight’s next attack, the force of the blow dissipating harmlessly.

With the death knight momentarily stalled, Zavet continued his relentless assault, targeting its neck with precise, powerful strikes. Each hit weakened the death knight further until finally, with one last forceful blow, Zavet severed the head from the body. The death knight collapsed to the ground, its once-imposing form now lifeless.

Talich and Runner, having successfully dealt with the revenant, rejoined Zavet just as the death knight’s body crumbled to dust. They stood amidst the remains of their enemies, breathing heavily but victorious.

Zavet wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at the pile of dust that had once been his bone armor. “That was close,” he admitted, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

Talich nodded, his expression was stern but relieved. “You handled it well. But we’re not done yet. We need to keep moving and clear out the rest of the city.”

Runner clapped Zavet on the shoulder, his usual cheerful spirit returning. “Nice work, Zavet. Let’s find those other two missing members and finish what we started.”

As the group paused to catch their breath after the intense battle, Talich's eyes scanned the surrounding area. The towering spires of the palace loomed ominously in the distance, their dark silhouettes casting long shadows across the city. Talich’s expression grew tense as he recognized where they were. His senses, honed over years of battle, picked up on the subtle yet unmistakable aura of powerful necromancy nearby.

“We need to get away from here,” Talich said, his voice low but urgent. He glanced at Zavet and Runner, his gaze sharp with concern. “The Lords of Necromancy are nearby.”

Zavet’s eyes widened, a mix of excitement and recklessness flashing across his face. “Oh, come on,” he protested, a grin spreading across his lips. “I think we can take them.”

Talich couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though it was tinged with nervousness. “No, Zavet. We can’t take on one of them, much less all eight. The Lords of Necromancy aren’t just powerful—they’re ancient, with knowledge and strength that could easily overwhelm us. We need to get out of here and search elsewhere.”

Runner, who had already begun to distance himself from the palace, turned back to the group. “Hey, I think I found the gnome guy from the barony!” he called out, pointing down a nearby street.

There, amidst the chaos of the undead-infested city, an undead gnome fiercely cast ice magic at a group of knights. The gnome's magic crystallized the air around it, forming sharp shards of ice that launched with deadly precision.

“Runner, you handle it,” Talich instructed, his tone firm. He reached into his pack and pulled out a flail, its heavy, spiked head gleaming ominously in the dim light. “Take this.”

Runner accepted the flail with a nod, securing his greatsword on his back before gripping the flail with both hands. He watched the gnome for a moment, sizing up his opponent, and then sprinted toward it with determination.

Talich, meanwhile, grabbed Zavet by the arm and pulled him toward the cover of a nearby building. “Let’s get out of sight,” he whispered, leading Zavet into the shadows where they could observe the unfolding events without being seen.

Zavet, still buzzing from the earlier fight, couldn’t resist a final look at the gnome. “But what if—” he started, but Talich silenced him with a stern look. “Trust me, Zavet. Runner can handle it.”

Runner approached the undead gnome with swift, purposeful strides. The gnome, engrossed in its magical assault on the knights, didn’t notice Runner until it was too late. With a single, powerful swing, Runner brought the flail down on the gnome with crushing force. The impact was brutal, shattering the gnome’s skeletal form into fragments scattered across the cobblestone street. The ice magic dissipated in an instant, leaving only silence in its wake.

The knights, who had been bracing themselves against the gnome’s attacks, looked at Runner in shock. One of them, recognizing him, removed his helm to reveal a familiar face. “Runner?” Parez, a fellow knight of the Morning Glory, said, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Nice to see you, man.”

Before Runner could respond, Ivan, a stern and battle-hardened knight, stormed forward, his eyes narrowing as he took in Runner’s appearance. “He looks undead to me, boys,” Ivan declared, suspicion lacing his words.

Parez quickly intervened, slamming into Ivan with a forceful shove. “Sir, to your left! I just saw a pack of ghouls!” he shouted, his voice filled with urgency.

Ivan, always quick to respond to a perceived threat, immediately turned to face the supposed ghouls, his weapon ready to strike. Runner didn’t hesitate, using the distraction to slip away unnoticed. He darted down an alley, moving swiftly to distance himself and the knights.

As Runner disappeared into the shadows, Parez waved after him with a grin, giving him a thumbs up. Another knight of the Morning Glory, having witnessed Ivan’s easy distraction, couldn’t suppress a laugh. The tension in the air eased slightly as the knights returned their focus to the task at hand, unaware of Runner’s true intentions.

Talich and Zavet watched the scene unfold from their hidden vantage point inside the old building. The tension from earlier battles had eased, replaced by a mixture of relief and quiet amusement. Talich’s eyes remained on the knights outside, his sharp gaze tracking every movement as he spoke. “Looks like Runner made it out just fine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zavet gave a slight nod, still processing the unexpected turn of events. The two of them stayed crouched by the window, hidden in the shadows, as they watched Runner carefully navigate his way back. He moved with a mixture of caution and confidence, scanning the area for any sign of his companions. When he finally spotted them peeking out from behind the cracked glass, he gave a quick wave.

Talich and Zavet waved back, beckoning him inside. Runner quickly slipped into the building, closing the door quietly behind him. The air inside was musty, filled with the scent of old wood and dust, but it was a safe haven for the moment.

Runner glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The dim light filtering through the dirty windows revealed a room filled with easels, paint-splattered canvases, and sculptures in various stages of completion. “Oh, what’s this place?” Runner asked curiously, lacing his tone as he took in the cluttered yet oddly peaceful space.

Talich looked around as well, his eyes sweeping over the remnants of someone’s creative endeavors. “It’s an art studio from the looks of it,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “Doesn't seem like the kind of place looters would target.”

Runner turned to Talich, raising an eyebrow. “You think people are looting right now? In the middle of all this?”

Talich nodded and gestured toward the window. “Look out there,” he said, his voice grim. Through the smudged glass, a group of figures moved stealthily between the buildings, ducking in and out of doorways. It didn’t take long to recognize them as members of the Solond barony. Some were entering and exiting various buildings, while others stood guard, vigilant for approaching threats.

“We need to stay put until they clear out,” Talich continued, his tone serious. “They might try something if they spot us, especially since we’ve got this flail.”

Zavet, ever the idealist, looked troubled by the suggestion. “That’s not right,” he said, his voice tinged with concern. “We have to stop them.”

Talich turned to face him, his expression a mix of caution and practicality. “If we do that, we can’t leave any witnesses,” he said matter-of-factly. “I can turn them undead, and we can leave them for someone else to find.”

Zavet’s curiosity piqued, and he tilted his head slightly. “Would they remember us killing them after they resurrect?”

Talich shook his head, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “No, they wouldn’t. You lose your memories from about thirty minutes before your death. There are rituals that can reduce that time to fifteen minutes, but they’re not common. And unless you’re a necromancer, you don’t retain any memories from the time you spent as an undead.”

Runner, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, turned to Talich with a surprised look. “So, you keep your memories while you’re undead?”

Talich nodded, leaning casually against an old wooden table. “Yup. You don’t lose the standard thirty minutes of memory after resurrection sickness like most do.”

Runner’s expression shifted as he recalled something from their past. “So that’s how you remembered your fight with Iscariot,” he said, piecing things together.

Talich chuckled, clearly amused by the memory. “Well, kind of,” he said with a shrug. “I’m half-zombie, you see. It’s something that happens after having a necromancy imbuement for so long. Once the magic starts to fade, your body becomes so used to the necromantic energy running through you that part of you becomes undead. It’s not exactly a common side effect, but it does happen.”

He paused, glancing at the paint-splattered walls around them. “It’s easy enough to hide with some makeup and the right clothes,” he continued as if discussing something as mundane as a daily routine. “But it does mean I have to cut off dead skin and heal myself more frequently as time goes on. The perks are worth it, though. I usually just tell people I’ve got a necromancy imbuement.”

Runner gave a slow nod, processing this new information. “So you always know if someone kills you,” he said, more as a statement than a question.

Talich’s grin widened a hint of pride in his eyes. “Exactly,” he confirmed as if this were just another advantage of his unique condition.

Meanwhile, Zavet had wandered off to the other side of the room, where several jars of paint had been left open. His hands were now smeared with vibrant colors, and his face bore streaks of blue and red. “Hey, this stuff is fun!” he exclaimed, a childlike joy evident in his voice as he painted random patterns on a nearby canvas.

Runner and Talich exchanged a glance, both of them trying—and failing—to suppress their laughter. The sight of Zavet covered in paint, so completely absorbed in his newfound artistic endeavor, was a welcome relief from the grim realities they’d been facing.

Talich finally let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Zavet, you’re one of a kind,” he said, amusement clear in his tone. “But we should probably keep an eye on those Solond looters. Once they’re gone, we can figure out our next move.”

Runner nodded, still smiling at Zavet’s antics. “Agreed,” he said, settling into a more comfortable position near the window, ready to wait out the looters and prepare for whatever came next.

They waited in silence as the last of the Solond members moved out of sight, their distant figures gradually disappearing into the darkening streets. The city, shrouded in the deepening twilight, seemed almost eerily quiet for a moment. Talich, Zavet, and Runner finally stepped out of the art studio, the tension in the air shifting as they prepared for their next move.

The trio made their way southwest, navigating through the city’s narrow, winding alleyways that led them just outside Krimlond’s district. They moved with purpose, clearing out any undead that crossed their path but carefully avoiding the larger clusters. The night was quickly descending upon the city, bringing with it an unsettling stillness. The faint glow of distant fires cast flickering shadows on the walls, and the echo of their footsteps seemed louder in the silence.

After a few hours of methodical clearing and cautious movement, they noticed the sky darken completely. The chill of the night air crept into their bones as they continued their journey. Talich glanced up at the moon, half-hidden behind clouds, and signaled to the others. "It’s time to head back," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "We’ve done what we can for now. The keep needs us more."

Zavet and Runner nodded in agreement, their thoughts already on the Krimlond embassy. They turned back, making their way toward the heart of the district. As they approached, they began to notice an alarming sight: a large, growing horde of undead was steadily moving toward the Krimlond district, their numbers swelling with every block they crossed.

The streets seemed to pulse with the low, guttural moans of the undead, a harbinger of the chaos that was about to unfold. The three quickened their pace, a shared sense of urgency driving them forward. The sight of the keep’s high walls in the distance was a welcome relief, a beacon of hope in the midst of impending doom.

As they reached the gates, the golem guarding the entrance activated, lowering the magical ward that created an impenetrable physical barrier around the keep. The ward was a formidable defense, one that no amount of brute strength could breach. Only magic could hope to break through it, and that made the keep one of the safest places in the district.

The courtyard was bustling with activity as they entered. The once sparsely populated keep now teemed with life—refugees from the district mingled with Krimlond members, creating a tense, overcrowded atmosphere. The air was thick with the murmur of worried voices, the rustling of weapons, and the hurried steps of people preparing for what was to come.

Zavet, Runner, and Talich made their way to the common room, where they found Lina, the baroness of Krimlond, engrossed in her spellbook. She looked up as they approached, her brow furrowing with concern as Talich delivered the news.

“Baroness Lina, we saw a large group of undead making its way through Krimlond’s city district,” Talich reported, his tone grave. “We need to prepare immediately.”

Lina’s eyes widened at the news, and she quickly closed her spellbook, her mind already racing through the preparations that needed to be made. She rose to her feet, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “Gauge, Hoat,” she called out, her voice cutting through the din. “We’ve got a large group of undead near the embassy. We need to get ready now.”

Gauge, who had been tinkering with a collection of his inventions scattered across a large table, looked up at Lina’s words. His mind, always quick to assess the situation, began to formulate a plan. “Alright,” he said, his voice calm but decisive. “Let me move all of this out of the way. We can use these tables for cover—they’re reinforced to withstand high levels of magical damage.”

He quickly began to clear the table, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. The rest of the room sprang into action as well, everyone working together to transform the common room into a makeshift fortification. The tables were flipped on their sides, creating barriers that would offer some protection against the incoming assault.

Suddenly, Flynn burst into the room, his face pale and his breathing ragged. “A very powerful undead is coming this way,” he announced, his voice trembling with urgency. “I think it’s a lord of necromancy.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the gravity of his words sinking in. A lord of necromancy was no ordinary undead; they were among the most feared entities in existence, capable of wielding necromantic magic with terrifying power. The thought of facing such a creature sent a shiver down everyone’s spine.

Flynn didn’t wait for anyone to respond. He immediately set to work, rounding up the civilians who had taken refuge in the keep. “We need to get you all out of here,” he urged, his voice firm but compassionate. “If you stay, it’s just going to be harder for us to manage. Your deaths will only add to the number of undead we have to fight.”

The civilians, though terrified, understood the logic of his words. They began to gather their belongings; their movements hurried but quiet as they prepared to leave the safety of the keep. Flynn and a few others guided them toward the safer outskirts of the district, away from the imminent battle.

Back in the common room, the tension was palpable. Lina turned to Talich, her eyes steely with determination. “We need to hold this keep, no matter what comes our way,” she said, her voice low but resolute. “If it’s a lord of necromancy, we’re going to need every ounce of strength and magic we’ve got.”

Talich nodded, his mind already racing with strategies. He knew the stakes were high, but there was no room for doubt or fear. They had faced impossible odds before, and they would do so again.

As the final preparations were made, Zavet, Runner, and Talich exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. They were ready to fight, ready to defend the keep and the people within it. The battle ahead would be fierce, but they would face it together, united by a common cause.

Outside, the night was dark and foreboding, the distant sounds of the undead growing louder with every passing moment. The stage was set for a confrontation that would test the limits of their courage and strength. And as the first echoes of the approaching horde reached their ears, they steeled themselves for the fight of their lives.

Screams pierced the night, echoing ominously through the thick stone walls of the keep. The sounds of terror and agony came from those who had tried to flee the safety of the Krimlond embassy, hoping to escape the ever-growing horde of undead now swarming the district. Their cries were cut short, leaving a chilling silence in their wake, only to be replaced by the relentless moans and shrieks of the undead.

Inside the keep, Flynn rushed into the common room, his face ashen with fear. “Baroness Lina,” he gasped, struggling to keep his voice steady, “I’m getting reports of wraiths in the area. They’re picking off anyone who tries to leave.”

Lina’s heart sank, but she quickly steeled herself, knowing that any sign of fear would only worsen the already fragile morale. She raised her voice, firm and commanding, to address everyone huddled inside the keep. “Stay calm, everyone! No one leaves this keep. We will hold our ground here.” Her tone left no room for argument, and the room fell into a tense silence as people looked to her for guidance.

Lina moved swiftly to a corner of the room where a small, intricately carved wooden chest lay. She opened it, revealing a collection of ritual components—powdered gemstones, vials of rare herbs, and a single, ornate dagger with a darkened blade. With practiced precision, she began to prepare a ritual message, one that would reach the highest authority she could call upon: Merlot, the powerful leader of the Razlond barony and, by virtue of his marriage to the queen, a man of great influence within the kingdom.

She arranged the components in a precise circle on the floor, each item glowing faintly with latent magical energy. Lina then took the dagger and pricked her finger, allowing a single drop of blood to fall into the center of the circle. As the blood hit the floor, the components began to hum with power, their glow intensifying. Lina focused her mind, channeling her thoughts into the ritual.

“Your Majesty,” she began, her voice laced with urgency and desperation, “Krimlond embassy is in dire need of reinforcements. A large force of undead, led by a lord of necromancy, has us trapped within our keep. We cannot hold them off for long without your aid. Please, send help immediately.”

The message, imbued with her magical essence, shimmered for a moment before disappearing into the ether, carried away to its intended recipient. The room was silent as they awaited a response, the air thick with anticipation and fear. Minutes felt like hours as the tension grew, each second a reminder of the dire situation outside.

Finally, the ritual circle flared to life again, signaling the arrival of a response. Lina’s heart raced as she leaned in, her breath catching in her throat as Merlot’s voice echoed through the room, projected from the magical energies of the ritual.

“Baroness Lina,” Merlot’s voice was steady but carried a weight of grim resolve, “I regret to inform you that we are unable to meet your request for reinforcements. The lords of necromancy have launched a coordinated strike. We, too, are under siege, with a horde of undead at our doorstep, led by one of the lords. The situation is dire across the kingdom.”

Lina’s heart sank further as she listened, her worst fears being confirmed with every word.

Merlot continued, “I am sending messages to all the barons and guild masters, urging them to defend the Resurrection Halls at all costs. If we fail tonight… the kingdom will be no more.”

As the final words of the message faded into silence, Lina closed her eyes, letting the gravity of the situation wash over her. The Resurrection Halls, sacred places where the kingdom’s fallen could be brought back to life, were the last bastion of hope. If they fell, there would be no return from death for their people—no hope for the kingdom’s future.

She opened her eyes and looked around the room at the faces of her comrades—Talich, Zavet, Runner, Gauge, Hoat—and the many others who had sought refuge within the keep’s walls. They had all heard the message. The fear in their eyes was palpable, but there was also a flicker of determination, a refusal to give in to despair.

Lina took a deep breath, straightened her back, and addressed them once more. “We may not have reinforcements, but we are not alone. We have each other, and we have the strength and magic to hold this keep. We will not let these walls fall. Not tonight.”

Her words were met with nods of agreement, some more resolute than others, but all understanding that their fate rested in their hands. The keep was their sanctuary, and they would defend it with everything they had.

Outside, the wraiths circled the keep like vultures, their ethereal forms barely visible in the shadows, while the horde of undead pressed ever closer. The darkness of the night seemed to close in around them, but within the walls of the Krimlond embassy, a spark of defiance burned brightly.

Lina flipped through the pages of her spellbook, her fingers moving quickly as she searched for anything that could tip the balance in their favor. The pages were filled with arcane symbols, incantations, and diagrams—each one a potential solution, yet none seemed sufficient for the overwhelming threat they faced. As she neared the end of the book, her eyes caught a title that made her pause: *Sanctuary.*

Her heart skipped a beat. This was it—a ritual that could potentially turn the tide, if only for a short while. She read the details quickly, her mind racing to absorb the complex instructions. The spell was designed to create a protective barrier around a designated area. This barrier would repel greater undead—wraiths, liches, and death knights—entities that would otherwise be impossible for them to fend off on their own.

"I found something," Lina said, her voice carrying a newfound hope. The others in the room turned to her, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

“It’s called Sanctuary,” she continued, her eyes still on the page. “This ritual creates a barrier around the keep that will last for three nights. It’s powerful enough to keep out any greater undead and will even force out those who are already inside. However,” she added, her tone growing more serious, “there’s a catch. Wards are fairly easy for a lich or other powerful necromancer to break—at least from the outside. But this ritual is different. The only way to truly destroy it is from within the protected area, by destroying the ritual catalyst.”

She looked up, meeting the eyes of her comrades. “The catalyst is a crystal, and it needs to stay on the person who casts the spell. That means I’ll need to carry it with me at all times. If I’m captured or killed, the *Sanctuary* spell will fail, and the undead will be able to enter freely.”

The room was silent as everyone absorbed the gravity of her words. The responsibility of carrying the catalyst meant that Lina’s life was now directly tied to the survival of everyone within the keep. If anything happened to her, the last line of defense would crumble, leaving them at the mercy of the undead.

Lina continued, her voice steady despite the weight of what she was about to do. “The spell isn’t permanent, but it should last us until dawn. By then, the wraiths and other greater undead will be forced to retreat from the sunlight, buying us precious time to either escape or regroup. But until then, we’ll be protected—as long as the ritual remains intact.”

Gauge, who had been tinkering with his inventions, looked up, his face serious. “It’s a risk, Baroness, but it’s the best option we have. I’ll reinforce the doors and windows with whatever I can, but we’ll need that barrier if we’re going to survive the night.”

Hoat, who had been listening quietly, nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to stay close to you, Lina. No one can afford to be separated, especially with you carrying that crystal. We’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

Flynn, still pale from the earlier reports of wraiths, added, “I’ll coordinate with the others to set up a defensive perimeter inside the keep. If any undead do manage to breach the outer defenses, we’ll be ready for them.”

Lina took a deep breath and began to gather the components needed for the ritual. The Sanctuary spell required more than just a crystal; it needed a focus of power, something that could channel the energies necessary to create such a potent barrier. She found what she needed in the chest she had used earlier—a large, clear crystal, uncut and rough but brimming with latent magical energy.

She placed the crystal in the center of the room, arranging a circle of protective runes around it with chalk. Then, she began the incantation, her voice rising and falling in a rhythmic chant as she called upon the ancient magic embedded in the spell. The crystal started to glow with a soft, inner light, pulsing in time with her words.

The others watched in silence, holding their breath as the ritual progressed. Lina’s voice grew louder and more commanding as she reached the climax of the spell. The light from the crystal intensified, filling the room with a warm, golden glow that pushed back the shadows and filled them all with a sense of peace.

Finally, with a final, decisive word, Lina completed the ritual. The crystal’s light stabilized, forming a protective aura that spread outward, enveloping the entire keep in its protective embrace. The barrier was invisible to the naked eye, but they could all feel it—a reassuring presence that filled them with a sense of safety.

Lina picked up the crystal, now cool to the touch but still glowing faintly, and placed it in a pouch at her side. The weight was both physical and symbolic—she was now the keeper of the spell, the one thing standing between them and the horde of undead outside.

She turned to the others, her expression resolute. “The Sanctuary is in place. We’re safe for now but can’t let our guard down. We need to be ready for anything. Let’s prepare for the night ahead.”

As dusk settled over the keep, the atmosphere grew tense as everyone set about their tasks—reinforcing the crumbling walls, gathering the meager supplies left, and bracing themselves for the inevitable onslaught of the undead. Zavet and Talich, now somewhat integrated into the group, were busy helping with the defenses when, without warning, a powerful surge of magic ripped through the air. It targeted the two of them, recognizing the necromantic energy that lingered within them from their previous battles. Instantly, they were yanked off their feet and hurled through the air, crashing through the keep’s walls and landing hard outside.

The force of the spell had been overwhelming, as though the very essence of the magic had identified them as greater undead—creatures to be expelled from the sacred grounds of the keep. As they struggled to their feet, dazed and disoriented, the realization of what had happened slowly dawned on them.

Inside the keep, the reaction was immediate and volatile. Flynn, a seasoned druid known for his strict adherence to tradition and an intense hatred for anything related to necromancy, was the first to respond. His voice dripped with venom as he glared at the spot where Zavet and Talich had been moments before. "They were greater undead? Spies. I bet that’s why the undead are here—they told the lords of necromancy."

Heavy and accusatory, his words hung in the air, sparking a wave of uncertainty and fear among the gathered soldiers. Murmurs of suspicion spread quickly, the atmosphere growing more hostile by the second. Runner, who had been standing nearby, felt a surge of anger at Flynn’s accusation. He stepped forward, his voice rising above the din.

"No!" Runner’s voice was firm, filled with conviction. "I was with them when we killed four greater undead and saved Teric!"

His words would have carried weight if Teric had been present. Unfortunately, Teric had gone straight to his private quarters with Scarlet upon returning, and Flynn hadn’t seen him yet. This gave Flynn the perfect opening to continue his assault.

"Teric is not here," Flynn spat, his eyes narrowing as he turned his glare on Runner. "And, of course, you’d defend them—you’ve been with them from the start. Maybe you’re part of the reason we’re in this mess."

Runner bristled at the accusation, but before he could respond, Gauge, one of the more level-headed ones, stepped in, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"Hold on, Flynn," Gauge said, his voice calm and measured. "We were told to go get them. We knew what they were from the beginning. They’re not with these undead."

But Flynn was beyond reason. His eyes blazed with righteous fury as he turned on Gauge. "I knew you were once a necromancer," Flynn hissed, his voice laced with contempt. "I thought you had redeemed yourself. But here you are, defending necromancers, just like I always suspected."

Gauge’s expression hardened, but before he could respond, Lina, who had been watching the exchange with growing concern, stepped forward to try and restore order. Her voice was authoritative, cutting through the rising chaos.

"Flynn, stop," Lina commanded, her tone brooking no argument. "Yes, we knew about them, and they’ve helped us."

Flynn, however, was not easily swayed. His paranoia had taken root, and he refused to let go. "How exactly did they help, Lina?" he demanded, his voice rising in intensity. "Think back—what have they really done?" His words were laced with deceit; his lies intended to sow further discord.

He pointed around the room, his gaze intense as he searched for signs of doubt among the others. "No Teric? But they supposedly rescued him. Then where is he? Where is Scarlet, for that matter?" His voice was sharp, and his questions were barbed with suspicion.

Before the situation could spiral further out of control, a sudden, sharp crack echoed through the hall. Hoat had come up behind Flynn and, with a swift motion, delivered a decisive blow to the back of Flynn’s head. Flynn crumpled to the ground, unconscious, the tension in the room breaking as everyone stared in shock.

Hoat stood over Flynn’s prone form, his expression grim. "We don’t need that right now," he said, his voice low but firm. "Tie him up and lock him in his quarters until we can deal with him properly."

They hesitated for a moment, but then, recognizing the wisdom in Hoat’s actions, they moved to follow his orders. As Flynn was carried away, the atmosphere in the keep shifted, the immediate crisis averted, but the underlying tension still simmering just below the surface.

Lina turned to the others, her gaze serious. "We need to focus on the task at hand. Zavet and Talich are out there, and they need our support. We can’t afford to let paranoia tear us apart from within. “

Zavet and Talich staggered to their feet, disoriented from the force that had hurled them out of the keep. The world around them spun for a moment before the cold, oppressive air of the undead-infested city brought them back to their senses. The horde of undead, led by the formidable Lord of Necromancy, Kyln—known as the Lord of Ghouls—surged through the streets like a relentless tide. Kyln, a towering figure clad in tattered robes, his skeletal frame draped with decaying flesh, radiated an aura of dark power. His hollow eyes glowed with an eerie green light, and his gaunt face twisted into a malevolent grin as he commanded his army of ghouls, who snarled and clawed at the air, eager to feast on the living.

The streets were crawling with ghouls, their emaciated bodies twisted into grotesque shapes. Their skin hung loosely from their bones, and their eyes glowed with a feral hunger. They moved with unnatural speed, driven by the will of their master, Kyln. The horde was a macabre parade of death, with ghouls in various stages of decay shambling alongside reanimated corpses, their eyes empty of any life but filled with the dark magic that sustained them.

Talich, sensing the urgency of their situation, leaped onto a nearby rooftop, his movements fluid and silent. He turned to Zavet, who quickly followed, eyes scanning the streets below. The ghouls paid them no mind, their rotting noses unable to distinguish the scent of the living from that of the undead. For now, they were safe, but both knew this reprieve wouldn’t last.

"We need a plan," Talich whispered, his voice tense but controlled. He knelt on the roof's edge, watching the horde below with a strategist's eye. "Kyln is leading this horde, and he's brought an army of ghouls with him. They're swarming the city, and they're not just going to batter down the walls—they'll tear the keep apart if we don’t do something."

Zavet, still catching his breath, nodded. "We can't just sit here. If we’re out here, maybe it’s for the best. We can take down the liches—those that could break the wards. Without them, the sanctuary might hold."

Talich’s eyes narrowed as he calculated their chances. "It may be for the best that we're out here, away from the prying eyes of the kingdom. We can do what needs to be done without worrying about what others might think."

He paused, then continued, "The ghouls are Kyln's strength. If we can disrupt them, weaken his control, and take out the liches that could break the sanctuary, we might just stand a chance. But we need to be smart about this. Kyln will be expecting resistance, and he’s not one to underestimate."

Talich gave a grim nod, his gaze fixed on the distant form of Kyln. "We have to be quick and precise. No mistakes. We’re going to need every bit of our skill to pull this off."

Zavet’s eyes narrowed as he pointed toward a group of skeletal figures draped in dark, tattered robes. Their eye sockets burned with an eerie green light, and the air around them crackled with malevolent energy. “I smell necromancy on them—strong and vile,” he whispered to Talich. “They’re up to something, likely preparing a spell.”

Talich followed Zavet’s gaze, his expression darkening. “Good work. You take care of those liches; I’ll handle the ghouls.”

Zavet leaped down from their perch with a curt nod, landing silently among the twisted, narrow streets. The air was thick with decay and necromantic magic stench, but Zavet moved purposefully, his bone armor clinking softly against the stone. He knew exactly what to look for: the liches, the necromancers who served the Lord of Ghouls. They would be cloaked in robes, their skeletal hands weaving spells of death and destruction.

He spotted one of the liches, its bony fingers tracing arcane symbols in the air. The lich was too focused on its incantation to notice Zavet approaching, which was a fatal mistake. Zavet paused only long enough to ensure that Talich had engaged the ghouls, their snarls and the sickening crunch of bone meeting metal echoing through the night. Then, with a swift motion, Zavet unsheathed his dagger and lunged.

The lich barely had time to register the attack. Zavet’s dagger sliced through the lich’s gem-encrusted diadem., severing the magic that held its undead form together. The creature released a hollow, echoing scream as it crumbled into a pile of bones and dust. Zavet quickly looted the remains, retrieving an ancient, enchanted tome that pulsed with dark power.

Without wasting a second, Zavet moved on to the next target. The liches were powerful, but they were little more than glorified skeletons against someone like Zavet, who was healed by their necromantic magic and resistant to their most lethal spells. He dispatched them one by one, each kills adding to the power of his bone armor, which seemed to grow darker and more foreboding with each fallen lich.

Meanwhile, Talich was cutting through the ghouls with brutal efficiency. His flail swung in wide arcs, each strike smashing through the twisted bodies of the undead. The ghouls, driven by a relentless hunger, were no match for Talich’s strength and skill. They fell in droves, their bodies shattering under the impact of the flail. But as Talich fought, he noticed a figure moving through the horde with purpose—Kyln, the Lord of Ghouls and one of Iscariot’s most trusted lieutenants.

Kyln’s presence was unmistakable. He towered over the lesser undead, his form hunched and twisted, his eyes glowing with an evil, deep crimson light. His body was a mass of rotting flesh and bone, yet it exuded a terrifying aura of power. He wielded no weapons, nor did he cast spells like the liches. Instead, his power lay in his claws and fangs, each dripping with his poisonous blood—a blood so potent that it could kill a living being within seconds of exposure and turn them into a ghoul.

Talich knew he couldn’t let Kyln reach the keep. Gathering all his strength, he lunged at the Lord of Ghouls, his flail crashing down with the force of a battering ram. The blow connected, causing Kyln to stagger back, but the Lord of Ghouls was far from defeated. He straightened, a cruel smile stretching across his decayed face as he spoke in a guttural and mocking voice.

“Lord Talich,” Kyln hissed, his words dripping with dark allure. “You are on the wrong side. Join us. Iscariot will grant you more power than you’ve ever dreamed of. Together, we can crush this kingdom—this thorn in our side that has persisted for far too long. Tonight, we have the power to erase it from existence.”

Talich did not reply. He let Kyln’s words wash over him, knowing that they were meant to distract, to tempt. But Talich was not swayed. He had seen the devastation the necromancers had wrought and had fought against the darkness they sought to spread. His resolve was unshakable. He launched another attack, striking again and again, driving Kyln back with each blow. But he knew his attacks were not enough to kill the Lord of Ghouls outright. Kyln was too powerful, his body too resilient. Still, Talich’s relentless assault served its purpose: to keep Kyln occupied, to buy time for Zavet.

As Talich continued his assault, Zavet had already dealt with the last of the liches. The connection between the ritual they were casting weakened with each lich’s death, and now, with the final lich vanquished, the spell began to falter. The once-cohesive horde grew angry, seeing their only way to break into the keep taken from them.

Sensing his moment, Zavet leaped from the shadows, his bone armor fully charged with the necromantic power of the slain liches. He landed on Kyln with the force of a thunderbolt, his daggers driving deep into the Lord of Ghouls’ flesh. The armor, pulsating with necromantic energy, acted like a conduit, channeling all the dark power Zavet had absorbed into each strike. The impact was devastating. Each blow weakened Kyln’s hold over the remaining ghouls, the undead creatures collapsing into heaps of bones as Zavet’s assault continued.

Kyln roared in fury, his claws slashing at Zavet, but none of his attacks found purchase. Zavet was immune to the corrupting influence of Kyln’s blood, and his bone armor protected him from the necromantic energy that would have destroyed a lesser being. Zavet’s attacks were precise, methodical, and unrelenting. He struck repeatedly, each blow driving Kyln closer to the brink of destruction.

Finally, with a final, powerful strike, Zavet drove his dagger deep into Kyln’s chest. The Lord of Ghouls released a final, inhuman scream as his body began to disintegrate, turning to dust under the onslaught. The remaining ghouls, now leaderless, collapsed to the ground, their bodies crumbling into nothing as Kyln’s dark influence faded.

Talich stepped back, breathing heavily as he watched Kyln’s remains scatter in the wind. He turned to Zavet, a rare smile of approval on his face. “Zavet, that was incredible. I don’t think anyone has ever managed to take down a Lord of Necromancy like that before.”

Zavet, still catching his breath, nodded in acknowledgment. “Yup. I can make the dagger stronger now. Instead of making the armor. So I did both.”

The two warriors stood over their enemy's remains, the night's silence settling around them as the last echoes of battle faded away. They had struck a decisive blow against one of the kingdom’s greatest enemies, but they knew the war was far from over. For now, though, they had earned a moment of respite, a brief victory in the ongoing struggle against the forces of Iscariot.

As Zavet and Talich stood over the crumbling remains of Kyln, the Lord of Ghouls, a dark, swirling mass of necromantic energy began to rise from the dust. It coiled like a living shadow, writhing and pulsating with a sinister life. The energy, thick with the essence of death and decay, seemed to cling to the air, vibrating with the remnants of Kyln’s formidable power.

Zavet, still clad in the bone armor gifted by his enchanted dagger, felt a pull deep within the weapon's core. As if responding to some unspoken command, the dagger began to glow with an eerie, pale light. As the swirling necromantic energy was drawn toward the weapon, the glow intensified, growing stronger and more focused.

The dark mass moved as though it had its own will, streaming toward the dagger in twisting, serpentine tendrils. As the energy made contact with the blade, the glow around the dagger flared, brightening momentarily before the dark energy was fully absorbed. The shadows that had once defined the mass now seemed to sink into the dagger, disappearing entirely as the blade drank in the power.

Zavet could feel the change immediately. The dagger, already a potent weapon, pulsed with newfound strength, its surface shimmering with a dark sheen that hadn’t been there before. The bone armor encasing Zavet responded in kind, growing denser and more resilient as the necromantic energy fused with the dagger and subsequently with the armor it generated.

The power was not fleeting but permanent, an indelible mark left by the death of Kyln, the Lord of Ghouls. Zavet could sense the subtle shift in the weapon’s essence, a deepening of its inherent power as if it had fed on the very soul of the necromancer. This newfound strength would make the dagger more lethal and imbue the armor with additional protection against the undead they continued to face.

Talich, watching the transformation with a knowing gaze, nodded in approval. "The dagger has absorbed part of Kyln’s essence," he remarked, his voice steady despite the gravity of what had just occurred. "Its power is growing, becoming more attuned to the dark arts we fight against."

Zavet flexed his hand around the dagger's hilt, feeling the thrum of necromantic energy coursing through it. "It’s stronger now," he said quietly, almost to himself, looking down at the slightly darker blade. "This will help us in the battles to come."

Talich clapped a hand on Zavet’s shoulder, a shared sense of victory grounding them after the intense battle. "You’ve earned it," Talich said, his voice a mix of pride and exhaustion. "Let's go tell Lina that we handled the Lord of Necromancy."

With the weight of their triumph settling on their shoulders, the two headed back toward the keep. As they approached, their heads held high, the aura of their success seemed to radiate from them. The guards at the entrance, who had been tense and vigilant, relaxed slightly upon seeing the duo, their eyes widening in respect.

Once they got to the keep entrance, they were met with a wave of curious and awed gazes. Whispers rippled through the crowd that had gathered just outside the keep. These weren’t just Krimlond’s people but citizens from all corners of the district seeking refuge from the encroaching undead. The air was thick with tension, but the sight of Talich and Zavet returning unscathed brought a glimmer of hope to many.

Almost immediately, they were surrounded by a flood of questions. Voices overlapped, each one tinged with a mix of fear, curiosity, and admiration.

"How did the spell work on you?"

"Why didn’t the undead attack you?"

"How did you manage to kill a Lord of Necromancy when it usually takes all four baronies to bring one down?"

Zavet and Talich exchanged glances, realizing just how extraordinary their feat must have seemed to those who had only heard of such powers in legends. In the years to come, this moment will become legendary. This is when people Say the hero known as Zavet started his journey.

Before they could respond, Lina, the Baroness of Krimlond, stepped forward. She radiated authority, her presence commanding immediate attention. She raised a hand, signaling for silence. "This is war," Lina began, her voice cutting through the murmurs with calm authority. "We are on the brink of losing our kingdom. It doesn’t matter how they did it. What matters is that they did do it. Their actions have bought us time, but we are far from safe."

The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. Lina’s gaze swept over the crowd, ensuring that everyone understood the gravity of the situation. "Now," she continued, "we must focus on our next move. We cannot afford to be complacent."

She turned her attention to Talich, Zavet, and the others gathered nearby. "I will be sending some of us to aid Erenlond. They need our help, and we cannot let any part of this kingdom fall if we can prevent it."

Her eyes locked onto Talich and Zavet. "Zavet, Talich, you’ve proven yourselves today. You will go to Erenlond and offer them the same strength you brought to this battle."

She then looked to the other warriors who had gathered nearby. "Runner, Hoat," she called out, naming the two seasoned fighters preparing for the next wave of attacks. "You will accompany them. Erenlond needs every capable fighter we have, and I trust you to protect it."

The named men nodded in unison, their resolve hardening at the command. They were not hesitated in their acceptance; they understood what was at stake.

Lina breathed, her tone softening slightly as she addressed the room again. "We’ve all lost something in this war. We’ve all felt fear, and we’ve all felt the pain of loss. But now, more than ever, we must stand together. We must fight for the kingdom we hold dear, for the people who look to us for protection. And we must trust in each other."

With that, the crowd began to disperse, the urgency of the situation sinking in. People returned to their duties, their fear tempered by the knowledge that heroes still fought for them.

Talich and Zavet, flanked by Runner and Hoat, moved to prepare for the journey ahead. They got what they needed and headed to the Neighboring embassy, Erenlond.

As they continued to make their way through the desolate streets, the eerie silence grew heavier with each step. The usually bustling streets of Krimlond, now eerily empty, seemed almost haunted. Despite the desolation, Zavet, Talich, Hoat, and Runner could sense movement in the shadows. Glancing around, they noticed the flicker of faces quickly darting behind shattered windows and broken doors.

Runner squinted, his keen eyes catching sight of figures moving stealthily through the darkened interiors of the buildings. He recognized the familiar yellow-and-black quartered tabards of Solond’s soldiers, though these men were not fighting—they were looting. "Shit," Runner muttered under his breath, frustration and anger flashing across his face. "These idiots are going to get themselves killed or, worse, get us all killed."

Hoat turned his head to see what had caught Runner’s attention. His expression darkened as he watched the Solond members greedily rifling through abandoned homes and shops, stuffing their pockets with whatever they could find. The sight made Hoat’s blood boil. These men were supposed to be soldiers, part of the kingdom’s defense, and here they were, taking advantage of the chaos for personal gain.

"Hey!" Hoat barked, his voice echoing down the empty street. "Come out!"

The Solond looters froze at the commanding shout, their heads snapping in alarm. After hesitation, they cautiously peeked out from their hiding spots, their faces pale and their hands still clutching stolen goods. They reluctantly stepped out into the open one by one, looking like they were ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Hoat’s eyes narrowed as he approached the group, his posture radiating authority and barely restrained fury. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "You’re supposed to be defending the kingdom, not picking it clean like vultures!"

One of the Solond members, a tall and wiry man with a sneer plastered on his face, stepped forward. His name was Vlad, and he was the leader of this ragtag group. "We’re just taking what we can," Vlad said, his tone defensive and defiant. "The city’s lost anyway. Might as well make sure we come out of this with something."

Hoat’s patience snapped. He stepped closer to Vlad, his fists clenched at his sides. "You’re looting while the rest of us are out here risking our lives to keep this city from falling! Do you know how dangerous you’re putting us in with your selfish actions?"

Vlad’s eyes flicked to the other Solond men, a sneer curling his lips. "You’re not our boss, Hoat. We’re looking out for ourselves. If you’ve got a problem with that, tough luck."

Hoat’s eyes blazed with anger. "You’re going to get yourselves killed, and you’re going to get us killed too! Do you even understand what we’re up against out here?"

Vlad scoffed, his defiance only growing stronger. "We know exactly what we’re up against. But we’re not interested in dying for a lost cause. We’re taking care of ourselves."

The two men stood inches apart, their tension crackling like a live wire. Hoat’s temper flared without warning, shoving Vlad hard in the chest. "You’re a coward!" Hoat spat. "If you want to look out for yourself so badly, go ahead, but don’t drag the rest of us down!"

Vlad recovered quickly from the shove, his face twisting into a snarl. "You think you’re so tough, Hoat? Let’s see you back that up!" He swung a fist at Hoat, who dodged it easily and retaliated with a punch of his own, catching Vlad square in the jaw.

The two men clashed in a furious brawl, fists flying as they grappled in the street. The other Solond men started to move in to back up Vlad, but before they could intervene, Runner, Talich, and Zavet stepped forward to break up the fight.

"Enough!" Runner shouted, grabbing one of the Solond men by the arm and yanking him back. "We don’t have time for this nonsense! We’re all on the same side, damn it!"

Talich, meanwhile, focused on Vlad. He recognized the man’s face, which had appeared in whispered rumors and hushed conversations. "Vlad," Talich said coldly, his voice cutting through the chaos. "I know you. You’re the one who’s been dabbling in necromancy, right? Don’t think I haven’t heard about your connections to the Necro Guild."

Vlad’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing his face before he angrily masked it. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," he hissed, but his bravado had weakened.

Talich stepped closer, towering over Vlad with an imposing presence. "Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about," Talich said, his voice low and threatening. "And if you don’t want me to tell Baroness Lina about your extracurricular activities, you’ll stop this looting right now and fall in line."

Vlad’s defiance faltered as he weighed his options. He knew that if Talich reported him to Lina, it would be the end of him—not just as a member of Solond but as a member of the kingdom. He glanced at his fellow members, watching the exchange with apprehension and uncertainty. Finally, he relented, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Fine," Vlad muttered, his voice bitter. "We’ll stop. But don’t think for a second that I’m doing this for you. I’m doing it because I don’t want to end up on the wrong side of Lina."

Talich gave a curt nod, his gaze never leaving Vlad’s. "Good choice. Now get out of here and make yourself useful. To survive this, you must start acting like a soldier, not a scavenger."

Vlad and his men reluctantly backed off, their loot forgotten as they retreated into the shadows. Hoat, breathing heavily from the fight, turned to Talich with a grateful nod. "Thanks," he said, wiping the blood from his knuckles. "I was about to lose it."

"No problem," Talich replied, watching Vlad disappear. "But we’d better keep an eye on him. I don’t trust him to stay out of trouble."

With the fight behind them and tensions eased, the group continued, more determined than ever, to face the challenges ahead. But in the back of their minds, the encounter with Vlad and his comrades lingered—a reminder that the dangers they faced weren’t just from the undead but from those who should have been their allies.

The sight before them was grim as they arrived at Erenlond’s keep. The druids and rangers of Erenlond were struggling, lacking the shield users or powerful warriors typical of other baronies. Their light armor and reliance on agility and ranged attacks were no match for the relentless waves of undead. The keep’s defenses were failing, vines and thorns summoned by desperate druids barely holding the horde at bay.

Hoat led the charge, wielding his spear with practiced precision. "We've got to break their lines!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. Without waiting for a response, he hurled his spear into the mass of undead, the weapon crackling with energy as it skewered multiple ghouls before returning to his hand.

Talich, seeing the situation, quickly identified the critical threats. “Focus on the necromancers!” he called out. “They’re keeping the horde animated. If we take them down, we’ll give the Erenlond members a fighting chance.”

Zavet nodded, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a group of skeletal necromancers chanting in the distance. “I’ll handle them,” he growled, already moving toward his targets.

As Zavet closed in, Hoat and Runner moved to support the beleaguered Erenlond forces. Hoat’s spear flashed in the dim light as he spun and struck, each thrust precise and deadly, keeping the undead at bay. Runner, using his agility, darted between enemies, slashing with his giant blade, his movements a blur as he created openings for the rangers to fire their arrows.

The druids, seeing the reinforcements, began to rally. With renewed vigor, they chanted spells, causing the earth to rise, creating barriers, and entangling the undead in thick roots. But it was clear they were still outmatched; their magic was powerful, but they were vulnerable without the protection of shields or the brute strength of warriors.

Zavet reached the necromancers and tore into them with a ferocity born of desperation. His enchanted dagger moved like lightning, cutting through bone and sinew. The necromancers barely had time to react before they were cut down, their control over the undead severed.

Talich, fighting alongside the Erenlond members, noticed a particularly large ghoul battering its way through the keep’s defenses. With a grim determination, he leaped onto its back, using the flail to smash through its thick skull. The creature fell, and with it, the morale of the remaining undead wavered.

As the last of the necromancers fell, the battle began to turn. The Erenlond members, encouraged by the support of Talich, Zavet, Hoat, and Runner, pressed their advantage. The undead, now leaderless and disorganized, began to falter. With a final push, they drove the horde back, reclaiming the keep.

Breathing heavily, Hoat surveyed the battlefield. "We did it," he muttered, though his eyes were already scanning for the next threat. The druids and rangers of Erenlond looked to their saviors with relief and gratitude, but the cost of their victory was evident in the bodies of their fallen comrades scattered across the ground.

As the dust settled from the battle, Zavet stood amidst the ruins of the battlefield, his breathing heavy but steady. The adrenaline from the fight was still coursing through his veins, but something felt different. He looked down at his armor, expecting to see the familiar bone-white plates that had protected him through countless skirmishes. But what he saw instead made him pause.

The armor had changed. Where once it had been a skeletal construct, it now appeared as though it were made from a ghoul's tough, sinewy hide. The leather was dark and mottled, with patches of sickly green and gray that seemed to pulse faintly, almost as if it were still alive. The surface was rough, covered in ridges and scars, and the faint stench of decay clung to it, a reminder of the dark creature from which it had been fashioned.

Zavet gloved over the armor, feeling the texture beneath his fingers. The material was surprisingly supple, yet he could sense the necromantic energy woven into its fibers, giving it a resilience far beyond ordinary leather. It was as if the armor had absorbed the essence of the Lord of Ghouls, Kyln, after their battle, transforming into something new, something more attuned to the dark forces that Zavet had been wielding.

The transformation was subtle, almost insidious, as if the armor had been waiting for the right moment to reveal its true nature. The once clean lines of the bone armor were now jagged, the edges resembling the torn and tattered remains of the ghouls they had fought. The armor hugged his form more closely, the leather shifting and tightening as if it were a second skin, responsive to his every move.

Zavet's mind raced as he considered the implications. The armor had been powerful before, but now it felt different—more dangerous, more alive. It was as though it had taken on a life of its own, a reflection of the power Zavet had claimed when he defeated Kyln. But a sense of unease came with it, a reminder that the forces he was dealing with were not to be taken lightly.

He flexed his arms, feeling the armor move with him as if it were a part of his own body. The transformation had enhanced its properties, making it stronger, more resilient, and more attuned to the dark energies that now coursed through Zavet. Yet, it also bore the unmistakable mark of the undead, a sign of the pact he had made with the powers of necromancy.

Talich, noticing Zavet's quiet contemplation, approached. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice steady despite the chaos still lingering around them.

Zavet shook his head, but his eyes remained on the armor. "The armor... it's changed," he said quietly. "It looks like it's made from the hide of a ghoul."

Talich raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the armor discerningly. "It seems to have absorbed some of Kyln's essence," he observed.

The group from Erenlond, along with Zavet and Talich, entered the keep, their footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. Inside, the battle raged on. Druids and rangers of Erenlond, skilled in the ways of nature and the bow, fought valiantly against the undead, but their lack of shields and heavy armor left them vulnerable. Despite their best efforts, the relentless tide of the undead, bolstered by necromantic energies, began to take its toll.

As Zavet and Talich advanced toward the heart of the conflict, they noticed Lavender, one of the few mages among the Erenlond forces, watching them intently. Her gaze lingered on Zavet's ghoul-hide armor, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. But before she could voice her thoughts, the sounds of battle drew her focus back to the immediate danger.

Runner's urgent shout echoed through the halls. "Hey, we’ve got a Death Rogue inside! It just killed three of Erenlond’s members and paralyzed Hoat with some kind of poisonous gas! It’s throwing vials!"

Talich's expression darkened at the mention of the Death Rogue, and without hesitation, he bolted toward the source of the commotion, Zavet right behind him. The two moved swiftly through the keep, their senses heightened by the pervasive scent of death and decay that hung in the air. They knew that if Hoat, with all his skill, had been incapacitated, they were facing something far more dangerous than the average undead.

They burst into a large chamber near the keep's center, where the battle was most fierce. There, standing amidst the chaos, was not just any Death Rogue but *the* Death Rogue—Elias, the Lord of Necromancy himself. His presence was unmistakable, a figure shrouded in shadows, his movements precise and calculated. In one hand, Elias held a vial filled with a sickly green and black liquid, and in the other, he gripped the neck of a struggling druid.

Elias' lips twisted into a cruel smile as he locked eyes with Talich. Without a moment's hesitation, he poured the contents of the vial down the druid’s throat. The liquid burned as it went down, the druid’s eyes widening in horror as her body convulsed violently. Her skin began to bubble and melt, sloughing off in grotesque chunks to reveal the muscle and sinew beneath, which quickly dissolved as well. Within moments, nothing remained but a skeletal frame, stripped bare and dripping with necromantic ooze.

The freshly animated skeleton slowly rose, its empty eye sockets fixating on Elias. The Lord of Necromancy’s voice was cold and commanding as he issued a simple order: "Kill the living."

Before the skeleton could take a step, Talich's flail crashed down with unrelenting force, shattering its skull into fragments. The skeletal body collapsed into a pile of bones at his feet.

Elias tilted his head slightly, feigning disappointment. "That was rather rude, Talich," he said, his tone mocking. "She had her whole life—or rather, unlife—ahead of her."

But Zavet had no interest in exchanging words. He surged forward, his bone dagger glinting as he aimed a precise strike at Elias’s heart. Yet, Elias was no ordinary foe. As a master assassin and one of the most feared necromancers in the land, Elias moved with an almost supernatural grace. He effortlessly sidestepped Zavet's initial thrust, the dagger slicing through the air where he had stood just a moment before.

Zavet pressed the attack; his strikes were fast and furious, each carrying the weight of his determination to end Elias then and there. But to Elias, it was like sparring with a novice. He deflected Zavet’s blows casually, his movements fluid and precise, each perfectly timed to exploit the smallest openings in Zavet’s form.

Zavet’s frustration grew with each failed attack, but Elias seemed almost bored, a dark amusement playing on his features as he parried and dodged, never once appearing to exert himself. For every strike Zavet attempted, Elias responded with a deft counter, his attacks so swift and deadly that only Zavet’s experience and reflexes kept him from being cut down.

As the duel continued, the sound of bones breaking and spells being cast filled the room, but for Zavet, the world had narrowed to the deadly dance between him and Elias. He knew he was outmatched—Elias was not just a rogue; he was an embodiment of death itself, a master of assassination and dark magic who had claimed countless lives.

Talich, witnessing the struggle, tightened his grip on his flail. He knew they needed to change their approach if they would have any hope of defeating Elias, but for now, all he could do was watch as Zavet fought for his life against a foe who seemed almost untouchable.

As the intense duel between Zavet and Elias raged on, the shadows in the chamber seemed to deepen and twist unnaturally. There was a subtle shift in the air, something that most would have missed—something sinister. But both Talich and Zavet, attuned to the presence of necromantic energies and trained to detect the slightest hint of danger, felt it immediately.

The Death Rogues had arrived.

Three figures emerged silently from the gloom, materializing as if from darkness. These were not ordinary assassins; they were Death Rogues, masters of stealth and shadow, capable of moving unseen between the folds of darkness. Their ability to blend seamlessly with the shadows rendered them invisible to the untrained eye, and their sudden appearance was like the cold touch of death itself.

The only sign of their approach was the faintest whisper of air as they moved swiftly, deadly, and silently. Talich and Zavet, both sensitive to the necromantic energies these assassins exuded, tensed as they sensed the Death Rogues closing in.

These rogues were not here to engage in prolonged combat. Their mission was simple and brutal: to eliminate the casters who threatened Elias and his undead horde. Their attacks were calculated for maximum efficiency, aiming to kill with surgical precision. Each rogue wielded thin, curved blades coated in a dark, viscous poison—a lethal concoction designed to constrict the throat and asphyxiate its victims within seconds.

The first rogue moved with lightning speed, darting from the shadows towards a druid casting a defensive spell. His blade struck with deadly accuracy, slicing across the druid's throat. The druid barely had time to gasp before the poison took hold, his hands clawing at his throat as he collapsed, suffocating on the spot.

The second rogue targeted Lavender, who had been channeling a spell to turn the tide of the battle. She had only sensed the danger when the rogue appeared behind her, his blade poised to strike. But before he could land the killing blow, Talich roared in defiance and hurled his flail with terrifying force. The weapon, crackling with holy energy, smashed into the rogue’s arm, shattering bone and sending him reeling back into the shadows, where he disappeared once more.

The third rogue, recognizing the danger of leaving Talich unchecked, shifted his focus and lunged at the warrior. His blade gleamed with the deadly poison as it arced towards Talich’s throat. But Talich was ready. With a deft movement, he blocked the strike with the shaft of his flail, sparks flying as steel met steel. The rogue hissed in frustration, retreating into the shadows to seek another opportunity.

Zavet, meanwhile, found himself fending off not just Elias but also the remaining Death Rogues. Sensing the danger, he heightened his awareness, connecting to the necromantic energies around him to track the rogues' movements. Unlike the others in the room, he could feel their presence in the darkness—vague, ghostly outlines that shifted and flickered at the edge of his vision.

The rogues moved to encircle Zavet, their intent clear: overwhelm him with coordinated strikes. One appeared at his side, his blade already descending towards Zavet's shoulder. But Zavet spun to meet the attack, his bone dagger flashing out in a quick, deadly arc. The rogue barely managed to parry, the force of the blow sending him stumbling back.

Another rogue attempted to strike from behind, his blade aimed at the base of Zavet’s spine. But Zavet, anticipating the attack, dropped to one knee, letting the blade pass harmlessly over his head. He lashed out with his dagger in the same fluid motion, catching the rogue in the side and driving him back.

As the battle intensified, the Death Rogues became more desperate, their strikes faster and more reckless. They aimed for the casters again, hoping to take them down before Zavet and Talich could fully react. But Talich, now in a near-frenzied state, charged at one of the rogues, his flail crushing through the rogue’s defenses and sending him flying across the room.

Meanwhile, Runner darted through the chaos, administering antidotes to the fallen druids. He moved with urgency, knowing that every second counted. The poison coursing through their veins was lethal, and without swift intervention, they would be lost. He knelt beside one druid, swiftly pulling a vial from his pouch and pouring the antidote down the druid’s throat. The druid gasped as the antidote took effect, the paralysis receding, and the poison neutralized. Runner didn’t have time to linger; he was already moving to the next fallen caster, repeating the process with practiced efficiency.

The room had become a chaotic dance of death, with Zavet and Talich fighting desperately to keep the casters alive while fending off the relentless onslaught of the Death Rogues. Each breath they took was heavy with the scent of blood and poison, each second a battle to survive against enemies who knew no mercy.

Zavet, still locked in combat with Elias and the remaining rogues, fought with a ferocity born of necessity. He knew that any lapse in concentration would be fatal. But as skilled as he was, he could not ignore that he was slowly being cornered. The rogues' poison-tipped blades came closer with each strike, their movements blurring as they pressed their attack.

Talich, recognizing the increasing danger, bellowed, “Zavet, hold the line! Runner, keep those druids alive!” His voice was a rallying cry, cutting through the chaos and focusing their resolve.

Runner, his hands steady despite the chaos around him, continued his work, saving lives with each antidote administered. The druids, recovering quickly, began to rejoin the fight, their spells bolstering the defenders and pushing back against the tide of undead.

As the battle reached its peak, the Death Rogues began to falter. Their advantage of stealth and surprise was waning against the combined might of Zavet, Talich, and the rejuvenated druids. One by one, the rogues fell, their bodies crumpling into the shadows they had once commanded so effortlessly.

Only Elias remained standing amid the carnage as the dust settled within the keep. His sharp, calculating eyes flickered with a dangerous light as he took in the scene before him. His plan, so carefully crafted, was beginning to unravel. Yet, he refused to admit defeat. His lips curled into a snarl as he locked eyes with Zavet, his mind already plotting his next move.

Without warning, Elias lunged at Zavet, his movements a blur of lethal precision. The sound of steel slicing through flesh echoed in the chamber as his blade pierced Zavet’s forearm. A surge of pain shot through Zavet’s arm, but before he could react, Elias followed up with a swift, brutal kick, sending Zavet crashing to the ground.

Talich and Runner, seeing their comrade in peril, moved swiftly. Talich, his flail at the ready, rushed forward to intercept Elias, while Runner, still reeling from the earlier fight, threw himself into the fray, desperate to protect Zavet. Together, they managed to halt Elias’s killing blow, forcing the assassin to step back.

Elias’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. With a fluid motion, he reached into his belt and retrieved two throwing daggers, each blade gleaming with a deadly promise. He hurled the daggers at Runner and Talich, the weapons cutting through the air with deadly accuracy.

The daggers found their marks, sinking deep into their targets. Runner struck in the chest and let out a strangled gasp as his body reacted violently to the poisoned blade. He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest as a wave of agony tore through him. Blood began to pour from his mouth, and his skin, once full of life, started to wither and decay. His features twisted and contorted as necromantic magic took hold, transforming him into a ghoul.

Elias chuckled darkly as he watched Runner’s transformation. He turned his gaze to Zavet, a wicked smile spreading. “The only thing on that dagger was from your armor,” Elias remarked, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’ve inherited the same ability as the Lord of Ghouls. Come to think of it, that armor… looks like it’s made of ghoul flesh.”

A spark of excitement flashed in Elias’s eyes as he pieced it together. “You killed Kyln and made him into armor? Impressive. That would be a good plan if you were fighting the living, but why wear such a thing against the undead?” His voice carried a mixture of admiration and twisted amusement.

Zavet, fueled by rage and pain, refused to back down. With a roar, he rolled to his feet and lunged at Elias, his tail whipping through the air with deadly intent. The appendage coiled around Elias’s leg, pulling him off balance and crashing to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, Zavet leaped onto Elias, determined to end the fight once and for all.

But Elias, ever the cunning assassin, was not so easily subdued. As Zavet closed in, Elias’s form seemed to melt into the shadows, his body dissipating into an inky black mist. Within the blink of an eye, he reappeared behind Talich, his dagger poised to strike. Before Talich could react, Elias drove the blade into his back, the point slipping between his shoulders with surgical precision. Talich let out a pained gasp as his body went limp, crumpling to the ground.

Elias stood over Talich’s prone form, his laughter echoing through the keep. “Well,” he mused, his voice laced with dark amusement, “it seems you’re already undead. But no matter, you’ll serve your purpose.”

Hoat, having witnessed the fall of Talich, Zavet, and Runner, knew that the battle was lost. His heart pounded in his chest as he weighed his options, and in a moment of clarity, he decided. “We need to get out of here and regroup!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Without waiting for a response, Hoat began to shepherd the surviving druids out of the keep, his spear ready to fend off any undead that crossed their path. As they fled, Elias made no move to stop them, focusing solely on Zavet.

Elias turned back to Zavet, his expression a mix of cold calculation and cruel anticipation. “You’re not going anywhere,” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “Master Iscariot will want to know that someone of his kind is here.”

Though weakened and outmatched, Zavet tried to muster the strength to fight back. But Elias, a master of one-on-one combat, was far too experienced. Every move Zavet made was effortlessly countered, and every strike met with a precise and deadly parry. It was clear that Elias was toying with him, drawing out the battle for his twisted amusement.

As Zavet struggled, Elias turned his attention to Runner’s undead form. The ghoul, now a mindless creature driven only by the dark magic that animated it, stood motionless, awaiting orders. Elias raised his hand, chanting a low-level necromantic spell, his voice resonating with power. “I call upon the power of necromancy to control you.”

The spell, designed to command mindless undead, took hold of Runner’s ghoul form. Once filled with life, the creature's eyes now glowed with a dim, soulless light as it turned to face Elias, awaiting his command.

Elias smirked, satisfied with his work. “Go to the palace and bring Iscariot here. Tell him I have someone he’ll want to see.”

Now under Elias’s control, the ghoul let out a guttural growl before turning and lurching toward the exit, its movements stiff and unnatural. Elias watched it go, his mind already plotting his next move as he turned back to Zavet.

“Now,” Elias said, his voice soft but menacing, “where were we?”