"It's doing what?" Sir Vost cried to the scout who had just returned, panting, tired and confused.

"Crying. I swear, the rest of the undead are just standing around, wandering, shambling uncoordinated."

This was over half an hour since the assault had suddenly stopped. Confusion reigned. The army had fallen back, tended to wounded and regrouped, confused but welcoming any respite from the slaughter that had assaulted them.

The battle was lost, the undead numbers were too high and the Lich was too powerful. Then, suddenly it had just stopped. It took a moment to notice but the organisation went, undead still in combat carried on fighting but there was no push, no assault. Just, just the undead. As soon as the general in charge had realised what was going on he ordered the retreat, their flanks safe from what should have been a barrage of undead chasing them down.

Now, desperate for information they had sent a single brave scout into the land of death. To see what was going on. It would have been certain death yesterday. It would have been certain death this morning. But now?

As the scout crept stealthily through the treeline he knew he would be spotted. It was only minutes before spells reigned down on him or hoards of zombies engulfed him and slowly tore his flesh from his bones.

It didn't happen.

He got closer. This was surely closer than most of the bravest warriors had been, even the knights dared not push this far into the lands of death. Yet, he lived.

At first he used every skill and trick, all the magic he had to remain hidden. Then, sure he was spotted when nothing happened he got curious. He wasn't even invisible anymore. Just hiding. He slunk along the small depression in the land, almost invisible in the dead blood soaked grass that had been trampled into the mud.

He went past hundreds of the undead, his escape completely cut off if he was spotted and yet somehow he was not.

It still took some time. Even like this he knew the undead were a vicious foe, a single zombie might not be much of a threat to somebody like him, he could even just outrun them but there were thousands. They just weren't the same as before. They were.. And he used this word knowing it didn't fit, but they were 'normal' undead. No longer was the intelligent presence guiding them. No longer were they fighting more coherently than the most well drilled regiment from home. They just, and this word did fit, they shambled. Aimlessly the zombies and other undead wandered the fields.

He wondered if something had happened to the Lich. Bodies of his friends lay scattered amidst the dead, that actually reassured him. They had not risen, they remained dead. The one real mercy in this horrific scene was knowing they could at least rest unlike. He shuddered as he remembered seeing people from his village in the army of the undead that plagued the continent.

At this point he was meant to return. He had simple orders, just to check that they remained in this state. Report back if there was any change. He had already gone far further in than he was meant to. Curiosity however, he had to know why. There was something he heard as a kid about cats and curiosity but he couldn't remember what it was. It must have been good though because cats were cute.

The castle loomed ahead. The greater undead seemed to have dispersed, no longer guarding. He was still in trouble if he was spotted but they were not searching, not looking. He had spent years developing his skills and was one of the best in the lands, that was almost a certainly now with most of them dead. Again he shuddered at the thought of others that came before him, possibly in this very patch of trees but now shambling with the rest of the undead. He was careless. Getting braver with every second. That was how it happened, that was how he was spotted.

A single zombie turned and sensed him. Even without a guiding mind they hated the living and would consume him. It shambled towards him, his only hope to cut it down before it drew the attention of others. The small pocket crossbow came out from it's pouch at his side and he took careful aim. Every second the zombie got closer but he couldn't rush this. It had to be a perfect shot.

The bolt thunked home. A direct hit through the eye socket into the remains of the zombies brain. It went out like a smothered flame, just slumping to the ground. However, it was too slow. A skeleton Lord had seen.

It strode towards him, eye sockets shining an evil light and he knew this was his end. It raised the sword it carried and he braced, ready to duck.

The blow never came.

The skeleton Lord froze. It's head slowly turned towards the castle and he swore he could see it thinking. He used the distraction, if this was the Lich giving instructions it was all about to start again. He could only assume that whatever had assailed the great Lich had been temporary, now he had to get back and warn the others. The respite was over.

He kicked out, sweeping the legs. He hoped to unbalance his foe long enough to get away. All the force he could muster and speed of a lifetimes practice, the strike was lightning fast.

The strike was also too slow. The Skeleton lifted it's foot almost casually as the leg swept under it and brought the hard bone down onto a soft fleshy face. Blackness enveloped the scout. He did not expect to see light ever again as his vision faded.

The Lich sat in the throne room. The castle had been taken years ago and slowly fallen to filth and rot, a banquet laid out on the grand tables long ago was still there. The dead had no need of food. Riches beyond compare lay heaped around the room. The spoils of war. In truth there was so much gold you could hardly see the floor. Whole kingdoms had fallen to the army of undead that had raged across the lands. For the Lich had once been one of, it not the most powerful mage in the world. The story of betrayal and the fall of a kingdom were now the things of legend.

The Lich, all powerful, in command of an army the size the world had never seen cried.

The scout opened his eyes, and looked into the eyes of death. Literal, and figurative death, for him at least. The great Lich. He recoiled in horror. What fate awaited him now? Captured by the most powerful undead in written history. Was he to be turned? Or just have his mind torn apart for information. He wasn't sure which was better, he just wished the Skeleton Lord had killed him.

"WHERE AM I?" The Lich spoke. The words echoed through the castle and the scout didn't understand.

"WHAT IS THIS PLACE?" again, he heard the words but the meaning was lost, masked by the sound of death that surrounded them.

"TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON!" the Lich demanded. The Skeleton Lord had dropped him and left. There was only him and the great Lich in the room, so he fled. He must have been hit really hard because he almost believed he heard crying from the room behind him as he ran. Sure that around every corner death awaited him. No longer was stealth a concern, now he used all his skill for speed. His only hope was to outrun... well, death.

Sir Vost looked the scout in the eyes. Those eyes had surely seen things no man should have to, the signs of battle clearly visible both in those eyes and the flesh surrounding them. Fresh bloody, both his and that of his foe soaked his clothes. The injury on his head a clear indication of being struck with immense force. Dried blood caked the mans face.

"I ran sir. I just ran, out of that castle and back here. Past, past the entire army of undead. The lesser undead hardly saw me, those that did were left behind. The greater undead, that's the scary part. They saw me and let me run sir. They LET me escape. The Knights had regrouped and formed a defensive line. They were at the front, protecting the rest of the army, a mixed collection of every able bodied fighter that could stand. Some, not so much. If they could hold a weapon, they were recruited. The screams of pain filled the air and injuries both mortal and not were tended to. Nobody was left to die on the battlefield here, for fear they would only enlarge the army they fought against.

"Sir Vost! Sir VOST! Urgent news..." Another man from the front line ran in to the make shift command tent, he handed a scribbled note to the general who was doing his best to organise what was left of the last line of hope for the living.

His face went pale. "He has been seen. He left the castle, after you." he said to the scout.

"What? who?" he knew, but the horror was too much to admit.

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"HIM You fool. Not moments behind you. The Great Lich walks. I can only assume he comes to bring our doom himself, weary of letting others bring our destruction he wishes the glory of wiping us out himself."

The scout dropped to his knees.

"I thought I escaped death, instead I only brought it back with me so that it had company. I am sorry." Sir Vost pushed past the scout, and surged out of the tent towards the hastily erected defences. A small trench had been frantically dug, rows of pikes lined the dirt walls. The dirt had been built up on their side to make a high wall on top of which a shield wall. Knights and soldiers lined along the natural choke point formed by the landscape.

They had lost this defensive line long ago, only now it was retaken. They had not been totally helpless when the undead lost their focus, they had slaughtered the zombies that had been a coordinated threat. Now, the shambling bodies could be hacked apart by the least skilled fighters and they had taken advantage to secure the best defensive point, knowing that respite would not last, it never did. News that the Great Lich itself was coming for them chilled Sir Vost to the bone. If it wasn't controlling the massive army of undead, all that power...

The undead parted. It was not a deliberate, or thoughtful move. They just, all shambled away from the Lich. A virtual ocean of undead swept aside leaving a clear path. The knights could clearly see the lines of undead. Like a precession for a king, only some sick perverted undead version of royalty.

Those at the front saw it first. A sight that surely meant the end of their own lives. The Lich itself stumbled towards them. Only, that in itself was a disparity that they couldn't quite comprehend. Had some great hero managed to wound the Lich? Many had been sent. Teams of all sorts, assassins, barbarians, anybody who claimed they had even the slightest chance had been equipped and sent in. Their families had all been well paid, no point in offering payment to those sent. None had ever returned. The rest of the undead still seemed in disarray. Apart from the unseen line they wouldn't cross making a path for the Lich as it approached there was no control of their actions.

The general was taking full advantage of this chance. All remaining mages had been brought together, a great risk. They were a target and had been instrumental in protecting the army from the Lich's spells from afar. The chance to take it out however was too great to ignore. Every single mage of any skill was now linking. It would be a spell unlike any ever seen. This was the last chance of the living.

The final strike, nobody knew what had afforded them the chance but they were not going to waste it.

An incredible power was pooling, mana drained from every mage. The aura was electric as the hair stood on end of those all within a mile or so. Even those of non magical ability were starting to see it. The general was trying to buy time.

"We have to let them finish before it gets here. Stop it, anyway you can... It will mean your lives, but your lives could be the difference between living and death for the rest of us."

As grand moral boosting speeches went, it was fairly poor. However, everybody knew it was true. The monster was bearing down on them, painfully slowly but at the same time all too fast. The archers began to rain hell on the Lich first. They had the longest range with the mages ocupied.

Mundane munitions simply bounced off the Great Lich as if it was rain. Enchanted arrows.... The same. The magical munitions were low after such a long fight but everybody knew this was it. Do, or die. The most valuable and enchanted arrows begun to fire. Explosions tore the air around the Lich, it recoiled in apparent fear, shielding it's face with it's hands. People began to cheer before they realised, no actual damage was done.

The Lich, aware of this or not carried on it's slow march towards the general. The command tent. The mages. It was heading straight for them.

"You damn fool! You've doomed us all!" Screamed one of the lower officers as he kicked the scout. Sir Vost glared at him but said nothing. Instead, he began preparing to take to battle himself again. On the field of battle, Knights with lances rode down on the Lich. Hooves thundered as mighty war steeds covered the ground in moments. Only the best had headed forth. Enchanted lances glowing with magic. Their armour already battered and bloodied from weeks of battle. Sir Vost knew the name of every Knight that he saw charging and was already adding them to the other list. The list he had memorised. The list of every living thing that had died because of his orders. He opened the war chest and took some of the last remaining scrolls. The general looked at him and said nothing.

The Lich carried on forwards. Confused. The whole world had changed in moments. The rest of the greater undead were confused. They were not worried, that was an emotion reserved for the living. However, the majority of command had left them. The voice, once so certain in their heads telling them what to do was silent. When the Skeleton Lord had found that pathetic tiny man creeping around outside he had been ordered not to kill him. There were no words, but the Skeleton Lord knew the Lich wanted him brought forth not killed. The Lich wanted to... to speak to him. The undead do not question their master, another benefit of an army of undead. The chain of command was perfect, unbroken. Each Undead a master of all those below. They all simply waited for command now. What had been so certain before was now just confusion. It was certain they would win. They could wipe out the remaining living in moments if given the right orders but instead, the Lich had chosen to. To do something.

The enchanted lances shattered as then contacted a magical barrier around the Lich. Knights were flung from horses and animals fled without their riders. The terror of simply being in the presence of such a creature broken years of training. Everything fled in fear. One Knight came forth. Not on horseback. Sir Vost walked, hefting a huge longsword. He finished reading from a scroll and magical energy covered his body, a surge of power as his armour glowed. He tossed the burned scroll aside and read another. His sword burst into flames. The flames did not burn him, he did not feel the heat. Only his enemy would feel the wrath of the flame. Again the used scroll tossed down and a third and final one was read. Sir Vost felt power surge through his body, strength unlike any he had ever known filled his muscles. He stood in front of the Lich.

"You have slaughtered the living and burned the lands. Your evil has known no bounds. It ends here. Today. There is no other way, it will be life or death in every sense. We are in the end game now." He hadn't expected to have any effect on the Lich but as he finished, that last sentence he swore the Lich looked at him confused He could feel it reaching out with it's mind towards him, but his enchanted armour protected him. The Lich reached out with one hand and Sir Vost swung his sword. The sword crashed through the barrier of magic! It took all his strength and was deflected away from the Lich but he could beat the magical barrier. There was hope. The Lich's hand touched the sword and the flame went out. Rust and corrosion enveloped the blade and crept down the handle towards Sir Vost, he threw the sword with all his might towards the heart of the beast in front of him. The brittle metal shattered as it touched the Lich. Sir Vost dropped to his knees, certain of the death that awaited him.

"How much longer!" The general roared. The mages were sweating. Three had passed out and been dragged away. Mana potions were exhausted, as were healing potions by this point. One of the mages looked at the General, and nodded. He knew Sir Vost was in the way, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't risk the Lich getting any closer, they were too close by far already. It was time.

Sir Vost felt the spell. He looked up at the Lich, which had not yet killed him. It was still reaching out, trying to touch his mind. He took comfort knowing that his sacrifice had granted them the time they needed. He would die an honourable death and be remembered. He would join all those he had sent before him and be able to look them in the eye, knowing he didn't ask anything more of them than he would give himself.

It was dark by now. The sun had just set, and yet, dawn. Faces turned in disbelief at the rising sun. Only, it wasn't the sun. It wasn't on the horizon, it was coming from the magical circle. The linked mages. The ball of pure magic rose. A sight unseen in living memory. Never had so many mages linked before and spent so much magic on one spell. They were spent. One mage had died he put so much into this spell. Many had collapsed and all would take months to recover. That assumed that they had months to live, this spell was the only chance for them to find out.

The Lich saw it coming. It was like the sun falling to earth. It's face rose towards the orb of power heading towards it. Sir Vost closed his eyes. The sheer size of the spell dwarfed Sir Vost and the Lich. It looked and felt like the sun had come down to earth to engulf them. Then... It went out. After such brightness there was total darkness. A silence so quiet engulfed the world. It felt to all those present as if they had been rendered deaf and blind, but maybe the light and noise before were so great that their absence felt like silence and darkness. That didn't last.

Just as people were about to turn to the mages in disbelief the world exploded. They had thought it was the sun before but now they knew. That had been a candle compared to what they saw now. They all saw too, for it was impossible not to. Even those turned away. Those who shielded their eyes. Those with hands or shields in front of their face. They saw bones outlined before being blinded. The sound too made all those on the front lines deaf, their ears bleeding as they dropped to their hands and feet in pain, robbed of all sense.

Sir Vost vanished. At least, if anybody had the ability to see or hear they would know that he was no longer there. Neither was a substantial portion of the land on which he had stood. A crater half a mile wide had replaced the scene of battle. All the undead and the previously living for that matter were gone. Then the shockwave hit the army, on both sides.

Zombies were shredded, what remained of their flesh torn from the bones as they were blasted across the fields. Greater undead too were torn apart. Some survived but only those further out, nearer the castle. The army of the living could hardly be called that now. Legions rolled in agony on the ground both blind and deaf before the shockwave ended their pain. The command tent was far enough out to only be obliterated while providing no cover for those inside. The general came too, a mile away from where he had been standing.

The Lich stood in the center of the devastation. A magical barrier glowing around it so strong before shattering into an infinite number of shards and crumbling to nothing.

The Lich drained of all it's power collapsed to it's knees. Nothing around it. Slowly it toppled forwards.

The Skeleton Lord felt the last words of it's master, and they were only of confusion. Of pain. Of suffering. It didn't understand but begun it's hunt. A fruitless search for surely they had perished hundreds of years prior. The Skeleton Lord knew however that it's masters wish would be completed no matter the cost. Those words were now part of it's being. "I want my Mom."