Zhar'Kor's blood hadn't yet dried on my blade.
My arms trembled.Every breath burned like fire.The adrenaline that had fueled us through the last battle was fading, replaced by the true weight of exhaustion.
The pain of a body pushed too far.
Matías stood beside me, barely able to keep upright.His eyes still glowed with the light of his soul, but his body shook from having used too much energy.
—We just… need one minute —he muttered, dropping to one knee.
I nodded.
But we wouldn't get it.
Because then... we felt it.
Not a tremor.Not a sound.
A pressure.
As if the air itself were sinking.As if the world bowed in submission.
From the north, at the edge of the mist-covered forest, a lone figure emerged.
It moved slowly, unhurried.It didn't touch the ground—it hovered just above it, as if gravity dared not hold it down.Draped in black, rotting robes inscribed with forbidden symbols.In its hands, no sword.Only a staff carved from bone.
And beneath its hood… no face.
Only a hollow skull…And two green flames burning in its eye sockets like cold, undead fire.
Lyr'Thal.
The Lich of a Thousand Echoes.
But he did not come alone.
With every step he took, the ground cracked.Not from weight… but because death walked with him.
Around him, the mist thickened.And from it, bodies began to rise.
Not common zombies.Not mutated beasts.
Soldiers.
Corpse-soldiers clad in rusted armor, wielding blackened weapons, their eyes glowing with spectral light.
Every meter he advanced, more emerged.
An entire army…forged from the grave.
Matías and I stumbled back, panting.
—No… we can't fight him like this —he said through clenched teeth—. We need reinforcements.
But we both knew: if we retreated...he'd reach the wall.
And if Lyr'Thal reached the fortress...
there would be no one left to bury the dead.
Then the Lich raised his staff.
He didn't speak.He didn't need to.
From within his skull came a dull chant, like an echo bouncing between broken dimensions.
We felt it in our chests.In our bones.In our blood.
And his soldiers… charged.
—Matías! Barriers, now!
—I don't have enough energy!
—Then use what's left. We just need to slow them down.
—And then what?
I looked at him.
The answer was simple.
—Then… we improvise.
And together, for the third time that day…we prepared to die.