As if summoned by her words, the sky above them darkened further.

The skeletal dragon, which had been circling at a distance like some carrion bird, suddenly folded its bone wings and dove toward the ground.

Its landing shook the ground like a tremor, ancient bones grinding against stone as it settled its massive frame behind the advancing line of undead.

Atop its spine, the Lich King rose from his throne of fused ribcage and tattered shadow, his form seeming to draw the very light from the air around him.

"How tedious," the ancient undead lord spoke, his voice carrying the hollow echo of wind through empty crypts. Each word seemed to leech warmth from the air, causing breath to mist and weapons to grow cold in trembling hands.

"I had hoped the orcs might provide adequate entertainment, but as always, they prove themselves disappointingly... predictable."

He spoke as though he just sent them off, but Morgana didn't think so.

The Lich King was intelligent, far more than she anticipated.

His skeletal visage, barely contained within a hood of deepest black, turned toward the fortress walls where General Kaider and his men watched in growing horror.

"No matter," the undead sorcerer continued, raising one bone-white hand toward the piles of fallen defenders that littered the battlefield.

"The dead have always been more... reliable servants than the living."

Power erupted from the Lich King's outstretched fingers—not the clean, pure energy of Origin or the noble strength of human aura, but something far older and infinitely more corrupt.

The malevolent force rolled across the battlefield like a tide of liquid shadow, seeping into every fallen form, every drop of spilled blood, and every fragment of bone and flesh that had been scattered by the violence.

The effect was immediate and horrifying.

Bodies that had lain still began to twitch and convulse.

Fallen soldiers—brave men and the battle witches who had died defending the fortress—rose with hollow, burning eyes and weapons still clutched in decomposing fingers. Their faces, once filled with hope and determination, now bore only the blank hunger of the undead. Worse still, they retained their training, their muscle memory, and their knowledge of the fortress's layout and weaknesses.

"Rise, my children," the Lich King commanded, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.

"Rise and serve your new master with the same dedication you once wasted on the living."

Among the newly awakened dead, Captain Teroen—a young officer who had led the eastern gatehouse defense until an orc blade had found the gap in his armor—turned his lifeless gaze toward his former comrades. His mouth opened in what might have been an attempt to speak, but only a hollow moan emerged, a sound that chilled the blood of every living soul who heard it.

Taeryn and Rena watched this horror with astonished expressions. The very people they just wished were facing against them, and seeing the true horror with their eyes made their bodies shiver for a second.

Even Kaider cursed at the Lich king and his abilities. He knew how tenacious the lich king was and how exhausting it would be to go against him.

But the Lich King's wickedness did not stop with the fallen.

The old sorcerer raised both hands now, and the very ground began to crack and split around him.

From these fissures emerged creatures of bone and darkness—skeletal beasts that had never known life, forged from the malevolent will of their master. Dire wolves of dark colored bone padded forward on silent feet, their eye sockets blazing with the same sinister fire that animated the Lich King himself.

Behind them came skeletal warriors in rusted armor, their weapons wreathed in the same corrupt energy that had given them form.

"Now," the Lich King declared, his voice rising to a crescendo that seemed to shake the very foundations of the fortress, "let us see how long your precious stones and mortar can stand against the fury of the grave!"

The remaining soldiers, who were barely alive and wounded, with stupefied expressions and the feeling of dread, filled their hearts seeing the scene in front of them.

The vile energy had drenched the entire horizon on the opposite side.

All seemed hopeless in the face of such an abomination.

That's when Morgana turned her foot.

Morgana's response was immediate and decisive.

The Crimcon mun Witch threw back her hood, revealing features that might have been carved from marble—beautiful, terrible, and utterly without mercy. Her blue eyes blazed with power as she raised her hands that pulsed with inner light.

"Swefarna!" she called, her voice carrying a note of command that brooked no disobedience.

The air above the battlefield shimmered like heat haze, and then multiple circular patterns appeared out of thin air.

Through that circular pattern—a dragon, but not like the skeletal monstrosity that served the Lich King.

Swefarna was a being of living shadow and starlight, her scales seeming to contain the depth of the night sky while her eyes burned like twin suns. She was smaller than the bone dragon, more elegant, but the power that radiated from her form made the very air crackle with potential.

Then Morgana commanded the dragon.

"Show this pretender," she said as she pointed directly at the Lich King, "what true power looks like."

The dragon's response was a roar that shattered stone and sent tremors through the surface itself.

She launched herself skyward with powerful beats of shadow-wreathed wings, ascending to meet the skeletal dragon in aerial combat. The two giant creatures clashed high above the battlefield, bone grinding against scale, deadly ice meeting starfire breath in explosions that lit the darkening sky like twisted auroras.

Below, the battle resumed with renewed fury.

Darian moved like a phantom made flesh, his Munshard blade carving through the ranks of newly risen dead with cutting-edge precision. His armor seemed to drink in the dim light, making him appear more specter than man as he fought his way toward his mistress's side.

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