The citadel was deathly silent as the soldiers stationed along the walls stared out at the unfolding scene. The dark mist that once subtly blanketed the ground was now shifting, growing thicker and taking on a deep, hazy purple hue. Tension gripped the air like a vice. Suddenly, black lightning cracked across the sky, striking four separate points beyond the citadel. At each point of impact, dark spheres began to form, small at first, but they rapidly expanded into towering voids that pulsed with dark energy.
From within the spheres, the nightmare began to unfold.
Hordes of decaying humanoids and twisted creatures emerged, shambling forward in unnatural unison. Their movements were sluggish at first, but even at a distance, the grotesque nature of their forms was unmistakable.
"The dark rise dome just formed," James growled through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the abominations spilling out across the field. "There must be hundreds of the bastards already!"
Captain Kalrick raised his sword high, his voice booming with defiance. "Then take heart! If they've appeared, it means the lord is no longer restrained. Now we hold the line, make this a battle worthy of Lord Kael's triumph!"
As if on cue, the soldiers roared their battle cry. The sound echoed across the stone walls like a thunderclap. Their defiance stirred the advancing horde. The snarling and guttural moans of the thralls grew louder, and their pace quickened.
"Archers, ready!" Thorpe's command rang out with practiced authority.
In a synchronized motion, bows were raised and strings drawn taut.
"Aim!" he shouted, sword raised, pointing at the oncoming horde. The archers adjusted, steadying their aim.
"Fire!"
A storm of arrows launched into the sky, arcing beautifully before crashing down upon the thralls. Fire-touched arrows burst on impact, sending flame licking across undead flesh. Others, imbued with wind force, sliced clean through multiple thralls at once, cleaving limbs and torsos with eerie precision. And then there were the heavier, blunt arrows, enhanced with normal force; each hit sounded like thunder, smashing bodies into the dirt with bone-shattering force.
"Next volley!" Thorpe called out. Archers rotated fluidly, the rear line stepping forward, unleashing another deadly wave of destruction. The barrage slowed the horde's approach, buying precious time, but it wasn't enough.
Despite the carnage, more thralls emerged, crawling over the burnt, shredded remains of their fallen. Their numbers didn't dwindle; they surged. Relentless. Unfeeling. Hungry.
"Light it up!" James shouted.
Soldiers along the walls rushed into motion, lighting oil-soaked spheres. The fire blazed bright against the gloom as they placed the balls onto catapults.
"Release!" James barked.
With a metallic clank, the catapults launched the flaming payloads into the sea of undead. The moment they hit, the battlefield erupted, explosions sent charred limbs flying, leaving behind scorched craters.
"Reload and hold for my command!" James ordered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the battlefield, as though searching for something, a sign, a shift, a signal.
But whatever he was looking for hadn't shown itself.
Not yet.
After several more volleys of fire-laced arrows and combustive spheres, the thrall horde was held at bay. The situation, while tense, seemed manageable. That is, until a new presence emerged among the invaders.
Unlike the decaying, shambling thralls, these figures moved with unnatural grace. Their skin was pale, their eyes like voids black, endless, and empty and their long fingers ended in razor-sharp nails. As the next volley of arrows rained down, most of them twisted and evaded with almost casual ease, sprinting toward the walls with terrifying speed.
"Ghouls!" Thorpe shouted. "Longbowmen, step to the front!"
A new line of archers took position. Their bows were longer, reinforced with dark steel, and carved with runes along the limbs. Unlike their shorter counterparts, these archers required space and a moment more to draw.
"Aim!" Thorpe commanded.
In perfect unison, they drew specialized arrows from their quivers, tracking the darting figures below. The ghouls were too fast for normal archers to track. They zigzagged across the battlefield, using erratic patterns to avoid incoming fire.
"Fire!"
With the twang of longbows, a fresh volley of arrows shot forth. These weren't ordinary projectiles. They pierced the air like streaks of silver, moving faster and hitting harder than the previous rounds. Some ghouls tried to dodge, but many fell mid-stride, struck clean through with such force they were pinned to the ground. Limbs were severed. Torsos pierced. But still, not all were stopped.
A few made it to the base of the wall. And then jumped.
"Ready yourselves!" James bellowed. "Keep them away from the catapults and archers! If they breach the wall's edge, this line falls with it!"
The ghouls began to scale the walls with disturbing agility, digging claws into stone as they climbed. But the defenders were ready. As the first few reached the top, they were met with a brutal flurry of spears and blades. Screeches echoed into the air as ghouls were cut down and tossed back over the ledge, their broken bodies crashing into the horde below.
But it wasn't over.
More ghouls kept coming, too many. The archers did their best, but the enemy had begun to adapt. Ghouls now used thrall corpses as shields, dragging the bloated bodies forward to absorb incoming arrows. Others climbed over heaps of fallen kin, gaining height and leaping onto the walls in fewer strides.
The defenders fought back with grit and fury, but it was clear: the tide was shifting.
And the worst was likely still to come.