...
The undead front had become a graveyard in reverse.
Bodies that should have stayed dead climbed over the ones that had just fallen, rotting fingers dragging themselves across scorched earth toward anything breathing with a mindlessness that made each individual kill meaningless, because the horde behind the corpse was already replacing it before the body finished collapsing.
Gorthrax the Eternal stood at the center of the advance in featureless black armor pitted by ages, the blue fire in his empty eye sockets sweeping the field with an intelligence that had nothing in common with the shambling things he commanded.
Archlich Vozen flanked his left, dark energy bleeding from his gauntlets in tendrils that found the nearest allied corpse and hauled it upright with fresh purpose.
The Drowned King anchored the right atop his rusted mount, a banner of black mist trailing behind him.
