The battlefield had fallen silent by the time the last corpse hit the steps.
Elizabeth released a quiet breath as the glow of her pseudo-draconic form slipped away.
The sigils faded, the horns receded, and the oppressive aura vanished like a pulled tide.
All across the wide white staircase, her undead collapsed one after another, freed from the command that bound them.
Only a select few shuddered before dissolving into motes of pale energy, slipping into the space she reserved for her legion.
She kept the rest of that space untouched.
A necromancer lived by numbers, yes, but Elizabeth wasn't planning to be a simple necromancer.
She wanted to be adaptable, efficient and deadly in more ways than one.
Leon and the others descended toward her, their steps mixing with the fading echoes of slaughter.
The Dowager followed last, her gaze fixed on the blood-soaked stretch of steps with a wordless, tight-lipped stare.
