Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Ircron, capital city of Starkefolten, last bastion of life within the kingdom, was surrounded by nothing but badlands, the environment was changing, bleak grass of repulsing texture, blood red trees, imposing spikes were erected, corpses of unfortunate souls displayed upon them.

Some of them were still alive, siege weapons were being assembled, some mundane, some enchanted, some entirely magical in nature, troops of the undead army were lining up, barricades and towers were built, hiding finer movements of the dead from the sight of nervous soldiers watching from afar.

The armies of Fioldron Ferrcrona were also preparing from battles, surrounded from all sides, there was nowhere to run to, fighting was inevitable and there was no negotiating with the undeads, they wanted the livings dead and nothing else, that term was not acceptable to anybody in their right mind.

Remaining scooped in under the protection of the barrier might seem alluring, but it was not going to last, under the relentless assaults of the eternal army, it would eventually shatter, and they only had one of those, any dysfunction or damages would have to be tended to immediately, mages and experts were assigned at all times to watch over the structural integrity of the device that was the only thing preventing death from ravaging the capital.

The king was right there on the wall with his soldiers, scouring the horizon all around the city, things were not looking good, but they were not as terrible as they could be, Fioldron Ferrcrona noticed that the great majority of the troops on the opposing sides seemed to be regular golems, undeads seemed to only be operations machinery and leading the operations.

Of course, the numbers of those golems was simply obscene and their strength could certainly match that of a regular soldier if not surpass it, not to mention that these golems were clearly mass produced, losing all of them might not even tickle the undead king, but with proper planning and command, the king was certain that they could be handled well.

What truly worried him was the possibility of vampires joining the fray at night, or that many more troops were hidden underground, he could do nothing about this, so he instead moved to the most obviously worrisome points, the siege weapons, some of which were simply absurdly large.

Trebuchets that seemed to be meant to assail a bastion created by giants were posted far in the distance, he did not doubt that the undeads had already aimed them perfectly and of course, the one that was the head of this army.

Loimos, Royal Courier, butcher of the badlands, repressive inquisitor of the undead king, he was the face of undeath to the people, every interaction that had occurred were handled by him.

He had made an offer to Fioldron Ferrcrona, but the king had not feared to refuse him right there and then.

There he was, standing in the distance, standing perfectly still, looking straight ahead, banner tied to his war scythe fluttering in the cold winds, this was the golden hydra head, the one that had to be buried for victory to be achieved.

By his sides, special looking undeads could sometimes be seen, one was responsible for the quick growth of corrupted flora, the rest were a mystery.

"My lord, what are your orders?" a man dressed in green asked, one of the eight elemental champions, strongest warriors under Fioldron Ferrcrona's command, each holding mastery over an element and trained in martial combat as well, they were the king's greatest pride.

"We must only attack right after sunrise, fighting the undead at night is simply suicidal, we have to proceed as though only we are going to be fighting, prioritise rapid assaults, we simply need to disrupts their attacks on the barrier, as long as they can't pierce through, we have not lost" he spoke, turning to his champions.

Young folks that he had gathered up when he rose to the throne, more akin to close-friends than troops.

"Even if tempting, do not go for the royal courier, retreat if he steps in, the same goes for his peculiar-looking subordinates, any prolonged fighting puts us at a disadvantage, they probably have smaller mounted weapons as well, they have towers with archers and crossbowmen, those must be meant to take anyone who steps out of the barrier" walking around with a sheathed sword as a cane, the armoured king saw the golems lining up, ordered around in an incomprehensible language by Loimos.

More impaled bodies were being lifted up, it was all an attempt to hurt their morale, and it was successful, the soldiers were afraid, the undead empire had crushed the majority of the continent already, the simple presence of their king caused enormous amount of deaths, all had heard knew in their hearts that the undeads scouring the badlands were nothing compared to what the vile king had in stock.

But they did not yet panic, they were scared, but not defeated, their stalwart king and his champions inspired the common soldier.

"Here comes his ultimatum" a female champion with crystal growing on her face spoke, Loimos was walking up to the edge of the barrier, not expecting anyone to step out, he just looked up at the wall, straight at Fioldron Ferrcrona.

"King Nitok wishes good luck" it wasn't even an ultimatum, it was a mockery.

"Everyone, get in place for the first battle" ordered the king.

The barrier stopped barely a few meters beyond the edge of the fortifications, the gates were opened, soldiers gathered under the lead of two elemental champions, the others would remain behind and provide long-distance support alongside the many sharpshooters up on the walls.

Some of the crossbowmen had been equipped with heavy crossbows, strong enough to instantly throw a strong man to the ground, archers and mages were also present, ready to rain down projectiles upon the golems.

Stillness on both sides, the enemy knew no fear, no pain, no hunger, and were all going to fight to their best capacities until the very end, an undead soldier was superior in all aspects to a living soldier, only the grit of the living, and their spirit could help them prevail.

Loimos raised his polearm, the curved blade of his scythe glistening darkly, its edge calling for bloodshed, the dead wood creaked, ropes pulled, the weapons of siege stirred until they stopped, waiting for the signal.

A word of death tongue was spoken, the golems twisting their stone bodies into position, three lines of spear wielders tightly packed together, standing tall and firm, weapons pointed forward.
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The scythe came down, hell broke loose.