Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

"Quick! Quick! Get moving!

Get in formation!" like a perfectly timed machine, the instant the champion of life had been felled, the barrier shuddered, struggling against the might of the undead legion, the very second they began cracks began forming upon its surface, from the darkness, a three-fingered hand emerged, wrapping around the pyramid of brilliant life, tightening its grip, the entire thing creaking and squeaking under its grasp.

The lines of soldiers, thousands of them, saw visions of ruins, it had barely begun and it seemed like their lifeline was already on the verge of shattering, they hadn't even done anything.

The grasp of the unseen skeletal giant loosened suddenly, as its hand and arm suddenly bursted into fine bone meal, the glint of copper flashing by for a brief instant, landing at the forefront of the dazed soldiers.

Pierre-Ornée was with them, that's right, they had more champions fighting alongside them.

"Break your backs and snap your blades men! Only then can you hope to prevail!" from the back of the tight formations, someone bellowed words of encouragement, invigorating the soldiers with further bravery, or perhaps recklessness.

Unsheathing her sabre, Antieeld directed her blade at the encroaching darkness beyond the reaches of the barrier, giving a most simple command.

"Charge!" simultaneously, raws, of great trebuchets saw their content alit with bright flames, without waiting even a second, they were released, safely passing through the barrier, and landing amidst the corrupted soil beyond, against great fortifications that had been looming awfully close, the terrain was nothing like it use to be, the forces of eternity had built an entire citadel all around Tamaris, it was not a offensive force besieging a fort, it was like two castles waging war upon another, only that one was an enclave.

The plentiful heavy crossbowmen of all kinds, typically guarding the royal palace were all around as well, there was more than a single front to cover, the dead were not gracious enough to only give assault in one area, they held sovereignty over all beyond the reaches of the pyramid, the skies and undergrounds were particularly difficult places to defend for the living, and indeed, as the eternal night was momentarily pierced by the flaming projectiles, the sheer scale of the Prince Of Death's forces became easier to grasp.

The people in charge of maintaining the barrier, many of them would probably die from overexertion, the above was filled to the brim with flying cadavers, most winged, bestial vampires, monsters and creatures, as well as actual dragons, so many of them, creatures that could uproot nations by the strength of their fury alone, countless of them were circling above the living's heads, the majority vampires in the service of Dracula, Son Of Dragon, a few under the authority of Vespertillo, The Nightflier, and some made into simpler undeads, flying with rotten or spectral wings.

In union, they would unleash their diverse breath attacks and strength, sending rumblings throughout Tamaris, the mundane people were left to huddle together, in fear of the night, in fear of oblivion, in fear of the true divine.

"Turn your blades against your necks, and repent! Repent! Repent for blasphemy against the misericorde of your greatest god!" yelling his preachings, the hierophant of the worship of death sent blessings throughout the ranks of the undead with the aid of the many priests and priestesses, their very own paladins joining the fight as the soldiers of the living charged out of safety.

This was not a war they could win by remaining passive, no matter how slim, victory was to be claimed only outside the pyramid, and so, they crashed against the unyielding ranks of the dead, using every single thing drilled into them during the months spent hidden away, barely matching the front line in service of King Nitok.

Outnumbered and outmatched, they could only stick together and hold on for as long as possible, for the rains of life-infused projectiles, for the hurling of flaming boulders, for their champions to enter the fray and give them openings to fight back.

Pierre-Ornée was already at the forefront, swinging his halberd, the knight of copper sent a raging slash of winds cleaving through the ranks of footsoldiers, the ground trembling as Bough jumped up right next to his fellow knight, looming over his surroundings.

Although the flaming projectiles helped seeing what was going on, they were far from a perfect solution, all that were sent too far and landed onto constructions of the dead were quickly put out, extinguished by water mages and the likes, for the moment, all was calm, and this lull was broken in the very next instant.

Aiming their tools of war and conquest, ballista bolt, spells, condensed boulders, hail of projectiles, like a storm had been brought into existence, Bough rose his shield, taking all sorts of attacks head-on, all packed incredibly power, as shown by the minced bodies of soldiers that had been hit, the more unlucky only got hit partly, losing parts of their bodies, limbs only to be dragged out and butchered by the undeads if not pulled in the other direction by comrades.

Using wide ranges slashes, thrashing through the ranks, the copper knights barely noticed anything changing, even when hundreds of putrid soldiers were put down, many more appeared, and it seemed like the destroyed undeads were not defeated sinking into the ground instead, the XP Bough felt coursing through him everytime he stomped one to dust, was naught but a fabrication, he was not duped by it.

Those lesser undeads were refusing to be defeated even when reduced to pretty much nothing, usually, damaging them to this extent would have them be dispelled, but like greater undeads, they were not being undone so easily, even those felled by life-imbued weapons were not truly defeated.

"No wonder it's all just regular foot soldiers, they have basically unlimited amounts of them and don't even suffer any losses" remarked the halbardier, was there even a point challenging one of the greater undeads then? They would be even less susceptible to true defeat then.
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And indeed, no personal followers of gravelords were to be seen on the ground, only operating beneath and above, where basically no one could challenge them.

"They can't keep coming back, let's just crush them all over and over again!"

Bough's enthusiasm and optimism was certain refreshing, and after all, it wasn't like much else could be done here, the copper knights could only continue on fighting, pushing pressure off the regular soldiers, allowing them to gain some terrains, as death hunters carrying machinery meant to produce lifemist followed behind, trying to fight back against the surrounding miasma and death, which were only endured by the weaker warriors thanks to magical items infused with life.

The one that had been said to be the strongest warrior of the continent before, and the one that was said to be able to endure the pressure of a mountain tensed and peaked their attention was an undead bearing any sort of authority within the army finally arrived.

And it was not a general of no renown, neither was it one of the seven minor lords, there was no mistaking it, a gravelord had just casually stepped into the fray, hands behind his back, chin held high with a most smug smile upon his most disgraceful visage, pointy ears defiantly reaching much further than was wieldy…

Eyes glowing with the shine of a foetid light…

Nosferatu had come to see just how strong the supposed strongest was.