Page 175 of Warlord's Plaything

"He’s becoming something else."Xyron’s voice is pure steel."He’s not just raising the dead. He’s becoming death itself."

Kaelith laughs. A low, rasping sound, something that crawls beneath the skin."Oh, Xyron. You of all people should know that death itself is made, not born. And tonight—I become one."

I grip my blade.

Tight.

So tight I feel the bite of steel against my palm.

This is worse than I imagined.

This is not just a battle.

This is a war against something unnatural, something unstoppable.

And if we don’t end it now, we never will.

"We must kill him."

Xyron’s voice cuts through the air, sharp as a death sentence.

"Now."

55

XYRON

The plan is simple.

But simple does not mean easy.

Outside, the orcs hold the line.

Their roars shake the ground as they clash with Kaelith’s undead, hacking them apart, only to watch those rotting bodies drag themselves back together.

The dead do not die.

"Move!"

My voice cuts through the unnatural darkness of the temple.

Hira is beside me, blade drawn, eyes burning with the kind of rage that only comes when there’s nothing left to lose.

We dive deeper into the ruins, weaving through the shifting stone corridors, past walls pulsing with corrupted magic.

Kaelith’s power is warping everything.

The closer we move to him, the more the world twists around us.

The air is thick, syrupy, crawling into my lungs like poison.

The shadows are moving.

The ground shudders beneath our feet.

Reality itself is breaking.

"We have to strike now."Hira’s voice is steady, but I hear the urgency behind it.

---