The massive underground chamber had devolved into a full-scale war.
Stone cracked.
Bone shattered. Blood sprayed across ancient walls that had not witnessed such violence in countless years.
The air trembled beneath the relentless clash between Thoren's undead army and the four remaining Level 16 Stonewall Tribe High Nobles.
Each High Noble moved like a living calamity.
Their massive claws tore through ranks of weaker undead with terrifying ease. With every swing, skeletal bodies were pulverized, undead Mad Dogs were ripped apart, and soul flames flickered before vanishing forever.
Every second, dozens of undead servants were destroyed—never to rise again.
Yet.
The undead army did not falter.
They continued to surge forward like an endless tide.
Fear did not exist for them.
Pain did not slow them.
Their hollow, lifeless eyes remained locked onto their enemies, devoid of emotion, driven only by the will of their master.
Behind the raging battlefield stood Thoren.
