Tell me I have changed

The combined forces of Pillaris and the Zodiac stood ready, their warriors lining the reinforced walls. Archers steadied their bows, spearmen tightened their grips, and the glowing forms of summoned spirits dotted the fortifications like embers of hope against the coming darkness. The streets behind the gates were barricaded and bristling with traps, but even the most stalwart defenders felt the oppressive weight in the air.

Then, it came.

From every horizon, the dead emerged.

At first, they were faint, shadows creeping over the far ridges and hills, their forms indistinct in the dimming light of the evening. But as they advanced, their grotesque shapes became horrifyingly clear. They marched in lockstep, a tide of death that seemed endless. Undead knights clad in rusted, bloodstained armor led the charge, their helmets hollow and glowing faintly with malevolent light. Behind them followed headless horsemen, their decapitated forms mounted on skeletal steeds whose hooves pounded the earth like drums of doom.

Flying specters hovered above the swarm, their ghostly forms trailing wisps of cold, glowing mist. They moved in unnatural, jerking patterns, their hollow faces twisted into expressions of rage and sorrow. Enormous bone dragons, their wings tattered and skeletal, circled above, their bony claws raking the air as they unleashed guttural roars that seemed to chill the very wind.

Among the army were monstrous abominations—stitched-together horrors that lumbered forward, their mismatched limbs dragging heavy weapons made of bone and stone. Smaller undead creatures scurried between their feet: skeletal dogs, wailing banshees, and crawling torsos that pulled themselves along with jagged, broken fingers.

And then, there were the sheer numbers. The undead horde stretched so far into the distance that they seemed to blot out the horizon itself. They moved like a swarm of insects, their ranks impossibly dense, their forms writhing and shifting as if they were one singular entity. The air grew colder with every passing moment, and the faint greenish glow of necrotic energy seemed to drain the color from the sky.

In the distance, a blackened sea roiled, and from it, grotesque undead leviathans emerged. Their decaying bodies dripped with seawater, and their hollow eyes glared hungrily toward the land. The once-blue waters were now dark and boiling, the stench of rot carried on the wind.

The walls of Pillaris fell into an uneasy silence as the defenders stared in wide-eyed terror.

Arika broke the silence, her voice trembling as she asked, "What… what is that?"

No one answered.

The only sound was the distant, rhythmic clattering of countless skeletal feet marching in unison. It grew louder and louder, a deafening crescendo that drowned out every other noise.

Rice's voice broke through, barely more than a whisper. "Ohh… we're going to die."

Ryden, standing beside him, placed a firm hand on his shoulder. His voice was calm but resolute. "Then we'll do that together."

Rice looked at him, his usual grin replaced with a tight, nervous grimace. He nodded slowly.

Arika inhaled deeply, her grip on her spear tightening. "Summon the Guardians!" she shouted, her voice ringing out over the growing noise.

As Arika's command rang out, the three contracted tribespeople moved into position, each facing one of the sacred directions: the forest, the hills, and the great lake. The crowd fell silent, their collective breaths held as ancient words echoed from the summoners' lips.

The first summoner, a woman draped in emerald robes adorned with woven leaves, stood facing the forest. She raised her arms high, her voice trembling with reverence. "O Guardian of the Wild, Keeper of the Verdant Path, hear our plea!"

The forest itself seemed to shudder in response. From the shadowy depths, the deer spirit emerged, its towering form stepping gracefully into the open. Its antlers stretched skyward, golden-green energy surging through their intricate network of crystalline vines and glowing flowers. The blossoms pulsed with life, their faint luminescence resembling fireflies flitting in the twilight.

The deer's fur darkened to a deep emerald hue, rippling like a living tapestry of the forest's essence. With each step, its hooves struck the ground, causing grasses and wildflowers to bloom in vibrant waves beneath it, spreading a lush carpet of life wherever it moved.

Its eyes glowed with a warm, golden light, evoking sunlight piercing through a dense canopy. A swirling mist began to envelop its form, carrying the scents of pine, jasmine, and fresh rain, blanketing the city in a serene, mystical aura.

When the transformation completed, the deer threw its head back and let out a resonant call—a harmonious blend of bird song and rushing wind. The sound echoed across Pillaris, imbuing the defenders with a brief moment of calm amidst the rising terror.

To the north, near the rocky hills, a broad-shouldered man in bronze-plated armor knelt on the trembling earth. His voice was deep and steady, filled with conviction. "O Protector of the Stone, Sentinel of the Ancient Peaks, come to our aid!"

The ground quaked as the turtle spirit answered the call. Its massive form shifted and expanded, the jagged boulders on its shell fusing into a fortress-like carapace. Veins of molten gold and silver erupted from the surface, flowing through intricate grooves and forming glowing patterns that pulsed with rhythmic, primal energy.

Its limbs thickened, each deliberate movement exuding an aura of unshakable strength. Its weathered, ancient head tilted upward, its amber eyes blazing with a light that seemed to hold the wisdom of countless ages.

As the turtle moved forward, the ground beneath it trembled with a deep, resonant vibration that reverberated like a heartbeat through the earth. Wherever its colossal feet touched, shards of crystal sprouted, glinting like stars scattered across the soil.

The turtle spirit emitted a low, rumbling growl that rolled across the city. It wasn't just a sound—it was a promise, a declaration of unwavering defense that steadied the hearts of every defender who heard it.

By the great lake to the south, a young woman with markings of blue and silver across her arms stood at the edge of the water, her voice clear and resolute. "O Sovereign of the Depths, Keeper of Life's Wellspring, answer our call!"

The water churned violently, spiraling upward in brilliant crystalline columns. From the depths, the lake spirit rose, its serpentine body shimmering with liquid brilliance. Its elongated form stretched and shifted, taking on a grand, majestic shape that seemed to defy description.

Fins along its body expanded into elaborate, fan-like structures, each one shimmering with iridescent colors that danced in the firelight. Above its head, a crown of glowing orbs materialized, spinning gently and emitting a soft, otherworldly light.

Its scales gleamed like polished silver, and veins of glowing blue light pulsed across its body, creating the illusion of rivers coursing through its form. Its deep cerulean eyes shimmered with intelligence and depth, as if the spirit carried the vastness of the ocean within them.

The lake spirit arched its back, letting out a haunting, melodic call. The sound resonated through the water, sending ripples that reached every corner of Pillaris. The defenders who heard it felt a wave of courage wash over them, as though the spirit's song had whispered directly to their hearts.

The three guardians took their positions within the city, their massive forms glowing with radiant energy. Their presence was both a spectacle and a reassurance, their sheer size and power a stark contrast to the encroaching darkness.

But even their light seemed small compared to the overwhelming horde.

The undead army continued its march, an unending tide of death and decay. The clattering of skeletal feet grew deafening, drowning out every other sound. Flying specters wheeled above the swarm like vultures, their ghostly forms trailing greenish mist. Bone dragons circled overhead, their hollow roars sending chills through even the bravest warriors.

Not a single word was spoken by the horde, but their silence was more terrifying than any battle cry.

On the walls of Pillaris, the defenders stared at the approaching nightmare, their faces pale and drawn. Torran of the Dog Clan gripped his sword tightly, his knuckles white as he whispered, "That's not an army. That's… the end."