The Black Blade Against the Dead

The undead howled as they surged forward, an unrelenting tide of bones and fire. Hollow skulls grinned in the moonlight, their green eyes flickering like cursed lanterns. Their rusted weapons scraped against the cracked pavement, the sheer weight of their numbers darkening the entire battlefield.

In the center of it all, Lancer—Black Gold Saw—stood her ground.

Her massive sword rested in her grip, its blackened steel reflecting the eerie glow of Dead Master's minions. Her red eyes flicked over the approaching horde—hundreds of them, perhaps more.

Lucian Orsova exhaled sharply beside her, flicking his lighter open and shut.

"This is bad," he muttered. "Even you can't cut through all of them at once."

Lancer didn't look at him.

"Watch me."

She moved.

In a single step, Lancer disappeared.

Then—destruction.

With an earsplitting boom, Lancer's greatsword cleaved through the first wave of skeletons, shattering twenty in one strike. Their bones exploded into dust, their green flames snuffed out as if crushed beneath an unstoppable force.

She did not stop.

She tore through the horde, each swing of her blade splitting the ground apart. Every movement was precise, every strike calculated—not a single wasted motion.

A skeleton lunged at her with a jagged spear.

She caught the spear mid-air, twisted it with inhuman strength, and drove it back into the attacker's skull, snapping its spine in half.

Another one leaped at her from behind.

Lancer spun, raising her leg high—her boot crashed down like an executioner's axe, crushing the undead's head into powder.

More came.

She welcomed them.

Her sword sang as it cut through the dead, her movements fluid—a warrior born for slaughter.

But the tide never stopped.

For every one she destroyed, ten more took its place.

Lucian backed away, scanning the battlefield. He was no fool—he couldn't fight these things. He needed to stay alive.

A skeleton lunged at him. He barely dodged, stumbling back as its rusted sword scraped past his face.

"Tch—!" He drew a knife from his coat and slashed at its ribs. The blade barely did anything.

The skeleton's empty sockets locked onto him.

Lucian kicked its knee out, sending it tumbling into another undead. Then he ran.

"Lancer! A little help!?" he barked.

Lancer barely spared him a glance as she ripped through another wave of enemies.

"Don't die," she said simply.

Lucian grit his teeth. "Oh yeah, real helpful—!"

Something slammed into him. Hard.

Lucian hit the ground, the breath knocked from his lungs. His vision blurred as he saw chains slithering toward him, tightening like a noose.

Dead Master smiled from her perch, watching him struggle.

"Poor little Master," she cooed. "You look so fragile."

Lucian tried to move, but the chains squeezed tighter, lifting him off the ground.

His ribs screamed in pain.

Dead Master giggled, tilting her head.

"I wonder… should I break you first? Or let you watch your Servant fall?"

Lucian glared at her, teeth clenched.

"You talk too much," he hissed.

Dead Master's smile widened.

"And you're running out of time."

The undead pressed in. Lancer was still fighting—but even she had limits.

Lucian felt the chains tighten.

Then—a roar of destruction.

The battlefield exploded as Lancer unleashed her full strength.

She planted her foot into the ground, then swung her greatsword in a full arc—the sheer force of her strike created a shockwave, blasting dozens of skeletons into dust.

Lucian barely had time to react before Lancer lunged straight at Dead Master.

Her sword tore through the chains holding Lucian—snapping them like brittle twigs.

Lucian dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.

Dead Master's smirk faltered.

"Persistent little beast, aren't you?" she murmured, eyes narrowing.

Lancer pointed her blade at Assassin's throat.

"Fight me yourself," she commanded.

Dead Master chuckled darkly.

"Oh, dear Lancer… you don't want that."

The battlefield shifted.

The undead army rose again—regenerating, reshaping.

Lucian's stomach dropped. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Dead Master's voice was soft.

"I am Death itself."

She spread her arms.

"And the dead do not stay buried."

The war had just begun.

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To Be Continued…