Chapter 21: The Undying Requiem

The celebration was short-lived.

A sharp chill ran through the air.

Leon felt it first—an unnatural shift, like the very essence of the battlefield was twisting. The victorious cheers turned into confused murmurs as the wind carried an eerie whisper.

Then, the first scream rang out.

Leon spun around just in time to see a fallen defender—one of their own—jerk upright, his eyes clouded with unnatural gray light. A moment later, he lunged at the man beside him, tearing into his throat.

All around them, bodies twitched and stirred.

The Hollowborn were rising again.

Gray mist slithered through the air, curling around the battlefield like living tendrils. The fallen undead reassembled, bones snapping back into place, rotting flesh reknitting itself with pulsing strands of magic.

Leon's stomach twisted. This wasn't natural. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Burn them!" Garrick roared, slashing down a newly risen Hollowborn. "Don't let them stand again!"

The defenders scrambled to follow orders, but it was chaos. Panic spread as those who had collapsed from exhaustion moments ago were forced to fight once more.

And this time, they were losing.

Leon's mind raced. Something was fueling this—something external. Then, he felt it.

A faint vibration against his chest.

He looked down. The Corrupted Sigil. The one he had found in the ruins.

It pulsed softly, pulling toward something—no, somewhere.

Leon's breath hitched. He followed the pull, his gaze snapping toward the distant treeline.

There.

Through the haze of battle, he saw them—three figures standing just beyond the reach of the settlement's torches, shrouded in robes of deep black, hands raised as gray energy swirled between them.

Necromancers.

Leon's blood turned cold.

This wasn't just another wave of Hollowborn.

This was a controlled, deliberate attack.

"With me!" he bellowed, grabbing Garrick by the shoulder. "Now!"

Garrick's eyes flickered with understanding. No hesitation. He shouted for a squad to hold the line, then fell in beside Leon as they stormed toward the treeline.

The necromancers turned as they approached.

And then… they smiled.

Leon clenched his jaw.

This fight wasn't over yet.

---

The necromancers didn't run.

They stood their ground, their gray eyes glowing with unnatural light as the mist thickened around them. The one in the center, taller than the rest, lifted a hand, and a pulse of magic rippled outward.

Leon barely had time to react before the ground at his feet cracked open. Rotten hands burst from the earth, skeletal figures clawing their way out.

Garrick cursed, swinging his sword in a wide arc, severing limbs and shattering ribs. "They're raising more!"

Leon didn't wait. He charged.

The leftmost necromancer raised a staff, muttering an incantation. Leon felt a cold force claw at his mind—a wave of dizziness trying to sap his strength.

No.

He gritted his teeth, pushing through the unnatural pressure. His Extraction ability surged within him, instincts screaming that these creatures were just another resource to strip bare.

He locked eyes with the nearest necromancer and reached out—

[Extraction Attempt: Success!]

The gray mist surrounding the robed figure flickered. The necromancer's body convulsed as the magic force was ripped from him, vanishing into Leon's grasp like sand slipping through fingers.

The man's eyes widened in horror—before his body withered, collapsing into dust.

One down.

The other two reeled back. The leader snarled, gripping a jagged dagger. "You should not be able to—"

Leon moved before he finished.

He grabbed a silver dagger from his belt and hurled it.

The blade buried itself into the second necromancer's throat.

A choked gurgle—then silence as the body crumpled.

The last one—the leader—hissed in frustration. "You think this changes anything?" He raised both hands, the mist around him darkening. "The tide of undeath cannot be stopped!"

The ground trembled. More Hollowborn surged forward, drawn to their master's call.

Leon wasn't interested in hearing another speech.

Garrick struck first. He lunged, sword flashing—only for the necromancer to twist away unnaturally fast. The man flicked a hand, and shadowy tendrils lashed out, sending Garrick staggering back.

Leon pressed forward, gripping another silver weapon. The amulet at his chest pulsed again—brighter, stronger.

The necromancer's gaze flickered toward it. Recognition.

And for the first time… fear.

Leon saw the hesitation—and acted.

With a burst of speed, he closed the distance and drove his silver blade straight into the necromancer's heart.

The man let out a strangled gasp. His body convulsed, the gray mist unraveling from his form, breaking apart like smoke in the wind.

"No…"

Then he was gone.

The moment he died, the mist in the air dissipated.

And across the battlefield, the Hollowborn crumbled.

The dead finally stayed dead.

Leon exhaled, gripping his knees, lungs burning. It was over.

This time, for real.