The Lich Stirs – A Monster Beyond Death

The chamber trembled.

It wasn't just a quake—it was something far worse. A pulse of necrotic force surged outward from the ritual circle, slamming into the walls like a physical blow. The runes carved into the mausoleum's stone flared a sickly green before shattering, unable to contain the power anymore.

Arlan staggered back, his grip tightening around his wand. The necromancer's lifeless body floated in the corrupted water, his final smirk still etched on his face.

Something ancient had awoken.

Something that should not exist.

A Presence That Shouldn't Exist

The air itself grew heavy. It was thick, suffocating, pressing down on Arlan and his companions with the weight of something far beyond mortal understanding. His necromancer senses screamed in warning—this was no ordinary undead.

The blackened water swirled violently, rising unnaturally as if something beneath the surface was breathing. Every ripple in the dark flood sent chills through Arlan's spine. He could feel it now.

It wasn't just awake.

It was watching.

The Water Becomes Death

With a wet, sucking sound, the murky water began to darken further, the ripples turning sluggish and unnatural.

Then, Arlan saw it.

Where the water had once been merely foul, now it rotted everything it touched. The floating corpses of past victims crumbled into dust. The stone itself blackened, corroding as if centuries had passed in mere seconds.

Gorrick made a face, scrunching up his nose. "Blegh. Water's bad. Real bad."

Vrekk's sharp eyes scanned the water, his small frame perfectly still. Then, in a whisper, "No touch. You touch, you die."

Arlan swallowed hard. "No one steps in the water."

Then, the first skeletal hand broke the surface.

The Lich Emerges

It was slow, deliberate. A gauntleted fist, its metal tarnished yet eerily intact, clawed its way out of the water. Then another.

A skeletal figure rose, regal even in its decay. Its ruined robes clung to its frame, the tattered remnants of something once majestic. Its skull, wrapped in thin strands of rotting flesh, bore an eerie crown of broken gold. But it was the eyes—those burning emerald flames set deep in hollow sockets—that sent a primal terror through Arlan.

This wasn't just another monster.

This was a will.

A mind.

And it knew exactly where it was.

The Lich let out a slow, rattling exhale. A sound that should have belonged to the dead, yet carried the weight of something far beyond human understanding.

Then—it laughed.

A Cryptic Warning

The sound was deep and knowing, as if the Lich was entertained by the sight before it. It tilted its head, its gaze locking onto Arlan.

"You…" The voice was not human, not entirely. It reverberated with something deeper, something ancient. "A child of undeath."

Arlan's fingers twitched on his wand, but he didn't strike—not yet.

The Lich raised a skeletal hand, lifting a single finger.

"Two paths lay before you youngling."

"Join us."

Arlan felt a shiver run down his spine. The Lich's voice was so sure, as if it wasn't asking—it was offering a fate already decided.

Then, the finger dropped.

"Or embrace the eternal slumber."

The mausoleum shook as the Lich took a step forward, paying no mind to Arlan or his allies. It did not strike them down.

It didn't need to.

The battle was already beginning.

With a slow, deliberate motion, the Lich raised its arms—and the mausoleum's walls cracked.

Above them, in the city of Veyleigh, the dead stirred.

The City Falls Into Chaos

Arlan's heart pounded.

This was Duskhaven all over again.

And now the entire city would become a battlefield.

The Lich turned, its tattered cloak dragging through the air as it stepped through the crumbling archway. Its regal posture never faltered, its gaze fixed beyond them, as if Arlan and his allies were nothing more than insects beneath its notice.

Then, it vanished into the darkness above.

For a long moment, none of them spoke.

Then—

Gorrick let out a low rumble. "Big. Too big."

Time to Step Up

Arlan forced himself to breathe. Every part of him screamed to run. To do what they had done before—escape while they still could.

But then he thought of the people in the city above.

Of the innocents caught in the chaos.

The Lich had given them a choice. But Arlan already knew his answer.

He turned to his allies. "We're not running this time."

Vrekk's sharp teeth showed in something almost like a grin. "No run... Fight."

Gorrick nodded, flexing his massive hands. "Yes. Fight. Smash lots. Break lots."

Then, Gorrick turned toward Vrekk and squinted. "Smash more than you."

Vrekk's ears twitched. "No. Stab more."

Gorrick huffed. "No. I win. I big."

Vrekk tilted his head. "Big. Slow."

Gorrick's heavy brow furrowed. "Not slow! Got… new form. Best form!"

Arlan frowned. "Gorrick. What form?"

Gorrick grinned wide, sharp fangs gleaming. "You see... Soon."

Arlan groaned. "Why do I even ask…"

The Battle Begins

As they emerged from the crypt, the city was already in panic.

Undead rose from the streets. The screams of civilians rang through the air. The guards scrambled to hold the barricades, but they were already failing.

The Lich had started its attack.

And Arlan and his allies?

They were ready for war.