Erend and Eccar stood side by side on a ridge overlooking the battlefield, their expressions grim as they surveyed the carnage below. The battle had been raging for what felt like an eternity yet the tide showed no sign of turning. The angry spirits of their fallen enemies kept rising as if death itself could not claim them.
Erend tightened his grip, his knuckles white with the strain. His gaze followed the relentless cycle of destruction and resurrection. For every spirit that was struck down by an Elven blade or blasted apart by a Mage's spell another would take its place.
"Something's not right," Erend muttered. "They shouldn't be able to keep coming back like this. No matter how many we cut down, more just keep rising. It's... unnatural."
Eccar who standing beside him nodded in agreement. His sharp eyes narrowed as he observed the battlefield. He could feel the same wrongness in the air, a malevolence that ran deeper than the spirits themselves.
