Amidst the battlefield, the clash of swords and the dance of magic unfolded, a spectacle of life and death. The sword fighting techniques were a mesmerizing display of skill, but the Jagud Invaders were facing dire losses, their once formidable hands now reduced. Arun, witnessing the fall of his loyal men and the relentless onslaught, grappled with the harsh reality of war.
"Retreat!" Arun's voice thundered through the chaos, a desperate call for survival as they fled toward the only viable escape route, only to find themselves ensnared by the strategic brilliance of the Ajé kingdom's crown prince, leading his forces.
"This Fadaka kingdom war is not yours," Arun declared, fury and determination burning in his eyes.
"Did I care? Well, there's no way out anymore," the crown prince of Ajé kingdom retorted, unyielding in his stance. The fate of kingdoms teetered on the edge of the sword.
Facing the grim reality, Arun turned his horse back towards Fadaka kingdom, resolve set in his eyes. He commanded his men to attack once more, sensing the gravity of the situation. But as the chaos unfolded, the unexpected transpired, leaving everyone astonished and drenched in disbelief.
The crown prince of Ajé kingdom chuckled, mocking Arun's predicament. "A child finds death, sees it, and yet chooses to run headlong towards it. There's no way back now," he taunted as he charged toward Arun.
In a moment of desperation and devotion, Arun cried out to the heavens, invoking a higher power. Thunder clashed, and lighting illuminated the darkening skies. From the shadows emerged a figure, ethereal and enigmatic. Clad in black, a shrouded being formed a spectral steed and extended a hand pulsating with dark, purple magic. A crystal materialized, bursting with ancient incantations. The crystal's explosion birthed an army of the dead, resurrecting fallen soldiers among the Jagud Invaders and their supporting kingdoms.
This unholy resurgence was a horrifying revelation for Fadaka kingdom, Gbegi, and Ajé kingdom armies. The generals, the princes, and their commanders were stunned, grappling with the unfathomable turn of events. Prince Rogba, his hopes shattered, struggled to comprehend this abomination. It was a forbidden magic, an ancient art whispered only in fearful tales.
"The witch," the word echoed in Prince Rogba's mind, realization hitting him like a lightning bolt. It was the only conclusion that made sense—the work of a malevolent sorceress with power beyond imagination.
The battlefield had transformed into a maelstrom of horror and chaos. The risen dead, under the influence of dark magic, surged forward, a nightmarish force that seemed unbeatable. The delicate balance of power had shifted drastically, plunging the already tense situation into a state of frenzied despair.
Amidst the turmoil, the leaders were faced with an unprecedented challenge—to confront the witch and her unholy creation, or succumb to the dark tide that threatened to engulf them all. The fate of kingdoms hung in the balance, and the true test of their mettle had just begun.
End of Chapter 65: "Whispers of Darkness: Unleashed Havoc"