Zarkus followed the necromancer's lead, his heart pounding in his chest. Years of relentless training had brought him to this moment, yet now that it was here, an unexpected wave of nerves washed over him. This was what he had been prepared for—strength, power, and a new purpose. But stepping beyond the dungeon walls felt like crossing into the unknown.
The necromancer pushed open the heavy wooden door, and Zarkus stepped into the outside world. The air hit him hard, thick with the acrid stench of smoke and sulfur. The sound of shouting and clashing metal filled his ears, and as his eyes adjusted, the sprawling demon army camp came into view. Fires blazed, and countless tents stretched across the landscape. Demons of every shape and size trained in preparation for war.
The necromancer turned to Zarkus, his skeletal grin widening with dark satisfaction.
"Welcome to the demon army, little one," he rasped, his voice oozing with cruel delight. "This is where you'll spend the rest of your days—fighting, killing, and serving the will of the Demon Lord."
Zarkus looked around in awe as they stepped outside the dungeon and into the sprawling Demon Army camp. The stench of sulfur and smoke filled the air, and the sounds of clashing metal and shouting filled his ears. It was a terrifying and exhilarating scene all at once.
With a flick of his robed hand, the necromancer gestured for Zarkus to follow, his voice a commanding whisper.
"Come, my creation," he rasped, his tone commanding and dark. "It is time to speak with the general of this army."
Zarkus swallowed hard but nodded, following the necromancer as they ventured deeper into the camp. His senses were heightened, and he took in every detail—the gnashing of teeth, the glint of steel, and the tense, volatile energy that seemed to permeate the air.
As they neared the heart of the camp, passing row after row of tents, Zarkus noticed the soldiers eyeing him with a mixture of disgust and fear. Some muttered curses under their breath, their disdain for the necromancer's creation palpable. Zarkus tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the necromancer's unwavering stride.
Finally, they arrived at the general's tent—a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. The scent of burning candles and pungent incense wafted through the air, and the interior was furnished with plush carpets and cushioned chairs, a testament to the general's status.
At the far end of the tent, seated behind a large desk, was the general of the demon army. Clad in imposing red armor, the figure exuded authority. Zarkus felt a shiver of apprehension as the general's eyes locked onto him, studying him with a cold, unreadable gaze.
The necromancer approached the towering figure of the general, his skeletal form bowing low in a show of respect.
"Demon General," he intoned, his voice smooth but laden with deference, "I bring before you the newest addition to our ranks, as ordered by the Demon Lord."
The general's gaze lingered on Zarkus, piercing through him with an intensity that made him feel like a prey being scrutinized by a predator. "So, this is it," the general growled, his voice a deep rumble that echoed in the room. "The undead creature, crafted by the necromancer. How... fascinating."
Zarkus stood still, unease creeping through him as the general sized him up. There was something calculating in the way the general stared, as if weighing Zarkus's value—or perhaps, his threat.
Continuing with deference, the necromancer's voice remained respectful, though the pride in his creation was unmistakable.
"Yes, Demon General," he said, his tone dripping with reverence. "This is the undead creature I spoke of—crafted by my hand, but imbued with unimaginable power by the Demon Lord himself."
The general leaned back, the general's expression remained unreadable, though his aura was suffocating. His voice rumbled through the room like a distant storm. "I see..."
He cast a single, dismissive glance at the necromancer before his voice cut through the air like a blade. "Leave us. I wish to speak with the creature alone."
The necromancer bowed deeply before retreating, his eyes lingering on Zarkus for a moment before he disappeared, leaving the tent in oppressive silence. The air grew heavy, weighed down by the general's unyielding gaze. His command resonated, leaving no room for hesitation.
"Step closer," he ordered, his tone an undeniable force.
The voice was sharp, leaving no room for hesitation. An intense shiver ran down Zarkus's spine as he obeyed, stepping forward, each footfall heavy with the weight of the general's command. His heart pounded in his chest, but he moved cautiously toward the desk, his body tense.
The general leaned forward, resting his massive, armored arms on the desk. His sharp, predatory gaze scanned every inch of Zarkus's undead form. After a long, tense silence, his voice sliced through the air, deep and commanding.
"Tell me... what is your name, creature? Or do you even have one?"
Zarkus took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves under the general's intense scrutiny. "M-My name is Zarkus," he stammered. "I was once a goblin, before the necromancer transformed me."
The general raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his stone-like face. "Zarkus, is it? A name worthy of an undead abomination."
He paused, his eyes never leaving Zarkus, assessing, calculating. "The necromancer claims he has granted you power. Is that true?"
Zarkus nodded, still feeling small under the general's piercing gaze. Despite his newfound strength, the general's presence made him feel insignificant. "Yes, my lord. The necromancer gave me powers beyond anything I ever imagined. I'm capable of things I never thought possible."
The general's smirk widened, a cruel glint lighting up his eyes. "Is that so? We shall see."
Without warning, he stood, his massive frame towering over Zarkus, armor clinking softly as he rose. His voice boomed, filled with dark promise. "Come. Outside. Let's see if the necromancer's creation is as powerful as he claims."
Excitement mixed with apprehension in Zarkus's chest. On one hand, he was eager to prove himself, to show the general the power he had honed through years of relentless training. On the other hand, there was a gnawing uncertainty—was this a test, or something more?
"Yes, my lord," Zarkus said, doing his best to project confidence. "I'm ready to demonstrate my abilities."
The general gave him a pleased nod before turning and gesturing for Zarkus to follow. They stepped out of the tent, and Zarkus was once again hit by the acrid scent of sulfur and smoke. The din of the camp surrounded him—shouts, the clash of steel, and the low hum of restless energy from the demon army.
As they walked, Zarkus could feel the eyes of the soldiers on him—heavy with contempt, with hatred. He was something different, something unnatural in their midst. The stares burned into him, but he pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task ahead.
The general led Zarkus to a vast, open clearing where a circle of demon soldiers awaited, their eyes gleaming with curiosity and malice. As the group parted to make way, the general came to a stop, his towering presence commanding all attention. His tone was grave, his presence commanding as he turned to face Zarkus.
"Zarkus," he barked, his voice echoing through the clearing, silencing the crowd. "You will demonstrate your abilities here, in front of my men. One by one, you will face one my strongest warriors. Prove to me that you are worthy of the power you claim to possess."
The murmurs of the soldiers grew louder, some openly protesting the idea of fighting an undead creation like Zarkus. Their disdain was clear, but the general paid them no mind.
The general's gaze hardened, locking onto Zarkus with an intensity that burned through the air. "You will begin with one of my strongest soldiers," he declared, his tone cold and unforgiving. "You will fight each warrior in turn. Show me the full extent of your power. Do not hold back."
His eyes glowed with expectation, the weight of his command leaving no room for hesitation. "Fail, and there will be consequences."
A burly soldier stepped forward, sword drawn, his expression twisted with disgust. "I'll go first," he sneered. "Let's see what this ugly monstrosity is made of."
Zarkus's heart pounded harder as the reality of the situation hit him. Fighting one of the strongest warrior seemed daunting enough, but facing them all, one after the other—it felt nearly impossible. Yet, there was no turning back.
The soldier began circling him, eyes narrowed like a predator sizing up its prey. "I'm one of the strongest warriors in this camp," he growled. "And I won't be holding back."
Zarkus stood his ground, his pulse racing as the soldier moved in. Beneath the bravado, Zarkus could sense a flicker of hesitation in the warrior's movements.
"I don't expect this to be easy," Zarkus replied, his voice steadier than he felt. "But I won't go down without a fight."
The soldier sneered, his confidence radiating as he drew his sword and pointed it at Zarkus. "Hmph. Bold words for a corpse. Let's see if you can back them up."
Without warning, the soldier lunged, his sword gleaming in the dim light of the battlefield as it arced toward Zarkus. Instinct took over, and Zarkus dodged the first strike with a fluidity that surprised even him. His body moved faster than he had expected, a blur of motion as the soldier's blade sliced through empty air, missing its mark. The soldier, momentarily off-balance, staggered before quickly regaining his footing.
A flicker of surprise crossed the warrior's face, but it was soon replaced by a scowl of irritation. "Not bad... for a dead man."
His fury mounting, the soldier charged again, his sword flashing with more ferocity this time. But Zarkus sidestepped the wild swing effortlessly, his undead senses attuned to every twitch and movement of his opponent. With lightning speed, Zarkus countered, driving a fist into the soldier's stomach. The impact was hard, sharp, and immediate. The soldier's breath left him in a ragged gasp as he stumbled back, clutching his abdomen.
Wide-eyed, the soldier stared at Zarkus in disbelief, the shock evident on his face. "Wha... how?"
"You underestimated me," Zarkus said, the adrenaline coursing through his body. "That was your first mistake."
The soldier gritted his teeth, his face twisting with frustration and rage. He raised his sword, this time summoning a surge of energy into the blade.
"Thundering Blade!" he roared, bringing the sword down with a violent arc. A wave of crackling energy burst from the blade, hurtling toward Zarkus like a storm unleashed.
The blast struck Zarkus head-on, sending him staggering backward. Dust and debris exploded from the impact, and for a moment, the soldier grinned, convinced that his powerful attack had sealed his victory. "Not so tough now, are you?"
But as the dust settled, Zarkus stood tall, completely unharmed. He straightened, his expression unreadable as his glowing eyes locked onto the soldier's. "A nice technique," Zarkus remarked, his voice as calm as ever. "But it'll take more than that to bring me down."
The soldier's smug grin faded, replaced by bewilderment and fear. "How...?" His voice wavered. "How are you still standing? That should've killed any warrior!"
Zarkus felt a wave of satisfaction as the soldier's confident expression faltered, giving way to surprise and confusion. The shift in the warrior's demeanor was subtle but unmistakable—a crack in his once assured resolve.
"I told you not to underestimate me," Zarkus said, his voice low and commanding. "I am not just any undead. I am the Demon Lord's creation, a being forged with power beyond your understanding."
The soldier's frown deepened, his face hardening into one of determination. "I see... you're not like any undead I've ever fought before. You're much stronger than I expected."
His grip tightened around his sword, knuckles white with tension. "Well, that just means I'll have to fight harder."
With a roar, the soldier charged again, his blade slashing through the air in a flurry of rapid strikes. Each blow came faster and harder, his desperation turning his attacks wild. But Zarkus moved with an unnatural grace, his body flowing like water as he dodged each swing with ease. The soldier's strikes hit nothing but air, frustration mounting with each miss.
"Damn it!" the soldier cursed through gritted teeth. His eyes flicked with panic. "Why are you so fast? How can an undead be this agile?"
Zarkus didn't bother to respond. Instead, he seized the moment when the soldier's anger caused him to falter, leaving an opening. With a swift, calculated motion, Zarkus delivered a powerful blow to the soldier's side, sending him stumbling back, gasping for air.
The rush of power surged through Zarkus, his senses heightened as he watched the soldier reel from the impact. "I am the creation of the Demon Lord," Zarkus said, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Stronger than you could ever imagine. I am more than just an undead. I am a force to be reckoned with."
The soldier's face contorted with desperation. He launched a final, frenzied barrage of attacks, his sword flashing in a storm of reckless slashes. But Zarkus danced around each one with ease, his movements so swift and precise that it seemed as though he was toying with the warrior. Each miss left the soldier more unsteady, his exhaustion evident in the trembling of his limbs.
Another calculated counter from Zarkus—a well-placed kick—sent the soldier sprawling to the ground. He landed hard, gasping for breath, his body coated in sweat and dust. His sword slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a dull clatter.
The soldier knelt there, trembling, his spirit broken. "I... I can't beat you..." His voice quivered, thick with defeat. "I've never fought anyone this strong."
The soldier's sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground with a dull thud. Slowly, he sank to his knees, staring up at Zarkus with a mixture of awe and defeat etched into his features.
"You win..." he murmured, his voice hollow, filled with resignation. "I'm finished."
Zarkus stepped back, watching as the defeated soldier sank to his knees, his body trembling from the weight of defeat. His voice came out steady, laced with confidence. "I didn't even use my full power against you," Zarkus said, his tone laced with cold certainty. "I merely dodged and countered. If I had wanted to, this fight would've ended much sooner."
The soldier looked up at him in disbelief, eyes wide with shock. "You... you didn't use your full power? And you still defeated me this easily?"
"That's right," Zarkus replied with a nod. "I was holding back. If I'd gone all out, this would've been over in seconds."
The soldier's expression shifted to one of awe and disbelief, his voice trembling. "You... you're not just strong. You're a monster!"
Zarkus's gaze remained stern as he looked down at the fallen warrior. "You're wrong. We're all monsters. We serve the Demon Lord, after all. We were all created for one purpose: to serve and follow his commands. There's no point in comparing our strength or calling each other names. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, but in the end, we're just pawns on the Demon Lord's board."
The soldier stared at the ground, nodding weakly as the truth of Zarkus's words sank in. "You're right... I was foolish to think I was any better than you..."
Zarkus shifted his gaze toward the general, his expression expectant. "General, who's next? I'm ready for the next warrior."
The general nodded, his imposing presence filling the space around him. A slight, almost mocking smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Impatient, are we?" His voice was a rumbling growl that made the soldiers in the crowd stand even more alert. "Very well." He turned toward the gathering mass of soldiers, his eyes scanning them with authority.
"Step forward, Olin!" he barked, his command slicing through the tension.