The night sky was dark, covered with thick clouds that blocked out the moon.
A cold wind howled through the ruins, carrying the stench of death.
Outside, hundreds—no, thousands—of zombies gathered in the shadows, their glowing eyes flickering like dying embers.
They stood in silence, waiting for orders.
Narak stepped forward, his heavy boots crushing the broken ground beneath him.
His long, tattered cloak billowed behind him, and his red eyes burned like fire.
The sight of their king sent a wave of excitement through the horde.
The air trembled with his power.
As he approached, the unconscious subordinate groaned and slowly sat up, rubbing his head.
His entire body was shaking as he looked up at Narak, realization dawning in his frightened eyes.
"My King… f-forgive me," he stammered, quickly kneeling on the ground.
Narak didn't even glance at him. His voice was calm but filled with a chilling edge.
"Gather the other leaders. Now."
