The sea parted gently as the Naga Queen's warships reached the jagged edge of the island's coastline. Mist rose from the waves like ghostly fingers, and the eerie hum of necrotic magic lingered in the air. Along the shoreline, the Spirit Towers stood tall and silent. Their dark crystals pulsed faintly with energy, watching the intruders like ever-vigilant sentinels.
The Queen's sleek serpentine body slithered onto the shore, followed by her warriors—a force of green-scaled naga, trident-wielding and fierce. Among them was her daughter, eyes wide with wonder as she took in the alien landscape. Her forked tongue flicked the air, tasting the fog saturating the land.
"This place… it's beautiful," she whispered.
The Queen arched a brow but said nothing. She could feel it too—pressure not born of nature, but of magic and death, something dark and brooding that pulsed at the island's center.
Their journey began.
They slithered past the ominous towers. The ghouls, their muscular and rotting forms glistening with damp filth, watched in silence. No one attacked, but tension hung in the air like a blade.
As they entered deeper into the base, signs of true civilization emerged. The Graveyard stood like a monument to darkness—tombstones neatly arranged, some glowing with faint spectral light. Ghoul workers dragged worm corpses into the field for future uses.
Nearby, the Crypt loomed—its walls adorned with bones, skulls embedded into its surface like grotesque trophies. Undead ghouls marched in and out of its shadowy gates, their clawed feet scraping the ground.
"Mother… can we stay for the day?" the princess asked, her gaze fixed on the flickering dark flames of the Altar of Darkness. "This place is unlike anything we've seen."
The Queen narrowed her gaze but gave a small nod. "We will discuss it after the talks."
Then they saw it—the towering form of the Necropolis, rising like a god of death. A cold wind blew from within, and at the foot of its massive stairs stood Vanthelis, flanked by his acolytes and Ishlar.
He wore the Wraith Pact—a twisted, jagged helm adorned with bone and horns. The very sight of it made hardened naga warriors tense. One young guard took an unconscious step back, his eyes wide with unease.
"Welcome to my island," Vanthelis said, his voice echoing unnaturally, touched with something unholy.
The Queen studied him. He was young—human—but the helm and his presence made him feel dangerous. Her instincts screamed to tread carefully.
"Let us talk," she said.
They entered the Necropolis. The central chamber was dim, yet alive with swirling dark energy. The walls seemed to shift ever so slightly, and whispers echoed faintly, as if the building itself were speaking in tongues long dead.
The negotiation began.
"You stopped our plan," the Queen said bluntly. "The murlocs were meant to attack the Pirate Islands. In the chaos, we would retrieve the Orb."
Vanthelis tilted his head. "Orb?" faking the ignorance.
"A relic of power," she replied. "Its details are ours to keep. What matters is—it was stolen from us, and we want it back."
Vanthelis crossed his arms, the helm's shadows deepening across his face. "And what would I gain for helping you retrieve it?"
The Queen smiled, sharp fangs glinting. "The riches of every pirate we've sunk—gold, enchanted weapons, ancient artifacts. Decades of plunder."
This human is greedy. We can use him for our bidding, she thought.
He considered her offer, then nodded slowly. "Acceptable. But if this orb is truly powerful… I want to be the one to keep it."
Her smile vanished. "No. We can give you the riches and protect you when you travel the seas, but the orb belongs to us!" she snapped, her voice rising with fury. The thought of surrendering such power—impossible.
Vanthelis, though caught off guard, knew when to step back. He nodded calmly. "Then I'll help you. In exchange for riches… and protection on the seas."
The Queen's expression softened, though wariness still burned in her eyes.
From the balcony above, the princess had wandered to gaze over the Graveyard. She placed a clawed hand on the cold stone railing and exhaled softly.
"This place… it's alive in a way the ocean isn't," she murmured.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" said one of the acolytes, stepping beside her.
She smirked. "Terrifying. But I like it."
"Then why don't you stay here?" said Jayson, appearing with a grin that bordered on cocky. "We've got undead luxury, graveyard views, and charming ghouls that won't bite unless told."
The princess raised a brow at him, amused. "Maybe just for the day."
As she walked off, Jayson nudged the acolyte beside him and whispered, "Damn… she's hot for a snake lady. I'd risk being coiled."
The acolyte snorted but didn't respond.
Dorothy, who had rolled into earshot, gave him a deadpan stare. "Your type is so… ugh."
"What? I have range!" Jayson grinned, unfazed.
Back in the chamber, the Queen stood from her seat. "We will remain for the day. My guards will not cause trouble."
"Fine," Vanthelis replied. "But stay out of the Crypt, Graveyard, and Altar… unless invited."
The Queen gave a respectful nod before slithering out with her daughter at her side.
Once they were gone, Vanthelis turned to Ishlar.
"We need to prepare."
Ishlar gave a grim nod. "They might stay tonight. But tomorrow… they may turn."
"Then we plan two steps ahead."
Outside, the Naga warriors set up a modest camp near the Spirit Towers. Some admired the architecture with cautious awe, while others kept a nervous watch on ghoul patrols and the ever-vigilant towers.
Vanthelis stood at the heart of his domain, eyes reflecting the cold flame of the altar.
This plan must succeed.
It is the first step in his revenge.