A general born to rule

The attempt

The battlefield had grown eerily quiet, a silence that sent a chill down Marcus's spine. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon from the command post, his instincts screaming that something was amiss. Around him, his alliance of soldiers and allies had begun to relax ever so slightly, the sudden lull causing their guard to drop. But not Marcus.

He remained sharp, his hands resting on the table of tactical maps before him, but his focus was entirely elsewhere. He glanced up, his sharp gaze cutting through the haze. "It's too quiet," he muttered, pacing toward his second-in-command. "Something's coming, I can feel it."

Without hesitation, Marcus ordered an SR-71 Blackbird to perform strategic reconnaissance. "I want eyes on the enemy now. There's something they're not showing us."

The jet roared into the sky, its dark form streaking above the clouds, breaking through the eerie silence. Minutes passed like hours as Marcus waited for the report. Soon, the call came in, and the soldier on the other end sounded alarmed. "Sir, Nyzora's taken command of her undead army. She’s brought in old-school artillery—cannons, sir, hundreds of them. And… there’s more. They’ve got undead pirates with rifles, and they’re advancing fast."

Marcus clenched his fists, his mind racing. Undead pirates and cannons? It was as if Nyzora had dug up every ancient evil at her disposal and set them loose. "Artillery barges, prepare to fire on those positions!" he barked into the radio, spinning around to his men. "And get the aircraft up! We can’t let those cannons get into range. Move!"

The artillery barges roared to life, their guns aimed at the horizon, ready to meet the approaching undead forces. Aircraft launched from their airstrips, their engines screaming as they lifted off to engage the threat. But as they ascended into the air, Nyzora's trap sprung.

Undead dragons, massive and rotting, burst from the clouds. Their skeletal wings flapped with a horrifying speed, and their soulless eyes locked onto the airforce and barges below. Marcus’s eyes widened as he saw them through the binoculars. "It's a trap!" he shouted. "All aircraft, engage those undead dragons! Dragonkin, assist them—don’t let them reach the artillery!"

The skies erupted into chaos. Valorcrest’s airforce clashed with the undead dragons, their fighter jets weaving and diving to avoid the deadly flames and claws of the skeletal beasts. Dragonkin soared alongside the jets, breathing fire of their own, trying to match the ferocity of their undead counterparts. Explosions filled the air as the jets unloaded their missiles and machine gun fire into the dragons. The undead beasts took damage, some plummeting from the sky, but many still raged on, crashing into aircraft or swooping low to target the artillery barges.

Below, the undead army had encircled the outposts, the cannons slowly being pushed into place. At the center of it all was Nyzora, her eyes burning with malice. She commanded the undead pirates and soldiers with ease, and they advanced relentlessly. But they were not alone.

From the woods and hills, the human tribes, trolls, goblins, and blood elves launched their attack, charging toward the outposts that Empress Valdrianna and Queen Elandra were desperately defending. Valdrianna, her crimson blade in hand, fought with the ferocity of a lioness, cutting down undead pirates and goblins with precision. Elandra, the Dark Elf Queen, unleashed waves of dark magic, obliterating anything that dared come too close to her.

The undead were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless, and the artillery from the barges roared across the landscape, blowing huge craters in their ranks. But still, they pressed forward. Nyzora’s forces had them encircled.

Valdrianna parried a pirate's cutlass, shoving the undead creature aside with a brutal kick. "They just keep coming!" she shouted to Elandra, who was beside her.