Ma-Ginotte, the once indomitable fortress city, was now in flames. Undead abominations flooded the streets and those who did not surrender and who hid in their homes either were cut down by the tide of undeath or were burned alive by the ever-expanding inferno that raged unchecked throughout the interior of the formerly unconquerable citadel. There was only one place where the fires did not reach and the undead did not trample, and that place was the very center of the star-shaped bastion. In the very heart of the burning metropolis was a lone place where chaos was kept at bay, a small island of order in a sea of chaos.

In the center of Ma-Ginotte was a castle that housed the royal family and their entourage who, despite the pandemonium outside, were taking it easy and under the full and foolish assumption that they would be able to weather the storm that raged around them. Yes, the vain and prideful nobility that southern Albion had been known for were not worrying about the fact that even now their citizens were being incinerated and butchered and were instead focusing on a game of croquet. Every time a messenger brought new news about events outside, they were turned away before they could deliver any information. The Francusian nobles and royalty merely wined and dined while the world they had ‘fought to create’ was being torn down around them.

After the last of the populace was either burned to death, killed by the various undead or captured by the forces of Kain, the messengers finally stopped coming. This was a delightful turn of events for the nobility who, in their vanity, did not realize they were now trapped in a hopeless situation. Even as they implemented rationing among the ‘lesser people’ they continued to feast and drink to excess, which caused supplies to dwindle ever faster. Much to the surprise of those who manned the walls and battlements, the undead quickly began to rebuild the still smoldering ruins that surrounded the castle.

Like a cruel joke, the undead were assisting heretics and blasphemers in their effort to settle and rebuild, all the while making sure that those in the castle were isolated from the outside world. When only a month had passed since the destruction of the city, the undead and heathens had already made a considerable amount of progress in remaking the city. Unlike the mostly wood and plaster city that had been there before, the town was being remade with mostly stone, bricks, tile rooves, and lumber taken from the deepest part of the Gallows Woods which was highly resistant to extreme temperatures.

The entire city grid was altered to be more easily navigable, wider and with cobblestone roads which had street signs and a bizarre kind of lamp system that would change between red, yellow and green. If the guards knew any better, they would be under the assumption that the undead had decided to take up the job of civil servants rather than soulless killing machines.

Even as all this went on the supplies within the castle continued to dwindle and the servants and other ‘lesser people’ were beginning to get antsy. This all came to a head when some of the ‘help’ decided to take their chances with the undead rather than risk starving due to the voracious appetites of the nobles, clergy and royalty. A few dozen of them made their escape under the cover of night, and a few days later they were assumed to have been killed by the undead or the heretics.

A few days afterwards however, they appeared before the walls of the isolated castle and proclaimed their wellbeing and safety. They claimed they were given food and drink and even a home to call their own so long as they didn’t cause trouble. This was a tipping point for several guards who had by now been forced onto near starvation rations, and they opened the gate that separated the slowly resurrecting city and the only surviving part of Francus that remained. As they left, their compatriots who were still loyal were not around to close the gate in time and a few units of undead spilled into the castle which now lay open. The guards that remained were in no position to put up an adequate fight, let alone push the undead back enough to reclaim the gatehouse, and thus the undead entered practically unopposed.

Meanwhile, the nobility and royalty were ignoring the ever-increasing danger and were trying to finish up a game of croquet. They were interrupted by a messenger, the only one who had been able to reach them.

“My lords! The undead have somehow gotten into the castle! They are making their way here as I speak, we must prepare for battle!”

An overweight noble scoffed loudly and was echoed by a number of others, both male and female, noble and clergy alike.

“Don’t be silly, there is no way those husks would make it this far! Now go away, we are in the middle of a croquet match and my patience is wearing as thin as my brother’s hairline.”

A thin, balding noble looked offended and retorted to his brother.

“At least I have all of my teeth! I am not the one who needs two sets of dentures to eat his meal. Besides, it will grow back.”

The messenger still pleaded for the upper-class twits to prepare, but his begging was cut short when a number of Zombies emerged from a hedge maze that was to the east of the croquet fields. With screams of panic, the servants and messenger ran from the field like headless chickens while the nobles and clergy merely decided to postpone their game.

“Well, this is unpleasant! Guards, do take care of this nuisance, we will retire to the dining hall for some refreshments and appetizers.”

The men and women of high society responded with a chorus of, “Oui oui!” and left for the interior. As a few guards tried to mount a desperate defense, the elites and their personal bodyguards moseyed into the castle and began to drink and eat the last remaining provisions. It wasn’t long until the few soldiers that had been left behind were overwhelmed and torn to ribbons by the wave of shambling corpses that continued to emerge from within the hedge maze. As the undead continued to move unopposed into the castle proper, they were acting in a very uncharacteristic fashion as they ignored most of the ‘help’ unless they were attacked.

When at last they reached the dining hall, the remainder of the castle watch made a desperate and futile last stand in the same room where the vain and foolish bourgeoisie still were scarfing down the last few morsels that remained in the castle. It took the defenders all they had to keep the attention of the massive horde upon themselves, but occasionally a few undead would slip through and force the bodyguards to defend the nobles and clergy, who refused to retreat or help in the fight.

“Be careful, you microcephalic oaf! You almost got blood on my new shoes!”

The constant complaining of the nobles as the blood and bile of the Zombies continued to flow on the floor did nothing to help the last true defenders fight harder, better, faster or stronger and the occasional hit from a Zombie slowly reduced their already poor effectiveness even more. One by one the last line of defense was reduced until the undead no longer had anything to stop them. It was at this time the vanity of the elites began to be replaced with the terrifying understanding that they were about to be killed and the concern for their appearance being unmarred was replaced by a concern for their lives.

And yet, the Zombies did not attack the nobles or clergy and instead simply surrounded them and seemed to wait for something to happen. As minutes passed and tension mounted a few of the clergy took it upon themselves to actually be useful and fired off Light Magic spells at the Zombies. This reduced their number, but there were more Zombies than there was the capacity for the clergy to launch spells, and eventually their reserves of mana were exhausted. As the high and mighty men and women slowly bunched up closer together, the circle of rotten people parted towards the entrance to the dining hall and a towering figure stepped forth into the open space between the ring of Zombies and the smaller circle of elites. His face bore the look of a man who had finally managed to best his long-time foe.

Kain Anathemas Nekronus von Darksol had made his appearance, and only the clergy had even the slightest idea of who he was. Their holy books described in great detail the appearance of the Abominable King of Evil, and while they had mostly neglected their studies for the past few decades, they had the suspicion that they knew this person from somewhere. Their lack of true devotion to their craft left them with wild guesses, and only a few of them were anywhere near true. All of the ‘Children of Light’ knew the name of the ‘Emperor of Darkness’ but he had been gone so long his mere existence was more like a fairy tale than reality.

Now, however, that fairy tale was made real and as the clergymen in the room all slowly came to the same conclusion their faces dropped even further than what they had thought was possible. Morale was at absolute zero and despair was at an all time high. Now was the time for Kain to rub salt in the wound, and that is exactly what he did. He bragged about how it was child’s play to break the unbreakable and how if he had only thought more tactically all those years ago, he could have done this from the beginning. As he proclaimed his power and identity to those who now huddled in a terrified mass before him, his ego swelled to new heights.

This was all well worth the effort and really did put a smile on his face.