The Outer Walls of Dray’Mel shook to their very foundations as another massive boulder slammed into the stone. The force of the blow knocked a few of the defending skeletons asunder, causing them to tumble to the desert below.

The mindless things were quick to reassemble themselves, broken bones knitting back together within seconds. Alas, it was all for naught as the stumbling defenders were quick to discover. The Necromantic energies that were sustaining them quickly dried up, causing them to become piles of useless bones once more.

Many a simpleton thought that becoming an Undead was a gift from the Gods themselves. A boon of true immortality. But the Burnt Husk knew better. Undeath was simply trading the shackles of time for another foul host.

While most of the Outer Wall was packed with skeletons and the Death Knights that commanded them, the heavily armoured form of the Burnt Husk stood alone, waves of heat emanating from his once fine silver armor.

Many years ago, the armor had been decorated in family crests and gilded lilies. The scouring flames had left little space for fancy decorations. Now, small beads of the still boiling silver dropped down his breastplate and onto his mangled gauntlets.

Casually listing a massive slab of stone ostensbility in the shape of a claymore that would normally require the strength of six men to even budge, the plated figure stared out from the wall in consternation.

For only a few hundred feet away from Dray’Mel’s walls stood a host of a thousand monsters, behemoths of all shapes and sizes lined up in eerie stillness. From diminutive Forest Goblins and Kobolds to the sprawling forms of gigantic Behirs. The rag-tag bunch made for a formidable looking army. The Behirs alone were a sight to behold. It resembled a strange mix between a centipede and a lizard, its six pairs of legs joined onto a hulking body with a lashing tail and a snarling maw.

And yet, for all the Manticores and Ogres, with their low intelligence and a penchant for violence, there was barely a trace of movement from the besieging army, most of the would-be attackers were standing perfectly still as they stared woodenly towards the city.

It it wasn’t for the pulsing sacs of blight rot that was undulating on the creature’s flesh, the Burnt Husk would have assumed the creatures to be dead. Propped up in a parody of living, left to rot away in the harsh desert sun.

But behind these lines of strangely serene, still creatures, there was a flurry of activity. Dozens of Treants reached deep into the desert sand before pulling up massive clumps of rock, only to pass them along in a chain to the heart of Dray’Mel’s current woes.

Because it was at the centre of the horde of monsters, that one creature towered above all others. Reaching down to pick up a boulder taller than an average human male, a towering Giant leaned backward before throwing it towards the city with all of its might.

Thankfully, the beast’s aim was off as the boulder crashed into the desert sands a few feet before the Outer Walls. It was little comfort. The Giant had ample time to improve upon its technique.

Without the ability to wander past their imposed city limits, the Undead defenders were forced to watch as the Giant continued its one-monster assault. For every boulder than landed, three fell short. It was good odds but still the unending tide of stone eventually began to crumble a portion of the Outer Walls in an explosion of dust and debris.

“Finally…” the Burnt Husk rumbled, taking his blade and grasping it in a two handed stance. The armoured knight watched as the dust settled, peering down into the Undead District.

It wasn’t long before the clamour and noise of falling stone was overturned by howls of anguish and rage. It had been centuries since the Outer Walls had been cracked, and the mindless horde had a proper outlet for its rage.

Grasping claws pulled their way over the rubble as hundreds of Ghouls began scrambling outwards, saliva dripping from open jaws. Dozens of hunks of stone were tossed aside as hulking Zombies barrelled their way forward, crushing rubble and Ghouls alike in their rush toward the living monsters awaiting them.

The first of the Ghouls scrambled into the desert heat and swiftly began to decay as their proximity to Dray’Mel’s necrotic energy waned. But, even as their flesh began to rapidly fall off their bones, a Word of Power roiled over the enraged Horde.

Endure…

Leaping down from the Outer Walls, the Burnt Husk landed amidst the Horde of Undead and pointed his blade toward the encroaching army of monsters.

As the swell of Undead pressed past the molten knight, the ebb and flow of Necromantic energy was momentarily halted within the rampaging bodies of the dead. It left them free to charge towards the now moving puppets of the Restless Swarm.

Flicking down his helmet’s visor, Loth’Mel strode towards the Giant with a raspy chuckle under his breath. It had been a long time since the Burnt Husk had had a chance to test his full might and he was certain that he would enjoy every second of it.

The army of monstrosities didn’t wait for the Undead to reach them patiently however. Acid sprayed from the Manticore’s tails in sheets, ice shards rained down from the hands of the Ice Spirits and, as the Treants summoned roots, dozens of Zombies were knocked to their feet. An effective way to slow down the encroaching horde.

And through it all, seemingly unbothered by the Undead army, the Giant kept tossing boulders without fear, raining death down upon Dray’Mel. Whatever manner of beast that was controlling these creatures was looking down upon on the Undead. And it lit a familiar flame in Loth’Mel’s heart.

Breaking into a brisk jog himself, the Burnt Husk reared back his colossal sword and flung it towards the Giant. The blade flew with remarkable accuracy and looked as though it was on track to impale the Giant’s skull…until a massive Behir flung itself in the projectile’s path.

Such was the force of the blow that the blade barely slowed as it punched through the monster’s flesh like butter. Spraying out the other side in an expulsion of blood and guts, the stone slab collided with the Giants chest, rocking the creature backwards just as the Undead horde reached the Monster army. Neither the infected creatures nor the ravenous Ghouls fought with any other preservation instincts, all too willing to sink their teeth in their foes flesh, even if it meant being ripped asunder themselves.

Hundreds died in the first few seconds, but it wasn’t enough for the Burnt Husk. As Loth’Mel collided with the Restless Swarm’s minions, waves of roiling flames burnt away at their flesh as the silver clad warrior marched relentlessly towards the Giant.

Wounded as it was, the Giant pulled the blade out from its chest cavity and tossed it aside. Letting out a dull roar, it charged into the battlefield, crushing foe and friend alike and coating them in its blood as it made its way towards the Chosen.

Looming over the knight, the Giant swept its grasping hand downwards, pulverizing a dozen Ghouls before closing around the Burnt Husks frame. The colossal Giant lifted its captive high into the sky, fully intent on smashing the Burnt Husk into the ground, when it let out a deep cry of anguish.

Silver flames licked the flesh off the Giants grip, as the unnatural flames spread down the Monsters body. Screaming in anguish, the Giant steadfastly kept its grip sealed as it began bashing its burnt hand against the ground.

Small goblets of burning silver spread with each motion, the entire battlefield lighting up the uncaring, unflinching combatants. Even with a quickly spreading inferno building around them, the Ghouls and Monsters continued their reckless battle.

Before too long, the entire desert stretch was nothing but silver flames as even the Giant collapsed under the unbearable heat. As the flames reached their peek, Loth’Mel lay in its epicenter, his left arm mangled and his legs crushed into meat paste.

Still, the Burnt Husk couldn’t help but laugh as he watched his beloved city from afar. His Core grew dim as his Pact ebbed in power, and yet, he still Endured…

Reaching out with his sole good hand, Loth’Mel began to pull himself towards the Dray’Mel, leaving a furrow in the sand as he inched closer and closer.

The defenders on the Outer Walls watched as impassively as they had watched the Monster army's approach, mindless Undead sworn to defend their cities walls, and nothing else.

The Chosen slowed his torturous crawl forwards, as he reached the shade cast by the City’s shadow. Looking upwards, Loth’Mel could see the Undead forces staring impassively down at him and he knew he could make it.

He could return to the city he’d spent six centuries defending, once more stand upon the walls waiting to beat back any invaders, he could repair his broken body and he could Endure…

But why? Why force himself to climb the Outer Wall once more. Why stand on the Wall alongside his long dead brothers, why must he Endure…

Once, he'd made a similar trek in order to aid his sworn brothers, but it had been six centuries since he'd counted Fang'Mel and Rath'Mel as true brothers. So why did he struggle so, and in a moment of weakness, the Burnt Husk let his arm go still.

Lying in the desert under the burning sun, Loth’Mel allowed himself to rest and Endure no more...