"Let's end this, Verhen."
Reivo surged forward beside his summoned horror, their charge shaking the cracked earth beneath them.
Verhen struck first—his massive frame a blur of gore-drenched violence. He hurtled into the advancing undead line like a siege weapon let loose, bladed arms cleaving arcs through the air. The first to meet him was a heavy brute of a ghoul, half-encased in old, rusted plate, probably an old guard. Verhen didn't slow. His right blade-arm punched through the ghoul's helm and out the back of its skull, splitting it like an overripe fruit. He didn't even stop moving—he tore the blade free and spun, the other arm carving clean through the torso of an undead, vertebrae snapping like twigs.
Blood sprayed in twin fans as he twisted, slamming one corpse into another, impaling both on the same jagged limb. He pulled them apart like wet paper. Limbs flailed. Heads rolled. Ichor steamed on the cursed ground as Verhen waded deeper into the enemy, a nightmare sculpted in blood and metal.
Reivo followed close behind, slipping through the flanks where the undead ranks broke from the Herald's assault.
A ghoul lunged.
Reivo ducked under its claws and answered with a brutal upward slash, severing the thing's arm at the elbow and cleaving its face from the jaw clean off. He stepped into its collapsing form, twisted, and drove his sword through the sternum of another shambling corpse. The blade punched through with a wet crunch. Reivo yanked it free and let the body fall, breathing in short, sharp gasps.
But they weren't gasps of exhaustion.
They were of elation.
Of hunger.
Of something awakening inside him.
Another corpse stumbled from the side, a dagger still embedded in its eye. Reivo pivoted—his foot slammed into its knee, shattering the joint. As it collapsed, he rammed his sword down into the base of its skull. The undead spasmed once, then went still.
A scream behind him—Verhen had just impaled two ghouls on the same blade-arm and flung them overhead like broken dolls. Their bodies flew in wide arcs and crashed into a crumbling wall, bones splintering on impact.
Reivo laughed.
It bubbled out of him, involuntary and savage. The taste of blood was thick in his mouth, and he didn't care if it was his or theirs. It all smelled the same now—iron and rot, heat and power. His muscles burned, his heart thundered in his chest like war drums, and the whispers inside him chanted with manic joy.
Another wave surged forward. Reivo didn't hesitate.
He darted under a sweeping axe, slammed his shoulder into a ghoul, and used the momentum to bring his sword down in a diagonal slash that cleaved two enemies in half. He stepped over the writhing halves, grabbed a spear from a fallen corpse, and hurled it through the chest of an undead mid-charge. The impact drove the creature back, pinning it to a leaning wall like a grotesque banner.
Verhen met the densest cluster of enemies head-on, blades spinning. He wasn't just fighting—he was feeding. Every kill sent a fresh wave of blood spilling onto the ground, and the Herald drank it all in. His mask never shifted, never showed emotion, but the way he moved—fluid, hungry, relentless—spoke volumes.
A massive undead hulk—nearly Verhen's size—roared and brought down a mace as large as a tree trunk.
Verhen caught the blow on crossed blades, skidded back a step, then lunged forward, his mask inches from the brute's skull. With one smooth motion, he buried both blades into its chest, twisted, and ripped it in half.
The undead army hesitated now.
Not from fear—these things didn't feel fear. But their coordination wavered. Their master's grip on them loosened.
And Reivo felt it.
He felt that moment of hesitation like a pulse in the air, like a heartbeat skipping.
And he pounced.
He launched himself at the thinning flank, blade dancing. He no longer fought defensively. He didn't retreat. He pressed forward with every strike, feeding the rhythm. His movements were sharp, efficient, but cruel. He didn't just kill—he dismantled. Disarmed. Disfigured.
He plunged his sword into a zombie's chest, then used the impaled corpse as a shield, bashing through two more before throwing the carcass aside and slashing low to sever a cluster of tendons. The undead collapsed screaming—and Reivo laughed again, eyes shining with something more than just battle fury.
He was enjoying this.
The Herald was now only meters from the necromancer, carving a blood-slick path through the armored undead guarding him. One knight tried to block Verhen with a raised shield.
The Herald didn't cut.
He crushed.
One bladed arm slammed into the shield so hard it dented inward like paper. Then Verhen ripped the shield down and bisected the knight with a follow-up sweep, spraying viscera across the cobbled stones.
The necromancer barked in his foul tongue, desperation leaking into his voice.
He raised his staff.
A surge of red-black energy lanced out, striking Verhen square in the chest.
The Herald staggered for the first time.
Steam rose from the point of impact.
The necromancer tried again, channeling another blast—
And Reivo was there.
He sprinted, vision narrowing.
His sword sang as he swung—not at the necromancer, but at the staff.
The blade shattered the bone rod in half, sending a pulse of dark magic flaring wild.
The necromancer reeled, unguarded—
And Verhen moved.
His bladed arms punched through the armored guards on either side of the boss like skewers.
Then he struck.
Twin blades stabbed into the necromancer's torso, lifting him off the ground.
There was no scream.
Only a long, wet breath.
Verhen raised the body higher.
Then he tore it in half.
The necromancer's remains hit the ground like broken fruit, and the undead army convulsed.
Then dropped.
One by one, they collapsed. Puppets with strings cut.
Still.
Lifeless.
Reivo stood in the center of it all, covered in blood and ash, his breath ragged, eyes wild.
The whispers in his head howled in triumph.
And he smiled—slow, wide, feral.
Not because it was over.
But because of how alive he felt.
He looked to Verhen, who still stood amid the carnage, mask dripping, blades twitching.
Reivo opened his mouth, and the words came out before he even realized they were his.
"…This is who I am."