"CHARGE!" shouted Jirael, her voice cutting through the air like a crack of thunder as she raised her staff and pointed it straight ahead.
*rumbling!
In that instant, the undead soldiers responded with a deafening cry, surging forward like a wave of cold flesh and armor.
Their bodies, some barely intact, moved with unnatural speed as the ground trembled beneath the weight of their charge.
Weapons clattered, rusted metal scraping against bone and steel.
Behind them, the cloaked eidrics stood still, their hands glowing and humming with thick eidra, already preparing their long-ranged attacks from afar.
"Here they come," Zendrell muttered, his tone calm, almost too casual for the scene unfolding before them.
His posture remained relaxed, his hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword, but Jinn knew better.
That was how Zendrell always was—unbothered, loose, but only until the moment he struck.
Jinn had trained under him, seen how he fought.
