The Rise of the Black Plain

"Now!" Minos' command cut through the tense atmosphere. It was the signal Gloria had been waiting for, and without hesitation, she directed her clones to converge on Mylecent's group.

Simultaneously, Ruth and Abby sprang into action, their Hell Lifelings poised to execute their meticulously planned diversions aimed at confounding the royal family governing the city.

Ruth moved a group of Hell Lifelings away from them to detonate explosives on the east side of the city, while Abby took up position to destroy a group of local guards on the south side, where the Macabre Horde was threatening to invade at this very moment.

Ruth orchestrated a group of Hell Lifelings to move eastward, their mission to detonate explosives and create chaos on that side of the city. Meanwhile, Abby took up a strategic position to the south, where the Macabre Horde loomed ominously at the city's borders. Her task: to eliminate a contingent of local guards, further weakening the city's already strained defenses.

Minos remained with his cadre of Hell Lifelings on the outskirts of their vessel, guiding it northward, where affluent locals were engaged in a desperate confrontation with the coastguard forces blocking their escape.

The cacophony of battle reached their ship in waves—the thunderous booms of cannon fire punctuating the air, heralding a conflict few could have expected in this once-peaceful city. The very fabric of normalcy was being torn asunder, replaced by the chaos of survival and desperation.

The appearance of the Macabre Horde at the fringes of the capital had shattered all expectations and plunged the populace into terror. This was no ordinary adversary; the Horde was a relentless, all-consuming force. Once it set its sights on a settlement, it would not relent until every living soul within reach had been extinguished. The city, with its millions of inhabitants, now presented an irresistible target for the undead menace.

Even the upper echelons of society, the royal family included, were now scrambling to abandon the city. The fear of what might transpire should the undead breach the city walls was palpable, overriding any sense of duty or pride.

Minos expertly capitalized on the chaos born from the weakest minds gripped by fear. His myriad skills were barely needed; the panic itself was his most potent weapon.

As the noise of explosions and fierce combat erupted around the areas under Abby and Ruth's assault, the occupants of the boats sharing the river with Minos' group grew increasingly agitated.

Minos' gaze swept across the boat, his mind's eye already envisioning the bleak future awaiting hundreds of thousands of souls in this doomed city. The weight of impending tragedy hung heavy in the air, yet it did not burden Minos' conscience.

'This city's suffering is inconsequential,' he mused, his thoughts as cold and unyielding as steel. 'Our future shines bright, and that is all that matters.'

A chilling smile played across his lips as a new thought formed. 'Their deaths are but a temporary state. We will resurrect them as Hell Lifelings in due time. It will be an improvement—they will be stronger when the moment arrives.'

As these thoughts coalesced, an obsidian glow enveloped Minos' golden eyes, lending him an appearance more diabolical than ever before. Any vestige of his humanity had long since been discarded, along with the moral principles that once guided him.

In his current state, Minos was a quasi-Devil, a formidable contender with a strong chance of ascending to the status of an Entitled Deity. His very essence was a tapestry woven from multiple potent bloodlines.

The demise of mere Grandmasters or weaker individuals no longer registered in his calculus—they were insignificant specks in the grand design of his ambitions.

For the sake of his family, Minos had become willing to cross any line, to shatter any ethical boundary. The ends, in his mind, unequivocally justified the means.

...

Suddenly, on the southern wall, a figure emerged—the First General, his appearance a far cry from his usual composed self. Sweat-drenched, wounded, and wearing an expression of unbridled fury, he cut a desperate figure against the darkening sky.

"Where is that damned woman?" he bellowed, his usual decorum abandoned in the face of crisis. His eyes darted frantically across the battlements, searching for someone unseen.

"Your Excellency!" A soldier's voice rang out as he rushed to the old necromancer's side.

The First General, looking more cadaverous than ever, was flanked by a small contingent of undead soldiers, their movements erratic and unsettling.

The instability of the undead was a chilling sight. Common wisdom held that a necromancer's death didn't banish their creations, but unleashed them as chaotic, ownerless entities—not unlike the dreaded Macabre Horde. The First General's undead teetered on this precipice, striking fear into the heart of the level 123 commander present.

Before the young commander could brief his superior, a deafening explosion rocked the city. One of the main gates disintegrated in a ball of fire, opening a gaping wound in the city's defenses.

The air filled with agonized screams as the wounded cried out in pain, their voices soon drowned out by the relentless advance of the undead horde.

Like a dark tide, the Macabre Horde poured through the breach, silencing all in their path with brutal efficiency.

"Damn it all!" The First General spat, springing into action. "Organize a defense! Seal that breach at all costs! If the Macabre Horde gains a foothold, we're finished!" ℟αΝòＢΕS

The level 123 commander snapped to attention, cold sweat beading on his brow as he realized the gravity of their situation. "May Eternal Death protect us from the Macabre Horde!" he whispered fervently as he rushed to carry out his orders.

...

Meanwhile, atop the Temple of Death in the capital's heart, another figure surveyed the unfolding chaos.

Eternal Death, the Celestial, emerged from her chambers, her piercing gaze taking in the city's plight.

"Still no word on Mylecent?" she inquired of an aide, her voice calm despite the turmoil below.

A level 124 man kneeled before her, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "We have two groups under suspicion of harboring The Traitor, Your Holiness. We're moving against both as we speak. However…"

"However?" Eternal Death's tone dropped, cold as the grave.

The aide swallowed hard before continuing, "The city needs Your Holiness. If we don't act now, we may capture Mylecent, but there might not be a city left to save."

Eternal Death's expression hardened, torn between her desire for vengeance and her duty to the city. After a moment of tense silence, she decided. "Today, I shall demonstrate the full extent of my power to our enemies. Very well, continue the hunt for Mylecent. I will save the capital."

With a gesture, a scythe of black and purple energy materialized in her hand. In the next instant, Eternal Death vanished into the gloomy night, ready to confront the tide of death threatening to engulf her domain.

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