The battlefield was a hell without fire.
The ground, blackened by corruption.The skies, sealed by mist and fear.And the air… charged with the echo of the dead's march.
Matías and I were barely standing.The last flicker of his light was no longer a flame—but an ember.Still warm, but growing weaker with every breath.
I held Excalibur steady, swinging in wide arcs to keep the undead at bay.For every ten that fell, twenty more rose from the mist, eyes hollow, steps relentless.
And then—we saw them.
From the eastern flank, two coordinated strike teams advanced across scorched earth and creeping fog.
My uncle Pablo led the first, a force of nature wielding a heavy spear wrapped in chains of spiritual energy, each spin a storm of steel and light.Behind him, ten awakened warriors marched with unwavering resolve.
My uncle Nicolás, on the opposite side, led a tactical squad with surgical precision.Swordsmen, archers, and a pair of summoners. Their movement was exact, every step calculated.
—Diego!! Hold on—we're almost there! —Nicolás shouted as he carved a path forward.
For the first time in minutes,hope sparked in my chest.
But Lyr'Thal moved.
Not in haste.Not in anger.But with contempt.
He raised his staff...and drove it into the earth.
The ground split open—
And from the rift rose two armored figures, cloaked in black mist.Their armor was decayed, twisted by time…but their movements were flawless.Their eyes glowed red.Their swords were long as grief itself.
Dark Knights.
Class 2.
Not soldiers.Not fodder.
They were former heroes—now enslaved by the necromancer's will.
One moved toward Pablo.The other—toward Nicolás.
The earth shuddered.
The battle was instant and violent.
Pablo charged without hesitation.
His spear spun, chains crackling with energy as it smashed into the knight's chest—but the creature didn't budge.
It lifted its blade and brought it down with the weight of a falling star.
Pablo barely blocked the strike, skidding backwards across the battlefield.
—Don't engage solo! Fight in formation! L formation, now! —he roared as he rose.
His men regrouped. Four flanked while he engaged head-on.
But the Dark Knight spun in place, releasing a shockwave of darkness that flung them all like broken dolls.
—It's absorbing spiritual energy! —one soldier cried.
Meanwhile, Nicolás was facing the second knight.
—Stay out of its aura! Summoners, mark weak points in the armor!
The team moved with military discipline.
Two summoners laid weakening sigils while archers fired enchanted arrows at the knight's joints.
But the knight was smart—too smart.
It vanished in a veil of shadow, reappearing behind the archers.
One went down.Then another.
—Hold formation! Keep the pressure on! —Nicolás barked, furious.
He lunged, his short blade wrapped in blue flame.It cut through the knight's leg joint—bringing it to one knee.
—Now! ALL OF YOU!
A flurry of magical and physical attacks rained down.The sigils burned.The arrows pinned.And Nicolás drove his sword through the knight's neck.
The body fell…and dissolved into ash.
On the other side, Pablo stood bloodied and bruised.
Two of his men were unconscious.One critically wounded.
But his eyes burned with fire.
The knight charged again.
—You're really getting on my nerves, bastard.
He wrapped his spear in his own life energy.He knew this was his last strike.
—Now, Pablo! —his squad shouted.
The knight raised its sword.
Too late.
Pablo rammed the spear into its chest.The weapon cracked—and the knight's aura shattered like glass.
Destroyed.
Both squads were battered.But the knights… were no more.
And finally—they reached us.
Matías and I were still fighting the undead tide.
When I saw my uncles arrive,I could barely stop the tears.
—Just in time? —Pablo asked, panting.
—Always, —I answered, smiling through blood and ash.