These Hallowed Bones - [Monster Evolution, Dark Fantasy, Heroic Undead]

Magic clashes overhead. Defender wards meet corrupted power. Ancient runes carved in floor stones flicker, then fade.

Their protection dies.

Fear replaces discipline in the eyes of those defending.

Marnac's horde flows through broken lines. Imps bite ankles with venom-fangs. Trolls swing clubs that turn armor to pulp.

Other monsters and lesser things come forth.

Each death weighs against borrowed purpose, but these bones press forward.

The inner gateway beckons. Defenders retreat deeper, rolling spiked barriers into place. Their eyes show truth - they know their Duke weakens. If we reach his throne room, it ends.

Marnac appears, grinning. "Forward, bone titan! The Duke's heart awaits!"

He believes I share his hunger. Let him dream. The Duke's death serves greater purpose than his ambition.

The corridors narrow.

Defenders use this, forming choke points. Green flames spurt from traps.

Trolls grab imps by their tails, using them as shields. The smaller demons shriek, clawing air as flames wash over twisted forms. Flesh bubbles and melts, but the trolls march forward.

These bones, once scorched by demon flames, cannot be harmed by these pale imitations.

I press onward.

Ahead, a troll holds an imp as shield. Insufficient. The fires find its eyes and destroy vision. It begins to rampage, aiming not for defenders but for all within reach.

A charred imp hurtles through air, melted flesh still smoking. I sidestep.

Behind the thrown imp, the blinded troll charges. Blood streams from empty sockets where green flame found purchase. A ruined eye rolls wild, unfocused.

The massive club swings in desperate arcs.

Steel meets wood. The club's impact is harsh against bone.

A quick crack echoes off stone walls as my shoulder joint separates.

No matter.

These titan-forged bones know their purpose.

Aeternus moves..

The blade finds the space between the troll's neck and collar. Clean. Precise. The head parts from shoulders in a single sweep, trailing corruption-dark blood.

The headless body takes two more steps before recognition catches up with death. The club slips from lifeless fingers, striking stone with a hollow sound. The massive frame topples, crushing smaller demons beneath its bulk.

More trolls lumber forward, fresh imps writhing in their grasp. Green flames continue to pour from walled traps. The corridor fills with smoke and screaming demons.

"Push through!" Marnac commands from behind. "Let nothing slow our advance!"

My sword moves in patterns borrowed from a thousand fallen warriors.

Limbs scatter. Bodies crumple. Each step brings us closer to the Duke's inner sanctum.

The flames intensify, turning stone white-hot.

I stride through their ranks, Aeternus clearing a path.

Living or dead, flesh proves temporary. Only purpose endures.

These bones advance through fire that would melt mortal forms. A barricade of twisted iron and bonded wood blocks the path. Defenders jab poisoned spears through gaps. Aeternus falls like judgment. Wood splinters. Iron bends. They break.

The fortress trembles. Walls weep ash. Blood paints stone floors black.

My shadow falls across three champions. They turn as one, axes seeking to pry these bones apart. Sparks fly. Their blades find no purchase against dragon-forged plates.

Aeternus rises. They block together, weapons meeting greater steel. For a moment, balance holds.

Then the blade's runes ignite with cold fire. Their weapons crack like brittle ice. A backswing takes one defender's head. A kick shatters another against stone. The last tries to flee. A troll's claws end his retreat.

No mercy dwells in these halls. Only war.

The corridor beyond slopes downward.

Smoke swirls. Ash falls. Battle echoes fade behind us. Ahead, defenders form their final line before great doors carved with infernal runes.

Black stone pulses corruption. The fortress exhales dread.

Our forces crash into their ranks. Gnolls tear plate mail open. Imps fling conjured fire. Defenders fall.

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A Knight-Captain, once human, twisted by demonic gifts, screams command, "Hold! By the Duke's order, hold!"

Doubt trembles in a voice that once knew mortality.

I step through chaos. Arrows glance off bone. The Knight-Captain sees me. Terror replaces doubt. She rallies scaled brutes in etched armor. They swarm, seeking gaps in my plating.

The Knight Captain's soldiers, demons all, attack as one. Each blow seeks to crack and splinter ancient bone.

As if striking bones was enough to quiet this chosen purpose.

My titanic frame towers over their assault. Aeternus moves. The blade thunders in ways these jaws cannot. Black blood sprays stone. Bodies fall.

The Knight-Captain's blade takes my arm at the elbow. The limb crashes to the floor, fingers still gripping sword. My other hand catches her throat. Clawed gauntlets scratch uselessly against bone as I lift her from the ground.

Her legs kick wildly as my skeletal fingers tighten.

The Knight-Captain's free hand pulls a curved dagger from her belt. Black steel meets bone. The blade chips fragments from my arm, each strike desperate, powerful, precise.

Pieces scatter like snow.

Her dagger finds gaps, prying loose smaller fragments. No matter. These titan-forged bones care nothing for pain.

My grip remains absolute.

Her enhanced strength drives the blade deeper.

Skeletal fingers squeeze tighter.

Her eyes bulge, blood vessels bursting.

Red spreads across sclera.

The dagger strikes grow weaker, less coordinated.

Her boots scrape against chosen bones.

Corruption-touched muscles strain against implacable force. Her spine bends backward, vertebrae stretched to breaking. Cartilage tears amid choked gasps for unnecessary breath.

My grip tightens one final time.

A sharp crack echoes.

Her head lolls at an unnatural angle. The dagger clatters to the floor from limp fingers.

I release the corpse. It falls like discarded cloth.

Her warriors hesitate, weapons wavering. Their discipline breaks. Some flee toward the great doors. Others throw down arms, backing away from death that walks.

My severed arm drags itself across stone, climbing my leg. The elbow joint clicks home with mechanical certainty.

Fingers flex, testing the connection.

Whole once more, I advance.

Marnac's forces surge past fallen defenders. Ram the final gate with iron-bound logs. Pry at hinges. Wood cracks. Runes flicker, die.

Survivors huddle in corners. Whisper final prayers. Buy seconds, not salvation.

These are demons, monsters, not humans. Once the Duke falls, I will return for them.

The gate breaks inward with sound of ancient oaths shattering.

The corridor opens to an antechamber. Heavy doors sealed with metal bands guard the throne room. Defenders wait. Ready. Runes pulse warning across the floor.

Marnac's forces gather for the final push. The ground trembles beneath our advance.

The floor splits without warning. Hidden seams appear in what seemed solid stone. Slabs pivot downward on ancient hinges. Demons screech. Scramble for purchase on treacherous ground. My claws find a crack in the wall. Below, lava bathes the chamber in crimson light. The fortress bleeds fire from wounded heart.

Marnac's minions fall. Their screams fade to silence in molten rock. Defenders tumble mid-attack, dragged down by their prey. I hang above destruction, suspended by bone claws driven deep into stone. My feet find narrow purchase on jutting architecture. Aeternus remains ready in skeletal grip.

Across the gap, surviving defenders watch from stable ground. Marnac hovers, gripped by a straining winged horror. Curses flow from his lips. He urges remaining troops to find another path. Some try to leap the divide. Most fall short, their final screams lost in bubbling death.

A central platform stands untouched amid flowing destruction. Upon it waits the Duke's elite guard, twisted things with blade-arms gleaming with poisoned light. Behind them towers their master.

The Demon Duke stands wrapped in ruined armor. One arm gone. One eye weeping black ichor. A twisted spear supports his weight. Old wounds speak of battles with his own kind.

I recognize weakness in his stance. Something damaged him before our arrival, perhaps the ambush Commander Ikert mentioned.

Yet even wounded, power radiates from his frame.

His regeneration works slowly against whatever struck him, but it works nonetheless.

This is no lesser demon.

His laugh scrapes stone like sharpened blade. "You bring filth to my halls, Marnac?" The words echo across molten divide. Then he turns to me. "And you, bone titan, what do you hope to gain by this intrusion?"

He sees past deception. Knows these bones serve no demon's will.

The Duke's remaining eye narrows, studying my newer frame. "I remember you. Three years past, when you dared stand against me at Haven's Gate."

His spear rises, pointing accusation. "Those bones I scorched to ash before that pitiful wall. Yet here you tower, wearing different dead."

He speaks truth without knowing it.

These are not the same bones he burned when I defended Joist's refugees. The Field of Broken Banners rebuilt this form with ancient warriors, dragon parts, and deeper magic.

His corrupted spear trembles. Black blood seeps from wounds not yet healed. Weakness shows where armor cracked in recent battle.

"You were smaller then," he continues. "A mere skeleton playing at knighthood. I scattered those bones across scorched earth."

He studies my titanic frame.

Recognition dawns on corrupted features.

"No," the Duke growls. "Impossible!"

I advance across the narrow ledge. Each step precise. These borrowed bones know their path.

His spear trembles. "That skeleton could barely stand against my power. You, you are something else. Some champion of the grave perhaps? Or another of Marnac's deceptions?"

The platform edge draws near. Twenty paces remain. The Duke's elite guard tighten their formation, blade-arms crossing in ritual defense.

"You wear similar armor, yes." His voice rises, uncertainty bleeding through confidence like ichor through cracked plate. "But you are not that broken thing I cast down. You cannot be. I destroyed it utterly."

Fifteen paces.

The guard's blade-arms extend, ready to strike. Light glints off poisoned edges.

"Show yourself, pretender! What manner of bone-titan dares wear that guardian's aspect?"

Ten paces. Heat from the lava below warps the air between us. Reality bends in rippling waves.

The Duke's remaining eye widens as I continue my advance. "Stop! I command you to stop!"

His spear rises. Dark energy crackles along its length. The weapon shakes in his grip, either from weakness or fear.

Five paces remain between these bones and his platform. His elite guard bunch together, preparing to meet my charge.

"You cannot be him," the Duke mutters, mostly to himself.

"I destroyed that skeleton myself."

The platform between us holds steady while lava churns below. His elite guard shifts stance. Behind them, their master's armor shows fresh cracks, signs of recent battles with his own kind.

My claws dig deeper into stone.

Titan-forged bones know their task. The sword Aeternus shares their certainty.

Marnac gives command from across the chamber: "The Duke, kill him now!"

The command falls empty. Most of his forces feed the lava below. Those few surviving demons cling to walls, more focused on survival than assault.

The Duke's laugh holds pain beneath mockery. "Still barking orders, defiler? Your army melts while you flutter about." s."

His eye returns to my form. "But you, bone titan, you're no demon's puppet."

I remain silent. Let him wonder. Purpose needs no voice.

The gap means nothing.

Duty calls from across the flames. The compulsion pulls these bones forward.

The Duke hardens. "Come then, bone titan. Let us see what manner of dead thing you've become."

These bones know no hesitation. The gap beckons. Beyond it waits purpose.

I leap.