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

Haven's walls rest beyond the horizon, yet the vow threads through marrow and points the way. Wind skims my bone-plates, carrying distant sea-salt and the rumor of drums. The Drowned Kingdom quickens its stride.

No longer three days. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night.

I feel the tremor of oars long before I hear them.

Above the water, and movement below.

I turn back to Haven.

Purpose. Protection.

The Field of Broken Banners rumbles as I pass. Shattered spears lean toward my step, remembering the first rise. Ghost-ash billows around ankles taller than most walls.

Twenty-five feet of skeletal certainty, horned crown, wings of bone and shadow half-furled behind. Spectral flesh clings where judgment willed it, blue flame flows along every seam.

No matter.

Fragments murmur in the hollow space.

On the eastern sky comes a storm.

The distance to Haven collapses beneath my stride.

Twenty-five feet of divine bone covers ground in ways that defy mortal understanding. Each step spans dozens of yards, the Field of Broken Banners bending beneath weight that carries more than mere mass.

Purpose drives me forward with inexorable momentum.

Behind me, the trampled earth where the Wild Hunt departed still bears their claw marks. Ahead, risen wolves range through corrupted territories, culling predators that threaten the spaces between settlements.

To the south, the Graveking's legion marches toward the Endless Rot, twelve hundred skeletal warriors advancing in perfect formation.

I am the center from which all other purpose flows.

The horizon shifts as I approach Haven's walls. What once loomed as distant fortifications now reveals itself in sharp detail. Guard towers that seemed imposing from afar barely reach my shoulder height.

The walls themselves, reinforced with scavenged stone and desperate hope, could not contain my transformed frame.

I am no longer the skeletal knight who once sought entry through Haven's gates.

I am something that transcends their architecture.

Yet still bound to their protection.

The first sentry spots me when I am still miles from the walls. His cry carries across the evening air, a sound of alarm mixed with recognition.

They know my approach. The blue fire that burns along my bones is unmistakable, the same cold flame that marked the skeleton who once defended their gates.

But magnified beyond their ability to comprehend.

I slow my advance, each deliberate step announcing non-hostile intent. My wings remain folded, great expanses of bone and shadow pressed against my spine.

Aeternus rests across my shoulder, blade angled away from the settlement.

Distance closes until Haven's walls spread before me like a child's construction. Guard posts cluster near the main gate, tiny figures scrambling to defensive positions.

They fear what approaches.

They should.

But not because I threaten them.

Because what I have become represents the magnitude of threats gathering beyond their sight.

I stop three hundred yards from the walls, close enough for communication yet far enough that my presence does not overwhelm their defenses.

The Hallowed Legion stands where I left them days ago, perfect ranks of skeletal warriors maintaining vigil outside Haven's gates.

Their Captain detaches from formation as I approach, his own imposing frame dwarfed by my transformation.

He moves with purpose, not the shambling gait of mindless undead but the measured stride of an officer approaching his superior.

His burning gaze travels upward, taking in the magnitude of my transformation. If he feels surprise or uncertainty, it does not register in his hollow features.

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I regard the Captain with approval. The Legion has held their assigned position without deviation, leadership. Dedication.

"Maintain position," I order. "The Drowned Kingdom moves against Haven within days. Your vigil continues."

He nods.

The Captain returns to formation, his authority over the Legion unquestioned. They are extensions of my will, but they operate through military hierarchy.

Order imposed through competence rather than compulsion.

I turn my attention to Haven's walls.

Commander Ikert stands atop the main gate, her small form barely visible against the fortifications. Even at this distance, I can sense her tension, the weight of command pressing down on shoulders that have carried too much for too long.

She does not flee or call for retreat despite the impossibility of my transformation.

She waits.

That alone speaks to her character, the same steadfast courage that marked her bloodline.

I approach the walls with deliberate care, each footstep measured to avoid damaging the foundations. The ground trembles beneath divine weight, but the construction holds.

Ballista crews track my movement from their positions, though they do not loose bolts. They have learned to recognize friend from foe, even when that friend transcends their understanding.

I stop before the main gate, my transformed height placing my skull level with the wall's upper reaches.

Commander Ikert meets my burning gaze without flinching.

"Death's Champion," she acknowledges, her voice steady despite the impossibility before her. "You return changed."

"The Field demanded it," I reply, words carrying across the silence that has fallen over Haven's defenders. "What approaches requires more than what I was."

She nods slowly, accepting transformation as another tactical variable to consider.

"The Drowned Kingdom?"

"Soon."

"So, what will you do?" she says.

"I wait."

I turn to Haven's walls. Their stones, rebuilt with desperation, now stand firm. They will hold.

Commander Ikert meets me halfway up the ramparts, small beneath my shadow. Her eyes, steady. Wary. Respectful.

I pause my stride. Wings fold against my back. Bone and flame quiet to a low ember.

She nods. "You are beyond anything we envisioned."

I study her face. Lines of worry, of command. Sleepless nights carved into flesh that remembers easier times.

"You called me. You needed more."

Her breath catches. She steadies herself against the stone parapet, knuckles white against weathered granite.

"More indeed." She swallows. Silent for a heartbeat.

The varnish cracks.

A commander's doubt bleeding through discipline. Then resolve.

"You have transcended my mandate." She bows her head, the gesture carrying weight beyond mere courtesy. "Command of these walls, and these people, is yours."

A hush falls over the defenders. Stone and steel hold their breath. Candlelight flickers in embrasures.

I incline my skull in acknowledgment. No triumph. No pride.

Only purpose.

"No."

The word carries across Haven's ramparts like a judge's verdict. Final. Absolute.

Ikert's head snaps up. Confusion wars with relief in her expression.

"You are Haven's commander," I continue, my voice resonating through bone and stone.

I advise, tend the walls. My legion stands ready, skeletal forms at the ready. Yet the walls themselves need repairs.

There are cracks, damages, remnants of past assaults etched into stone like scars.

They need resetting, respite, and more.

Commander Ikert's gaze sharpens as she studies the fortifications.

"Fine then," she says, her voice carrying authority as she steps back to survey the scene.

Her hands point toward specific areas, marking flaws in the stonework with a practiced eye. "This section has taken too many hits; we must reinforce it with timber from the old barracks." She gestures again toward a breach on the north wall.

"And we'll need to patch this gap before nightfall."

I observe her movements, approving of her decisiveness. Each command flows seamlessly from her lips, echoing through Haven's defenders as they scramble to gather materials and tools. There is an energy in her presence that stirs something within my frame, a memory of inspiration of men who were led to struggle against fate.

Ikert's brow furrows as she steps closer to a spot where a blow from a massive beast has partially caved in the wall.

"We can't just let this be."

"Your assessments are sound," I reply. "Reinforcements will hold for now."

She nods, focusing intently on strategizing repairs while I scan our surroundings for any signs of approaching threats. The tension in the air thickens like an impending storm brewing over distant mountains.

The drums grow louder.

Beyond Haven's sight, my fragments move through shadow and corruption. The Wild Hunt roams fast across the wastes, skeletal wolves and their Alpha tearing through demon patrols that venture too close to mortal lands.

I feel every kill through bone and purpose.

Already some miles out, the Graveking's legion advances into the Endless Rot. Twelve hundred skeletal warriors march in formation.

The movement echoes in my frame.

"They come from the water," Ikert says, pointing toward the eastern approach where mist rises from hidden streams.

I nod. Through the Wild Hunt's eyes, I see amphibious raiders emerging from tributaries miles from Haven. Barnacled horrors shambling through reed beds, their corrupted forms leaving trails of black ichor.

The Alpha's pack circles wider, cutting off retreat routes.

"How many?" Ikert asks.

"Enough to test your walls. Not enough to breach them."

The Drowned Kingdom sends probing forces, testing Haven's defenses while larger powers gather strength. This assault serves as distraction while something greater moves beneath dark waters.

Commander Ikert's jaw tightens as she processes tactical implications. Her ancestors' blood carries understanding of warfare, the same instincts that once led legions against impossible odds.

"We hold the walls," she decides. "Let them break themselves against stone."

Through the Graveking's awareness, I sense massive wings beating near the Endless Rot. Something ancient stirs, disturbed by skeletal intrusion into territories claimed by corruption.

War spreads across multiple fronts.

The Wild Hunt tears demon scouts apart before they can report Haven's strengthened defenses. The Graveking's legion carves deeper into rotting lands, each mile claimed another step toward cleansing corruption.

And here, at Haven's walls, I stand ready to face whatever emerges from eastern waters.

All fragments serve the same purpose. All versions advance the same war.

The drums cease.

Silence stretches across the approaches, heavy with anticipation.

Even the wind holds its breath.

"They begin," I announce, wings spreading wide as blue flame brightens along every bone plate.

Haven's defenders take position. The Hallowed Legion shifts formation.

Darkness gathers on all horizons, but it finds us ready.

Death's Champion goes to war.