The village militia didn’t come quietly.Thorne heard them before he saw them, boots splashing through mud, steel clinking, a voice chanting low prayers that made his new bones itch. He crouched behind a cracked mausoleum in the graveyard’s heart, Grim at his side like a silent shadow. The skeleton’s noose swayed gently in the rain, its green eye-lights dim but steady. Two more fresh graves had yielded nothing but brittle old bones, too decayed even for his system to harvest properly. Pathetic pickings.His body protested every movement. The rot had slowed thanks to the two souls, but it hadn’t stopped. Black veins pulsed under peeling skin, and his left leg dragged with a wet grind. Still, the rage burned hotter than the decay. Those villagers had called him devil’s spawn. They would learn what a real devil looked like.“Spread out!” a gruff voice barked. “The priest says it’s weak. Holy water and silvered blades…don’t let it touch you!”Lanterns bobbed closer. Thorne counted eight m

Dusk bled across the border like an open wound, painting the sky in bruised purples and fading reds. Thorne moved through the underbrush with his five undead in tight formation, the new Soul-Scarred body carrying him smoother than before. The rot was no longer a constant drag; it was a whisper now, a reminder rather than a curse. His steps made almost no sound, thanks to the stolen Scout’s Stealth. Grim flanked left, axe in bony grip, while Rend and the others carried scavenged spears and shields scavenged from the skirmish site.The Solace border outpost rose ahead, a squat wooden fort reinforced with stone at the base, watchtowers jutting like broken teeth. Torches flickered along the walls, and the faint clang of a dinner bell carried on the evening breeze. Twenty defenders, by the system’s rough count pulsing in Thorne’s vision. Mostly low-level soldiers, but two carried the faint holy shimmer of blessed weapons.[Threat Assessment: Outpost Garrison – 22 living. 2 Holy-Infused Bla

Dawn clawed at the horizon like a reluctant witness as Thorne stood at the heart of the Bonefields. The shallow mounds had become a forest of rising dead. Twenty-seven undead now, their ranks swelling with every harvest. Not the weak graveyard thralls from before, these were soldiers. Cracked helms still clinging to skulls, rusted blades fused to bony grips, postures carrying echoes of old formations.Grim moved among them like a shadow with purpose, the new lieutenant’s darkened cloak rippling despite the still air. Its voice carried that dry, bitter edge, stolen from the suicide but honed by battlefield fragments. “Left flank’s sloppy, boss. These ones died facing the wrong way. Fix the link or they’ll trip over their own femurs.”Thorne didn’t snap back. He adjusted the soul tether with a thought, and the formation tightened. No more raw commands. This was coordination, the first taste of true legion command. Vex loomed at the rear, enforcer bulk acting as anchor, its club clearing

The waystation’s courtyard still reeked of smoke and blood when Thorne planted the Domain Seed.Fifty-two undead stood in disciplined ranks, weapons looted and freshly blooded. Grim paced the parapet like a restless shadow, cloak fluttering as it scanned the tree line. Vex anchored the gate, massive club resting across one shoulder, its new anti-divine veins pulsing faintly. The rest formed three companies, infantry wall, enforcer hammers, and marksmen on the roofs, each sharpened by Legion Pulse sharing the latest stolen tactics.Thorne knelt at the center of the yard, claws sunk into the blood-soaked earth. The corrupted holy token from the caravan throbbed in his palm. He crushed it fully this time, letting the twisted divine spark bleed into the ground.“Take root,” he commanded.Black energy erupted outward in a silent wave. The soil drank it greedily. Wooden walls darkened at the edges, veins of necrotic wood threading through the timber like living rot. Torches flickered from w

Midnight cloaked the land as Thorne’s horde marched east from the Blackened Threshold, sixty-four strong and growing hungrier with every step. The Domain Seed had leveled to 2 during the hold, spreading faint necrotic veins along their path like roots seeking graves. Grim led the vanguard with its shadow-roguish grace, Veyl the new Death Knight seed marched at the center in fused bone-plate, axe and shield ready. Vex anchored the rear, club dragging faint furrows in the dirt.Thorne moved at the heart, corrupted holy sword humming faintly against his hip. His Necrotic Commander form had solidified further, taller frame, segmented bone armor covering chest and limbs, green eyes cutting through the dark like embers in a tomb. The rage that had birthed him in that cursed sarcophagus burned steadier now, no longer wild panic but cold, calculated fire.The war barrows rose ahead under moonlight: ancient earthen mounds dotted across a wide, scarred valley, some crowned with broken standing