Coalition of those that can fight, living representation of Viridis's last bastion, they descend upon the natural enemy, ascending- Awaiting a miracle has bore no fruits, so they shall create one with what is left, from their own hands.
A miracle born of mortal wishes, for their salvation, wished upon themselves, granted upon them without the divine.
How many miracles will be necessary?
"Captain! Undeads are everywhere, it's a massacre! What are we going to do?!" a young mage reported to a man in armour, a solemn atmosphere engulfing the surrounding area, as many combatants of all sorts were gathered on flat rooftops, barracks right underneath their feet, swarms of decaying monsters filling their sights.
"Should we throw spells in?" another caster questioned weakly.
"Fool! They are ignoring the people on the roofs for now… Why would you provoke them? Just- Just allow us a bit of peace…" a soldier, his face darkened by his helm, was sitting on the ground, hugging his knees, weapon laying on the ground.
Few mages knew how to float up, all of them that had known such a trick had readily attempted to flee, only to be instantly shot down by a brown-robed skeleton, standing upon his tower of earth, the undead stood still.
Everyone up on the walls were brutally slaughtered, the people inside buildings, out on the streets were ripped to pieces by the horde, many soldiers and guards should inside of the walls, but it made no doubt that they too were being pulled apart at this very instant, it was simply impossible of knowing where screams were coming from at the moment, cries of help, death shouts rang out from all direction, clearly growing weaker by the seconds.
The captain of the guards, considering the situation, was pretty much in charge by now, he couldn't be certain, but the city lord was probably dead already, his residence was right next to the center of Bourgliotte, the chances of survival were null.
"Arm yourselves… Something- It's coming" he did not spare a moment for a grand speech, having been fixated on the beings he assumed were leading this murderous assault, a mage that was weaving mana without budging, a giant in armour that was targeting guilds and other fighter associations…
All of them seemed to be focusing on something, there had been a hideous creature amidst them, but all sight was instantly lost the moment this one decided to move, no one was able of following the pale-faced devil's movements.
The captain was warning his people about neither of those three, for unlike what some seemed to believe, there was a hunter scouring the rooftops, they had simply not been paying attention, wallowing around and trying to escape into their minds.
A deep purple glow emanating from within the armour, the angel of putrescence flocked nearby, flying up further, dark wings extending with the sickly sound of breaking bones and rupturing flesh, becoming unwieldy large.
Circulating mana throughout his body and equipment, the captain stared wide eyed at the undead creature, what was it doing? What would be its next move? Were his eyes deceiving him?
To serve as the captain of Bourgliotte, one needed to have experience, strength, connections, knowledge, have an understanding of the situation on the continent, know about the other nations, one did not end up with this occupation by accident or luck, he could recognise many styles and powers, and as such, no one was more afraid than he was.
The people around were ignorant of the truth, how envious he was, but now was not the time to falter, for legs to shake, to wobble and panic.
Both enormous wings coiled and wrapped around the undead, quickly snapping back into position, seemingly defying physics, only slightly flying back as exactly ten sphere of miasma formed on the inside of the feathery limbs, condensing until it took on a darker shade, rot weaved and changed inside, skulls forming.
The miasmic skulls began to move, floating at a relatively slow speed at odd angles toward the group of living, leaving a trail of death fog behind themselves, swing of the wings, a soldier closer to the edge of the roof was grabbed by the head.
With massive momentum, his head was ground up against the flat stone surface, a line of blood and sparks risen from the contact of the helm and rock, only grasping pitiful remains where a head should have been, the undead had arrived behind everyone, taking a second for them to turn around, at least, for the majority.
"I said arm yourselves! Don't just stand around!" the captain, thrusted his spear at the invader, striking multiple times before the people around him began coming to their senses, that was when the miasmic skulls also arrived as well, the jaws opening and closing mechanically.
'Shit!' he cursed, his weapon successfully stabbing right in between the gaps of the undead's helm, yet, he felt no response that was to be expected, and his spear was stuck, getting pulled in and most certainly broken down by decay.
A guard made the mistake of trying to hit one of the floating skulls as it came toward him, triggering its effect, exploding into a shower of shrapnel and corrosive blood, but most importantly forming a large sphere of miasma nearly encompassing the entirety of the rooftop, as well as activating all of the skulls as they were within the radius.
The captain of the guards abandoned his spear and jumped off toward another nearby roof, feeling his skin sizzling, dark spots appearing in his vision.
He unsheathed his side arm, taking notice that no one other than him had managed to avoid the initial blast of each of the skulls, having been wounded and made sitting ducks for the miasma, vile mist seeping into their wounds, pinning them to the ground with sheer agony.
'Why is it just standing there?' having been expecting a ruthless and endless assault, the captain had been ready to fight until the end, but right now, his despicable adversary was pointing its palm straight up at the sky, a small spike of bone was expelled from the center of the hand.
"Ooh…" only a faint gasp was able of escaping his lips after the undead stomped his foot, bone spikes and ribs stabbing right into the living's legs and back, staring up at the sky, dozens upon dozens of white spikes raining down.
Loimos took off again, leaving the skewered corpse of the captain of Bourgliotte's guard, usually, he would have decay it but such things were for The Graveyard today, especially a cadaver of such good quality, even if it had not been difficult for Loimos to take him out, he had been somewhat strong.