From the ruined alleys and shattered homes, figures began to step into the dim light.
Clad in tarnished armor and draped in the remnants of their once-proud military uniforms, they marched forward with unnatural precision. Their movements were stiff, mechanical—but there was no mistaking who they once were.
Wolfgang soldiers.
Only now, they weren't alive.
Their eyes glowed with eerie violet light, hollow and devoid of humanity. Their weapons—rusted swords, broken spears, and splintered shields—were still gripped in death-stiffened hands.
And behind them… more came. Dozens. Hundreds.
Sera clicked her tongue. "Tch. Necromancy?"
Eris didn't answer. She was staring at them, her grip on her sword tightening.
These weren't just fallen warriors.
They were her people.
And someone—something—had turned them into this.
Her chest burned with anger, cold and sharp as the winter winds she wielded.
"This is unforgivable."
