The hobgoblin never saw her coming.


    The first blast of violet fire struck him clean across the ribs, launching him into a crumbling pillar. He howled, smoke pouring from the seams of his makeshift armor.


    But he didn’t fall.


    He roared—and charged.


    “Veyna—MOVE!”


    She pivoted in mid-air, narrowly avoiding the axe that sang past her spine. Her return fire cracked against his greaves, slowing him—barely.


    Meanwhile, Malrik’s skeletal scout was engulfed by the trio of goblins. Blades flashed. Bone splintered. One goblin leapt atop its back, stabbing wildly, shrieking victory.


    “Malrik!” Nyra’s voice cracked like thunder. “Lead! This is your army—command it or lose it!”


    He clenched his teeth. Fear buckled in his chest.


    And then broke.


    “Veyna—draw him right! Pillar formation!”


    She obeyed instantly, skating around the edge of stone, keeping the hobgoblin’s wrath fixated.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    “Scout—break left! Feint, then lunge!”


    The skeleton jerked, its movements suddenly precise. It ducked under a blade, rolled, and plunged its dagger into the neck of the nearest goblin. Blood sprayed. The creature dropped twitching.


    Two left.


    Malrik stood now, breath burning in his lungs.


    “Veyna—hit his shoulder! Drop him!”


    A bolt of violet fire streaked out and struck the hobgoblin high. He roared in pain, dropping to one knee.


    The goblin scout slashed wildly, catching another in the gut. Screaming, it collapsed.


    The third goblin turned to flee.


    “Don’t,” Malrik growled.


    “Veyna. Stop it.”


    One final shot of soulfire.


    The goblin crumpled before its foot hit the corridor.


    And then—silence.


    Veyna hovered back toward him, tattered robe scorched at the hem, the violet glow in her eyes burning low but steady.


    “You learn quickly,” she said.


    Malrik staggered slightly, his head throbbing, temple bleeding from a rock he hadn’t even noticed.


    “I made mistakes,” he muttered.


    “You lived through them,” Nyra answered, her tone like a satisfied wind. “That’s more than most.”


    Malrik looked around the chamber. Four corpses.


    One hobgoblin.


    Three goblins.


    All his.


    “Claim them,” Nyra whispered. “They are the beginning. Raise them. Shape them. Command them.”


    He knelt beside the hobgoblin. Its armor sizzled with lingering soulfire. Its eyes stared lifelessly into the dark.


    He reached for the ring.


    [Store Corpse: Hobgoblin Stalker – Status: Preserved – Confirm?]


    “Yes,” he breathed.


    One by one, he gathered them.


    [Goblins Stored: 2/6] [Hobgoblin Stored: 1/6]


    His army was growing.


    Not of soldiers born from flags or nations.


    But of the forgotten. The fallen.


    And they would rise again.


    Under his name.


    Under his will.


    Because Malrik Valtor no longer walked alone.


    He walked with the dead.