The announcer walks to the center of the green. He bellows out. “Your Majesty, lords, ladies, And our beautiful People of the kingdom. Welcome to the Semifinals. We have The Lizardman Zavet and Vexx Andiesen, older brother to lord Vlad Andiesen.”

  The courtyard green buzzes with anticipation as Vexx and Zavet approach the center of the arena. Vexx, his demeanor cold and detached, wields a basic iron short sword in one hand and a longsword in the other. Each weapon, though simple in design, gleams under the afternoon sun. Zavet, a seasoned lizard man, checks his weapon, Rumpwhip, and his sturdy shield, ensuring they are battle-ready. The metallic clink of his shield is reassuring. He lifts his gaze, meeting Vexx's determined stare as the announcer raises his hand, ready to signal the beginning of the duel.

  Without warning, Vexx charges forward, his eyes locked on Zavet. He leaps into the air, swords poised to strike. The announcer’s voice cuts through the tension, “Begin!” The clash is immediate and violent—Vexx’s swords meet Zavet’s shield with a resounding clang. The force of the impact sends Zavet crashing to the ground, his shield buckling under the pressure. Vexx lands deftly, his form agile and predatory.

  Both combatants quickly regain their footing and begin to circle each other, eyes narrowed in focused intensity. Vexx’s movements are fluid and precise, betraying a level of skill that seems almost unexpected. His strikes are a blur of steel as he presses his advantage, his swords cutting through the air with lethal intent.

  On the sidelines, an old elf materializes beside Talich, who is cheering fervently for Zavet. An ethereal glow and an air of authority mark the elf’s appearance. “How has our little lizard fared in the tournament?” the elf inquires, his voice a low murmur though it carries an underlying command.

  Talich, caught off guard but quickly regaining composure, turns to face the elf. “Master? What brings you here?” he asks, his voice tinged with surprise and respect.

  The elf places a weathered hand on Talich’s shoulder; his touch is reassuring and commanding. “I sensed a significant surge of energy emanating from this area,” he explains, his gaze fixed intently on Zavet. “I needed to relay a command directly to you. You and the lizard must assist the city with the impending events. Maintain a favorable appearance. Consider taking over a barony. Have Zavet align himself with Lina for the time being. I have further tasks for him once he ingratiates with their circle.”

  As the elf begins weaving a complex spell, murmuring arcane words, Talich watches with keen interest. The magic weaves around the elf, shimmering with an otherworldly light. “We will do as commanded,” Talich responds with a slight bow of his head, his voice firm and resolute.

  Back in the arena, the fight has reached a fever pitch. Vexx’s attacks are relentless, leaving a trail of blood and injuries on Zavet. The lizard man’s cold-blooded nature gives him extraordinary tolerance for pain and injury. Despite the grievous wounds of a missing eye, a severed arm at the elbow, and numerous punctures, Zavet’s resolve remains unshaken. His breathing is labored, his movements sluggish, yet he stands firm, his gaze unwavering.

  Facing Vexx, Zavet’s raspy but determined voice emerges. “Why do you fight like this now when you fought so differently in your previous matches?”

  Vexx halts his advance, lowering his swords. His expression shifts to casual disdain, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “My apologies,” he says, his tone dripping with condescension. “I seldom leave the Andiesen Estate. My primary role is training the Andiesen guards. I initially entered this tournament out of boredom. However, with the lords participating, I saw an opportunity to remind them of their lesser standing compared to the House of Andiesen. My little brother’s defeat at the hands of someone from the north was a disgrace to our family.”

  Zavet, his resolve steeled and voice resolute, responds with a dismissive shrug. “That someone from the north is named Alley. She put up a better fight than you. You talk too much.”

  The shift in Zavet’s demeanor is palpable; his focus and determination are sharper than ever. The duel has become more than a mere contest of skill. It is a testament to Zavet’s indomitable spirit and Vexx’s arrogance. Mesmerized by the unfolding drama, the crowd waits, awaiting the next move in this high-stakes confrontation.

  The magic that the old elf weaved seeped into Zavet from the ground. Vexx did not realize why he got so many hits off Zavet. It was not because he was better than him but because he was receiving Messages from the old elf through magic. He was told to stand exactly Where he is currently standing. All of Zavet's wounds closed, and his missing Limbs started to grow back extremely fast. A voice command from Talich's Master creeps into Zavet's mind. Win this tournament. The command rang through his mind. His mind entered another state of Concentration.

  Vexx charged in with unmatched skill, which this tournament has yet to see. Zavet waited for the last second, just as the swords were a foot from his face. He threw himself backward into a backflip. He wrapped his tail around his opponent's leg, causing Vexx to do the slips. Vexx screamed in pain and rolled over, escaping an onslaught of kicks, tail whips, and claws.

  In panicked defensive maneuvers, Vexx cut the lizardman's tail off. The onslaught stopped, giving him time to stand up. Zavet used this time to grab his rump whip and his shield.

  As the duel resumes, Zavet adopts a new strategy. Each time Vexx lunges with a sword, Zavet counters with precise bursts of magic, conjuring barriers of shimmering energy and pulses of elemental force. Vexx, initially surprised, quickly adapts. He nods in acknowledgment, a flicker of appreciation crossing his face as he begins to mirror Zavet’s magical responses. With a deft flick of his wrist, he channels the same type of magic, creating a fluid exchange of magical prowess between them.

  The air crackles with the clash of magic and steel, the arena’s atmosphere is tense. Zavet, however, catches a whiff of something familiar—an unmistakable scent of necromancy. His eyes narrow as he looks at Vexx with renewed scrutiny. “You use necromancy too,” Zavet accuses, his voice a low growl.

  Vexx, momentarily losing his frustrated scowl, winks at Zavet with a hint of satisfaction. “Indeed. It’s a useful tool,” he admits casually, gesturing to a healed wound that would have otherwise been a gaping injury. “It healed me.”

  Zavet glances down at the wound that should have been on Vexx, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and understanding. “I see,” he responds, his tone heavy with realization.

  Still excited, the crowd falls into stunned silence as Vexx abruptly raises his hand. “I forfeit!” he declares with a dramatic flourish. His sudden decision leaves the spectators in disbelief, and the crowd roar transforms into a murmur of confusion and speculation. Vexx strides off the green with a confident, almost defiant stride.

  The Queen rises from her seat, her regal presence commanding attention. She addresses the discontented crowd with a voice both soothing and authoritative. “You must respect his decision, whether you agree with it or not. It is his right to forfeit. We rarely have the honor of witnessing a trainer from such a prestigious household as the House of Andiesen enter our tournament. I extend my gratitude to Vexx for the captivating performance he has given. Your display thoroughly entertained both Her Majesty and me.”

  Her gaze shifts to Zavet, admiration evident in her eyes. “Our newcomer Zavet has demonstrated unparalleled tenacity. Such heart is rarely seen even among the generals of our army. We thank you, Zavet, for providing a fight that will be remembered forever. We now bestow upon you the title ‘The Unpredictable’ for your actions defy expectations and keep us on the edge of our seats.”

  Merlot Nurison, the formidable leader of Razlond, chuckles warmly as he applauds Zavet’s performance. He then turns to the Queen Consort, patting her hand affectionately. She responds with a loving smile, blowing him a kiss. Her lips form “love you,” a silent but heartfelt declaration of their bond.

  As the crowd settles, the announcer steps forward. “We have a winner!” he proclaims. “Zavet, please step off the green and take a moment to clean up. You’ve earned it.”

  Zavet, his energy depleted and his heart racing wildly, stumbles over to Talich. With a relieved exhale, he collapses into Talich’s supportive arms. Talich, his demeanor protective and reassuring, envelops Zavet in a firm embrace. “Breathe, boy. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, holding Zavet with the strength and tenderness of a bear cradling its young.

  The old bronze elf approaches, placing a comforting hand on Zavet’s back. “You fought well, my boy,” he says, his voice warm and encouraging. “I had no doubt you would prevail.”

  Zavet looks up, his voice breaking with fatigue. “Meh'na—”

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  He is interrupted by Talich’s firm squeeze. “Alright, Zavet, let’s discuss your strategy for your next opponent, Hoat. He wields two spears; one is a formidable weapon, and the other has a mind capable of attacking and defending autonomously. It’s going to be your toughest fight yet. You’ll need to rely heavily on your magic to have any chance of victory.”

  Talich releases Zavet and turns to the old bronze elf with urgency. “Master, do you have any advice or assistance for him?”

  The elf’s eyes sparkle with a knowing glint as he extends a hand toward Zavet. “Indeed,” he says, his voice imbued with ancient wisdom. As he channels energy through his hand, a warm, pulsating light envelops Zavet. The power surge causes Zavet’s eyes to glow a fierce red, and his claws and tail elongate and sharpen, an enhancement that remains unnoticed by those outside the green.

  Zavet feels the transformation within him, the added strength and precision making him feel more formidable than ever. With newfound resolve, he prepares for the challenges ahead, ready to face whatever comes next in the tournament.

  As the final match approaches, the courtyard green is electric with anticipation. Hoat and Zavet stand facing each other at the center of the arena. Before the announcer can make his customary call, Hoat confidently strides forward, eager to begin. Zavet, eyes narrowed and focused, remains calm and composed.

  The announcer’s voice cuts through the crowd's murmur, building excitement. “Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, we present the finals of one of the most thrilling tournaments in the past forty years. A newcomer has made it to the finals, an unprecedented achievement. Our lizard man fighter has displayed a level of power and determination that belies his size, with feats that some would have thought impossible. And now, he faces an opponent who is a legend in his own right.”

  The crowd roars in anticipation as the announcer continues. “His opponent is one of the greatest warriors of our kingdom, the leader of our most illustrious baronies, the lord of the seas, and a man of extraordinary accomplishment. He is Hoat, a name that will be remembered in the annals of history. Hoat won this tournament twenty years ago at fifteen, and he is the only known person to have ever defeated Sir Merlot Nurison. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you—Lord Hoat!”

  The roar of the crowd crescendos, their cheers echoing throughout the arena as the announcer steps back, signaling the start of the fight. The tension is palpable as the two combatants stand across from each other, sizing each other up.

  Hoat, a towering figure with supreme confidence, begins by summoning his spear. The weapon materializes in a greenish-gold light, crackling with magical energy. The spear’s ethereal glow contrasts sharply with Zavet’s more subdued presence. Zavet tightens his grip on Rumpwhip, his shield positioned defensively. The weight of the command to win the tournament bears heavily on his mind, and he watches Hoat’s every movement with intense concentration.

  Hoat moves with deliberate ease, feinting and probing for openings. His movements are a calculated dance meant to unbalance and unnerve his opponent. He launches a series of swift, probing attacks, each expertly aimed but ultimately blocked by Zavet’s steady defense. Zavet’s responses are smooth and confident, his shield effortlessly absorbing the impact of Hoat’s strikes.

  Suddenly, Hoat gestures, commanding the magical spear to act independently. The spear flies through the air, seeking Zavet as an autonomous entity. However, it skims past Zavet, unable to lock onto its target. Hoat’s eyes flash with understanding and slight frustration. “I anticipated this,” he admits, his voice hinting at resignation. “After revealing that I’m tied to the creator of this spear, I realized it can’t attack those who are connected to its creator. It’s a limitation of the magic, but it’s the best I can explain within these confines.”

  Hoat unsummons the spear with a flick of his wrist, the greenish-gold light fading from view. He closes the distance between them with remarkable speed, moving with an unnatural swiftness that defies expectations. He throws the spear behind Zavet, using it as a distraction, and then unleashes a flurry of kicks and punches. Each strike lands with precision, causing moderate but significant damage to Zavet. Despite his best efforts, Zavet struggles to counter the relentless assault.

  Hoat leaps back, raising his hand in a gesture of satisfaction. Just then, the spear reappears, thrusting toward Zavet’s back with deadly intent. The attack would have pierced him, but Mah’nethotep’s enchantments on Zavet’s body activated in the nick of time, mitigating the spear’s impact. The enchanted magic envelops Zavet, absorbing much of the blow and leaving him staggered but alive.

  The magical spear that struck Zavet's back spins out of his body and tumbles over his shoulder, leaving a trail of blood. Zavet winces in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He quickly lifts his shield hand, channeling his magic to heal the wound. The pain subsides as the wound begins to close, though the effort leaves him visibly shaken.

  Hoat, observing Zavet's swift recovery, grins with respect and excitement. “Oh, so you’re going to be a harder fight than I anticipated,” he declares, his voice bubbling with exhilaration. “This is getting interesting.”

  Without hesitation, Zavet surges forward, launching a relentless barrage of attacks. His movements are a blur of precision and fury. Hoat counters with fluid grace, parrying and evading with skillful agility. The clash of their weapons and the impact of their blows create a cacophony. Both combatants are soon covered in minor wounds, their skin marred by cuts and bruises. Despite the injuries, neither fighter pauses. They heal themselves as they continue their ceaseless exchange of strikes and defenses.

  Hoat decides to escalate the battle. With a commanding gesture, he summons a blast of fire magic, propelling himself high into the air. He hurls his spear toward Zavet from this aerial vantage point with deadly accuracy. Zavet, anticipating the attack, reacts swiftly. He throws his shield with precise aim, intercepting the spear mid-flight and knocking it out of the air with a resounding clang.

  As the spear clatters to the ground, Zavet grabs it, feeling its weight and the potent magic infused within it. But the spear’s returning magic is stronger than Zavet’s grip. The force pulls him through the air, dragging him towards Hoat. Zavet, in a desperate move, prepares a spell. His eyes blaze with determination as he unleashes a powerful burst of energy into Hoat’s chest. The spell's force propels both fighters downwards, their bodies hurtling through the air.

  They crash to the ground with a thunderous impact, a cloud of dust and debris erupting from the collision. Zavet seizes the moment, charging toward Hoat with a fierce resolve. He wraps his tail around Hoat’s neck, trying to strangle him into submission. But just as victory seems within reach, a spear materializes through Zavet’s chest, piercing him with deadly force.

  The body Zavet was choking fades into raw, swirling magic, revealing the illusion for what it was. Hoat’s true form emerges, and his expression is a mask of cold satisfaction. He shoves Zavet away, pinning him to the ground with a powerful grip.

  Hoat then casts a high-level healing spell with careful precision. The spell’s aura is subtle, cloaked in a veil of magic that hides its true nature. As the spell engulfs Zavet’s head, the intended effect becomes apparent: Zavet’s life is being drained away, leaving him helpless and on the brink of death. Hoat keeps the spell’s effect discreet, ensuring that no one in the crowd realizes it is a healing spell, thus preventing any interference or suspicion.

  Hoat leans in, his voice a low murmur filled with grim satisfaction. “As I thought,” he says quietly, his words barely audible above the crowd's din.

  Zavet’s vision fades as the spell takes its toll, his body succumbing to the enchantment’s fatal power. Once filled with the roar of excitement, the arena now falls silent as the crowd watches the match's dramatic conclusion, the shocking and devastating outcome.

  The crowd's cheers quickly turn to screams as everyone begins to rush the green. Using his magic, he leaps through the air and lands on the balcony. From there, he notices the chaos: people are attacking each other, their movements jerky and unnatural. "Undead, they are undead," he hears people screaming, desperately fighting for their lives amidst the madness.

  Mah'nethotep and Talich now stand atop the castle, with Talich holding Zavet's lifeless body. "Is this according to plan?" Talich asks.

  Mah'nethotep shakes his head. "No. I commanded all undead to stay away today. This is unnerving. As the master of the undead and necromancers, something of my caliber is at work here. But what can it be?"

  Talich lets Zavet's body dissipate, casting a spell on the ghost left behind. The ghost is a shadow of pure necrotic energy, reminiscent of the moon of necromancy.

  "By the power of necromancy, I command you, spirit, to serve my will. Follow the pull you feel towards the black pyramid. I will meet you there. Do not go towards the golden light at the healer's guild. Hear my command."

  The spirit slowly disappears as it journeys to the necromancer guild hall.

  The undead overwhelmed the city in mere moments. Each person they killed rose again as one of the undead, perpetuating the cycle. Panic and chaos spread as people ran for safety, but many did not leave the city. The streets were quickly filled with the fallen, and their once vibrant lives now twisted into an army of the undead.

  The queen is quickly escorted to one of the flying ships, which is kept as a precaution. The barony and their members fight valiantly to keep the royal family safe.

  Runner frantically searches for Zavet but never finds his friend. Amidst the chaos, he finds Alley, and together they fight the undead with all their might. The undead seem endless.

  Erenlond is the first to fall, followed by Razlond. Krimlond and Solond manage to reach their embassies. Solond barricades their sector of the city, but Krimlond lacks the manpower to hold off the hundreds of thousands of undead. They lose Teric and Scarlet in the fighting. Harley is separated from the group and ends up within Solond's sector of the city.

  Lina, Hoat, Gauge, Flynn, Runner, and Alley are the only survivors to their knowledge. They reach the Krimlond embassy and can board one of the ships, hoping to escape the nightmarish fate that has befallen their city.

  “We just lost all of our rituals and items,” Gauge says with a deeply sad sigh. Hoat is screaming for Harley, hoping she is still alive. “Gauge, can you message her?”

  Gauge shakes his head. “Sorry, all of that stuff was in our keep. We couldn't waste time to gather it. Sorry, sir. I truly am. But if she dies, she can resurrect at the keep back home. It may take her a week or so, but she will.”

  Unbeknownst to them, the people who became undead had their souls locked in their bodies. The undead would need to be killed before resurrecting, a deviation from the normal undead creation spells.