The battle raged on, the clash between the valiant soldiers and the relentless zombie horde intensifying with each passing moment. Arthur’s commanding voice echoed through the chaos as he rallied his troops.

“Soldiers, charge!” his voice thundered across the battlefield, resolute and unwavering.

With swords firmly gripped in their hands, the warriors surged forward, a wave of determined resolve crashing upon the sea of undead before them. The mages in the rear lines unleashed their potent spells, arcane energies colliding with the relentless advance of the zombies.

Steel clashed against rotting flesh as the soldiers engaged the undead in brutal combat. But amidst the chaos, a startling realization emerged – not all zombies were created equal. Some fell with ease, their decaying bodies no match for the skill and precision of the soldiers’ strikes. Yet, there were others, tougher and more resilient, their decomposed flesh resistant to the blades.

“Grok, I’m heading in. Cover me!” Arthur called out, his sword held aloft, ready to carve a path through the undead horde.

“Go on, and be careful,” Grok replied, his gaze scanning the battlefield as he skillfully dispatched the zombies threatening to flank Arthur.

Arthur took a deep breath, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. He charged forward, his resolve unwavering. As he neared the heart of the zombie onslaught, a surge of determination coursed through his veins.

“I won’t falter,” Arthur whispered to himself, a mantra of unwavering resolve.

Then, a sudden surge of power welled within him, drawing upon the depths of his inner strength. With a focused mind and unwavering determination, he unleashed a formidable skill honed through countless battles.

“Here goes nothing! HYAAAAAAA!” Arthur bellowed, his voice resounding through the chaos.

In an instant, a radiant shield of brilliant golden light materialized around the tip of his sword. It crackled with ethereal energy, pulsating with a raw power that sent tremors through the air.

Golden Shield

Gathers mana around the tip of your sword and reforms it into the shape of a shield that glows golden. Enemies touching it will be knocked back, while undead enemies will be instantly burned based on their defenses.

This skill can be used three times per day, with a limited duration.

Mana consumption for this skill is minimal, near zero.

The shield, a testament to Arthur’s indomitable will and unwavering determination, radiated a potent aura of protection. With a surge of energy, he charged headlong into the horde, the brilliant shield leading the way.

As the zombies came into contact with the shield, they met a swift and fiery demise. Flames erupted from their decaying bodies, their wails of agony filling the air. The golden shield repelled them, knocking them back with an explosive force.

Grok, ever vigilant, continued his valiant efforts on the battlefield, ensuring that no threat approached Arthur from the rear. His powerful strikes cleaved through the undead with deadly precision, each swing a testament to his unwavering resolve.

Meanwhile, Arthur pressed deeper into the heart of the horde, his golden shield a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. Within seconds, he reached the core of the enemy’s ranks, only to be greeted by a sight that sent a shiver down his spine.

At the center of the horde stood a monstrous being, unlike any he had encountered before. It possessed not just two, but four long and sinewy arms, each ending in razor-sharp claws that dripped with the blood of countless victims. Its lower body was equally grotesque, with four elongated, skeletal legs that granted it an unsettling speed and agility. It scuttled across the ground with an otherworldly grace, a nightmare given form.

The zombie Chimera’s eyes burned with an intense crimson glow, radiating malevolence that pierced the very souls of those who met its gaze. It saw through the darkness with a terrifying clarity, a predator in search of its next meal.

But what truly set this abomination apart was the grotesque sight within its exposed chest cavity. There, a beating heart lay encased within a cage of cold, unyielding steel bones. It pulsed with an unholy energy, as if fueled by the suffering and despair it inflicted upon its victims.

The zombie Chimera, a wretched fusion of life and death, embodied pure horror. It was a creature born of nightmares, an embodiment of terror that served as a chilling reminder of the boundaries humanity should never dare to cross.

“Graaawwwwrrrrrr….” The zombie Chimera growled, its guttural roar reverberating through the battlefield. Everyone present felt the weight of its presence, though only the undead leader and its soldiers truly comprehended its significance.

Frank, ever observant, swiftly made his way towards Grok, urgency etched on his face.

“Sir, Grok. Chk-Chk,” Frank interjected, swiftly dispatching three zombies with a single, fluid swing of his sword.

“What is it, Frank?” Grok responded, his attention momentarily diverted from the horde.

“We have to call the king back, or he will meet his demise at this rate,” Frank explained, his words underscored by a sense of urgency. .

Grok’s eyes widened, his mind racing to comprehend the situation. “How do you know this? Explain!”

“The cry we heard, it was the ‘Undead’s Cry.'”

Frank took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, before delivering his explanation. “Undead’s Cry is a forbidden skill, known only to the undead creatures themselves. It is a testament to their sinister connection to the realms beyond the living. When an undead creature’s master assigns them a task, this skill becomes their instrument to fulfill it. However, it comes at a heavy price.”

“As the skill is invoked, the user taps into the depths of hell, channeling dark powers that seep through the veil between the living and the dead. These powers infuse the undead with otherworldly strength, enabling them to perform feats beyond mortal capabilities.”

Frank’s voice held a tinge of caution as he continued, his words laced with both knowledge and trepidation. “During the activation of Undead’s Cry, the user becomes virtually invincible for a duration of ten minutes. No conventional means can bring about their demise, not even the most potent forms of holy magic. It is as if they have become untouchable, shielded by an impenetrable darkness that repels any attempts to harm them.”

“Furthermore, Undead’s Cry grants the user a remarkable transformation. Their form becomes unnaturally nimble, moving with an agility and grace that defies their decaying nature. Their muscles surge with newfound strength, bestowing them with enhanced physical prowess that surpasses the limits of their mortal coil.”

Frank paused, his gaze meeting Grok’s, a sense of foreboding permeating the air. “However, such power comes at a great cost. As the undead creature taps into the wellspring of dark energy, their own physical body begins to deteriorate rapidly. Flesh withers, bones crack, and life essence drains away, sacrificed to sustain the intense potency of Undead’s Cry. Once the skill’s duration expires, the undead is left weakened, their body on the brink of collapse, as the toll for wielding this formidable ability is exacted in full.”