Beyond the Veil of Death

CHAPTER 11 THE DEMON ARMY

Zarkus followed the necromancer's lead, his heart pounding in his chest. Years of relentless training had brought him to this moment, yet now that it was here, an unexpected wave of nerves washed over him. This was what he had been prepared for—strength, power, and a new purpose. But stepping beyond the dungeon walls felt like crossing into the unknown.

The necromancer pushed open the heavy wooden door, and Zarkus stepped into the outside world. The air hit him hard, thick with the acrid stench of smoke and sulfur. The sound of shouting and clashing metal filled his ears, and as his eyes adjusted, the sprawling demon army camp came into view. Fires blazed, and countless tents stretched across the landscape. Demons of every shape and size trained in preparation for war.

The necromancer turned to Zarkus, his skeletal grin widening with dark satisfaction.

"Welcome to the demon army, little one," he rasped, his voice oozing with cruel delight. "This is where you'll spend the rest of your days—fighting, killing, and serving the will of the Demon Lord."

Zarkus looked around in awe as they stepped outside the dungeon and into the sprawling Demon Army camp. The stench of sulfur and smoke filled the air, and the sounds of clashing metal and shouting filled his ears. It was a terrifying and exhilarating scene all at once.

With a flick of his robed hand, the necromancer gestured for Zarkus to follow, his voice a commanding whisper.

"Come, my creation," he rasped, his tone commanding and dark. "It is time to speak with the general of this army."

Zarkus swallowed hard but nodded, following the necromancer as they ventured deeper into the camp. His senses were heightened, and he took in every detail—the gnashing of teeth, the glint of steel, and the tense, volatile energy that seemed to permeate the air.

As they neared the heart of the camp, passing row after row of tents, Zarkus noticed the soldiers eyeing him with a mixture of disgust and fear. Some muttered curses under their breath, their disdain for the necromancer's creation palpable. Zarkus tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the necromancer's unwavering stride.

Finally, they arrived at the general's tent—a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. The scent of burning candles and pungent incense wafted through the air, and the interior was furnished with plush carpets and cushioned chairs, a testament to the general's status.

At the far end of the tent, seated behind a large desk, was the general of the demon army. Clad in imposing red armor, the figure exuded authority. Zarkus felt a shiver of apprehension as the general's eyes locked onto him, studying him with a cold, unreadable gaze.

The necromancer approached the towering figure of the general, his skeletal form bowing low in a show of respect.

"Demon General," he intoned, his voice smooth but laden with deference, "I bring before you the newest addition to our ranks, as ordered by the Demon Lord."

The general's gaze lingered on Zarkus, piercing through him with an intensity that made him feel like a prey being scrutinized by a predator. "So, this is it," the general growled, his voice a deep rumble that echoed in the room. "The undead creature, crafted by the necromancer. How... fascinating."

Zarkus stood still, unease creeping through him as the general sized him up. There was something calculating in the way the general stared, as if weighing Zarkus's value—or perhaps, his threat.

Continuing with deference, the necromancer's voice remained respectful, though the pride in his creation was unmistakable.

"Yes, Demon General," he said, his tone dripping with reverence. "This is the undead creature I spoke of—crafted by my hand, but imbued with unimaginable power by the Demon Lord himself."

The general leaned back, the general's expression remained unreadable, though his aura was suffocating. His voice rumbled through the room like a distant storm. "I see..."

He cast a single, dismissive glance at the necromancer before his voice cut through the air like a blade. "Leave us. I wish to speak with the creature alone."

The necromancer bowed deeply before retreating, his eyes lingering on Zarkus for a moment before he disappeared, leaving the tent in oppressive silence. The air grew heavy, weighed down by the general's unyielding gaze. His command resonated, leaving no room for hesitation.

"Step closer," he ordered, his tone an undeniable force.

The voice was sharp, leaving no room for hesitation. An intense shiver ran down Zarkus's spine as he obeyed, stepping forward, each footfall heavy with the weight of the general's command. His heart pounded in his chest, but he moved cautiously toward the desk, his body tense.

The general leaned forward, resting his massive, armored arms on the desk. His sharp, predatory gaze scanned every inch of Zarkus's undead form. After a long, tense silence, his voice sliced through the air, deep and commanding.

"Tell me... what is your name, creature? Or do you even have one?"

Zarkus took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves under the general's intense scrutiny. "M-My name is Zarkus," he stammered. "I was once a goblin, before the necromancer transformed me."

The general raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his stone-like face. "Zarkus, is it? A name worthy of an undead abomination."

He paused, his eyes never leaving Zarkus, assessing, calculating. "The necromancer claims he has granted you power. Is that true?"

Zarkus nodded, still feeling small under the general's piercing gaze. Despite his newfound strength, the general's presence made him feel insignificant. "Yes, my lord. The necromancer gave me powers beyond anything I ever imagined. I'm capable of things I never thought possible."

The general's smirk widened, a cruel glint lighting up his eyes. "Is that so? We shall see."

Without warning, he stood, his massive frame towering over Zarkus, armor clinking softly as he rose. His voice boomed, filled with dark promise. "Come. Outside. Let's see if the necromancer's creation is as powerful as he claims."

Excitement mixed with apprehension in Zarkus's chest. On one hand, he was eager to prove himself, to show the general the power he had honed through years of relentless training. On the other hand, there was a gnawing uncertainty—was this a test, or something more?

"Yes, my lord," Zarkus said, doing his best to project confidence. "I'm ready to demonstrate my abilities."

The general gave him a pleased nod before turning and gesturing for Zarkus to follow. They stepped out of the tent, and Zarkus was once again hit by the acrid scent of sulfur and smoke. The din of the camp surrounded him—shouts, the clash of steel, and the low hum of restless energy from the demon army.

As they walked, Zarkus could feel the eyes of the soldiers on him—heavy with contempt, with hatred. He was something different, something unnatural in their midst. The stares burned into him, but he pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task ahead.