Nero's lungs burned. Every breath brought the stench of rot and iron deep into his chest, and still, the Wraiths came. Hundreds, thousands, unending. Their black claws tore through bone, smashed armor, shredded flesh. Screams erupted in every direction. The ground was slick with blood, viscera mixed with decomposed bone, and candidate bodies piled atop each other like grotesque barricades.
He pivoted, thrusting his spear through the chest of one towering Wraith. Its limbs flailed violently, striking the ground, sending shards of bone flying into his face. A scream cut behind him. A boy, barely nineteen, had been caught by two Wraiths, his armor torn open, black rot spreading in a creeping wave across his chest. Nero jabbed, twisting his spear. The creatures shrieked, spittle and black ichor spattering across his face.
