The Zombie System.

The crowd's roar splits the air. Underworld enforcers and black market dealers chants Valdris's name, their voices merging into a savage hymn.

Leon draws a steady breath. Pain flares in his side, but he pushes through it. His voice cuts across the arena: "Arouse!"

Blue light twists through the sand as his Elite Grave Mage materializes first—spectral bones wraps in dark energy, blue fire burning in empty sockets. Then comes the second figure that makes the organizer's face go ash-gray.

The undead assassin steps forward—the same woman who had tried to murder him hours ago, she moves with perfect precision. Twin knives glints in her hands.

Recognition flickers across several faces in the crowd. The organizer's hired killer is now serving her target and the irony is not lost on anyone.

Valdris's brute charges immediately, its sledgehammer sweeps down in a bone-crushing arc. Leon dives left, sand scraping his palms. The weapon strikes where he had just stood, sending tremors through the arena floor.

His Mage Zombie intercepts the brute's follow-up swing. Spectral bones cracks under the impact but holds firm. Blue sparks fly as undead grapples with undead.

The metal wolf leaps at Leon's legs, jaws snapping for his ankles. His assassin meets it mid-air. Steel rings against steel as her knives deflects their fangs, and they crash together in a tangle of limbs and blades.

The one-armed swordsman circles wide, searching for an opening. Leon tracks its movements, raising his manna gun, and fires. The shot scorches the sand, but the swordsman has already moved, its blade nicking Leon's forearm as it passes.

Blood wells through his sleeve. These are not mindless puppets typical of necromancy. Each of Valdris's minions moves with intelligence, coordination, and purpose.

"Impressed?" Valdris calls from across the pit. "Fifteen years of practice, boy. Your parlor tricks won't save you here."

Leon ignores the taunt and barks orders to his undead, coordinating their attacks. The assassin dances around the wolf, her precise movements slicing through rotted sinew. The beast's hind leg drags uselessly in the sand.

But Valdris's creatures adapts quickly. As Leon focuses fire on the wolf, the swordsman darts in from his blind spot. Steel scrapes across his ribs, parting cloth and skin. Leon spins away, firing wildly, but the swordsman has already withdrawn.

The brute abandons its struggle with the Mage Zombie and charges directly at Leon, its sledgehammer whistling through the air. Leon rolls aside just in time. The weapon smashes into the arena wall, sending stone chips flying.

His zombie presses the attack while the brute is off-balance. Spectral bolts hammers into its back, each impact leaving smoking holes in its dead flesh.

The crowd is on its feet now, coins flying through the air as betting odds shifted. This was the spectacle they had paid to see—death magic unleashed without restraint.

Leon baits the wolf with false openings. When it lunges, his assassin strikes from behind, knives punching through its spine. Black ichor sprays across white sand. The wolf collapses, twitching once before going still.

But victory comes at a cost. The swordsman's blade finds its mark, opening a gash across Leon's left thigh. Hot blood soaks his pants leg, and his vision blurs at the edges.

Leon's zombie tries to intercept but is too slow. The brute's weapon strikes it full in the chest, causing spectral ribs to explode in blue fragments. The zombie flies backward, crashing into the arena wall with bone-cracking force.

The swordsman presses its advantage, its blade sweeping toward Leon's throat in a killing stroke. Leon jerks his head back, steel passing inches from his neck. He presses the manna gun against the swordsman's knee and pulls the trigger.

Blue energy vaporizes bone and cartilage. The swordsman drops, its leg folds at an impossible angle. Yet even crippled, it continues to fight, dragging itself forward with its remaining arm.

Leon stands at the center of the pit, breathing heavily. His assassin limps toward him, one arm hanging uselessly where the wolf had savaged her. His Mage Zombie struggles to rise from the wall, half of its ribs missing.

The brute turns away from the zombie's wreckage, its eyes locking onto Leon's with predatory intensity. Blood drips from Leon's numerous wounds onto the sand.

Valdris's voice echoes across the arena: "You fight well for a pretender. But this ends now."

The brute hefts its sledgehammer, each step towards Leon shakes the ground beneath him. That weapon can crush his skull like an eggshell.

Leon feels the weight of his gun in his grip. His manna reserves dwindles after multiple shots, and one mistake can spell disaster.

The assassin attempts to flank the brute, but her injuries slows her down. The swordsman drags itself between them, its blade still menacing despite its shattered leg.

Leon wipes blood from his eyes, the crowd's roar fades into the background. Everything narrows to this moment—him against Valdris's remaining champions.

The brute raises its hammer overhead, and Leon sees his death reflected in its glassy eyes.

Then the weapon comes crashing down.

Leon throws himself sideways. The sledgehammer strikes the sand where he had just stood, sending up a spray of grit and leaving a crater on the arena floor.

Rolling to his feet, Leon presses his gun against the brute's ribs and fires at point-blank range. The mnana bolt tears through rotted flesh and bone, emerging from the creature's back in a spray of dark ichor.

The brute staggers but did not fall. Its free hand catches Leon by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Thick fingers tightens around his windpipe.

Stars burst behind Leon's eyes as his feet kicks uselessly at empty air. The brute's grip feels like iron bands crushing his neck.

From the corner of his vision, Leon sees his assassin drive both knives into the swordsman's back. The crippled undead collapses, finally still.

But Leon is running out of air. His vision darkens at the edges, and the manna gun feels impossibly heavy in his numb fingers.

He presses the barrel against the brute's temple and pulls the trigger.

Blue fire explodes through the creature's skull. Bone fragments and brain matter sprays across the arena. The brute's grip loosens, and Leon crashes to the sand, gasping for breath.

The crowd erupts in frenzied cheers. Leon drags himself to his knees, coughing blood onto the white sand now stained red and black.

Across the pit, Valdris's face has gone pale. His three champions lay motionless, their animations severed. Only the necromancer remains now.

Leon's assassin limps to his side, her movements unsteady from her injuries. His Mage Zombie pulls itself away from the wall, its spectral bones held together by sheer willpower.

Two battered undead stands against a master necromancer with fifteen years of experience.

Valdris raises his hands, dark energy crackles between his fingers. "Impressive display, boy. But now you face me directly."

Leon struggles to his feet, blood steadily dripping from his wounds. His gun has only two shots left before it will run dry. Every breath sends sharp spikes of pain through his ribs.

Yet he still stands. Still fights.

The crowd falls silent, sensing the battle's climax approaching. Two necromancers faces each other across sand soaked with the blood of the fallen.

Valdris's lips curves into a cold smile. "Let me show you what real death magic looks like."

He begins to chant in a language Leon deosn't recognize. The temperature in the arena drops by ten degrees, and shadows writhes along the walls like living entities.

Leon feels his undead falter as Valdris's power presses against them. The assassin's movements grow sluggish, and his zombie's blue fire dims.

Whatever Valdris was doing, it affects his undead.