Chapter Thirteen: The Horde Expands

As Alaric stood atop a ridge overlooking the kingdom of Eldoria, he felt the power of his ever-growing undead army surge beneath him. The village of Verindale had long since become a distant memory, replaced by an all-consuming mission of vengeance and domination. The death and rebirth of his people had become the catalyst for a revolution, and his undead horde was the key to ensuring that revolution's success.

His minions had been given a simple directive: spread through the land, convert the living into undead, and bring back those with potential for Alaric to transform into higher undead. The process was efficient, ruthless, and effective. Villages, towns, and even small cities were falling one by one, their populations turning into mindless zombies under Alaric's control.

In the quiet hamlet of Greenridge, the peaceful night was shattered by the sudden onslaught of undead. The initial panic gave way to chaos as the villagers realized the extent of the attack. Finn, Alaric's childhood friend turned undead warrior, led the charge. His enhanced abilities and strategic mind made him an invaluable leader on the battlefield.

"Take no prisoners!" Finn's voice echoed through the night, sending chills down the spines of the living.

The undead moved with a terrifying precision. Those who resisted were quickly overwhelmed and bitten, the necrotic energy of the bites spreading like wildfire. Within minutes, the bitten villagers fell to the ground, convulsing as the dark magic took hold. Moments later, they rose again, their eyes vacant and their minds empty. These new zombies were perfect for simple, direct commands and added to the horde's numbers.

However, amidst the carnage, Finn and his lieutenants—Gideon the ghoul and several other intelligent undead—were on the lookout for those with potential. They identified individuals displaying extraordinary courage, strength, or intelligence. These captives were taken alive, their fates reserved for Alaric's darker rituals.

Back at their hidden base, a derelict fortress deep in the heart of a forgotten forest, Alaric awaited the return of his minions. Each new captive was brought before him, bound and trembling with fear. Alaric's presence was imposing, his aura radiating power and authority.

One by one, the captives were presented. Alaric examined each with a critical eye, using his necromantic senses to gauge their potential. The transformation into higher undead was a delicate process, and only a select few were deemed worthy.

"Master," Finn reported, dragging a young woman before Alaric. "This one showed remarkable resilience. She fought off three of our kind before we subdued her."

Alaric's eyes gleamed with interest. "Very well," he said, extending his hand over her head. Dark energy flowed from his fingers, enveloping the woman in a cocoon of necromantic power. She writhed and screamed, but soon her cries turned into a guttural growl. When the transformation was complete, she stood before Alaric as a higher undead, her eyes glowing with a malevolent intelligence.

However, the success rate was low. Out of every hundred captives, only about eight successfully transformed into higher undead. The rest either died during the process or became mindless zombies, adding to the ranks of Alaric's horde but not enhancing its strategic capabilities.

Despite the low conversion rate, the sheer number of captives ensured that Alaric's army grew exponentially. From a few hundred, it swelled into the thousands. Each new town or village added to their ranks, and the undead army became a fearsome force, moving like a dark tide across the kingdom.

Alaric's strategy was methodical. He targeted settlements that could be easily overrun, avoiding larger cities with significant military presence—for now. His goal was to amass an army so vast and powerful that no force in Eldoria could stand against it. With every new conquest, his influence spread, and fear gripped the hearts of the living.

In the heart of the fortress, Alaric held court with his inner circle. Finn, Gideon, and a handful of other intelligent undead gathered to discuss their next moves.

"We need to move faster," Alaric declared, his voice cold and commanding. "The emperor will soon hear of our actions, if he hasn't already. We must be prepared to face his forces."

Finn nodded. "Our scouts report that the nearby town of Brookhaven is ripe for the taking. It has a small militia, but they are no match for our numbers."

Alaric considered this. "Very well. We strike at Brookhaven next. We must ensure that our attacks remain swift and brutal. Capture those with potential, and turn the rest."

As the meeting dispersed, Alaric felt the weight of his mission pressing down on him. The path he had chosen was fraught with peril and darkness, but he knew there was no turning back. Every attack brought him closer to his goal of avenging Verindale and toppling the emperor.

The assault on Brookhaven was swift and merciless. Under the cover of darkness, the undead horde descended upon the town. Panic spread quickly as the townsfolk realized the nature of their attackers. Finn led the charge, his sword cutting through the air with deadly precision.

The militia put up a valiant fight, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. Within hours, the town was overrun. The undead swarmed through the streets, biting and converting the living into mindless zombies. Finn and his lieutenants hunted down those who displayed potential, capturing them for Alaric's rituals.

Back at the fortress, Alaric continued his work. Each new captive was subjected to the same process, and the successful transformations added to the ranks of his higher undead. Despite the low success rate, the army's numbers continued to swell, and the power of his minions grew with each new addition.

One evening, as Alaric was preparing to perform another transformation, Finn approached him with a grim look on his face.

"Master, we have received reports that the emperor's forces are mobilizing. They are aware of our movements and are preparing to retaliate."

Alaric's eyes narrowed. "Then we must strike harder and faster. We need to spread our influence further before they can organize a proper defense. We will not give them the chance to recover."

Finn nodded. "What are your orders, Master?"

"Send out scouting parties to the surrounding villages and towns. We need to identify our next targets and ensure that we continue to grow our numbers. We must also prepare our defenses here. The emperor will not take our actions lightly, and we need to be ready for a counterattack."

As Finn left to carry out his orders, Alaric turned his attention back to the captive before him. Dark energy swirled around his fingers as he began the transformation ritual, his mind focused on the task at hand. The road ahead was long and treacherous, but Alaric was determined to see it through to the end.

Over the next few weeks, the undead horde continued to grow. Villages and towns fell one by one, their populations turned into mindless zombies or higher undead under Alaric's command. The scouts brought back valuable information about potential targets and the movements of the emperor's forces.

One night, as Alaric stood on the battlements of the fortress, he felt a sense of satisfaction. His army had grown into the thousands, and his influence was spreading like a dark plague across the kingdom. The emperor's forces had yet to mount a significant counterattack, and Alaric knew that their time was running out.

"We are ready," he muttered to himself, his eyes glowing with determination. "The emperor will pay for what he has done. Verindale will be avenged."

As he turned to descend back into the fortress, Alaric felt a surge of power coursing through him. The voice in his mind whispered words of encouragement and guidance, fueling his desire for revenge. The path ahead was clear, and Alaric was ready to lead his undead horde to victory.

The next phase of his plan was about to begin, and the kingdom of Eldoria would never be the same again.