The silence that followed was unnatural.
Ezra stood in the center of the cathedral, surrounded by kneeling undead—his enemies just moments ago, now sworn in stillness. The floating corpse above the altar had crumbled to dust the moment the Hollow Core fused with Ezra's body, vanishing like a mirage exhaled on a breath of death.
Kael didn't speak.
Neither did Ezra.
Not right away.
The room's air felt heavier than before, not because of danger—because of presence. The kind of weight a king brings when he enters a throne room, the way an executioner does when sharpening his blade.
Ash whimpered softly, tail low. Even the wolf felt it.
Ezra flexed his hand.
The black veins that had spread during the Core's fusion had receded slightly, but faint threads remained visible along his forearms, like the ghost of a tattoo made in shadow.
[Hollow Core Integration: 42%]Stability: LowMutation Risk: 5%Status: Dormant (Temporarily Stabilized)
Kael finally broke the silence. "You're… different."
Ezra turned to her. His eyes still gleamed faintly with that abyssal energy. "I don't feel different."
"Liar."
Ezra gave a half-smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "Okay. Maybe a little."
Kael stepped forward cautiously, eyes narrowing as she glanced between him and the undead kneeling around them. "So… they're yours now?"
"I think so."
"You think so?"
"They're not attacking, are they?" Ezra muttered, holding out his hand.
The nearest undead—a masked creature wrapped in ancient ceremonial cloth—rose and approached silently. It knelt before him again and offered up its weapon: a jagged glaive, blackened with age and glowing faintly with ghostly runes.
Ezra hesitated. Then took it.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the shaft, the weapon pulsed in recognition. A stream of data flooded his vision.
[Weapon Bound: Deathglaive of Thren'Shaar]Class: C+ (Uncommon, Ascended)Damage: 32-48 (Scaling w/ STR & NEC)Affinity: NecromancyEffect: +8% Undead Command RadiusEffect: Chance to trigger [Soul Rend] on critical strikeBound to: Ezra Vale
Kael let out a low whistle. "C+ already? Not bad for a guy who couldn't conjure a full skeleton last week."
Ezra laughed softly. The sound startled even himself. "I'll take what I can get."
Kael stepped to his side, nodding once at the submissive undead still kneeling. "And what exactly do you plan to do with them?"
Ezra was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "I think I need to test something."
They emerged from the Sanctum just after nightfall.
The surface world hadn't changed—but Ezra had.
Where once he'd walked with a hollow stomach and heavier thoughts, now he walked with an army of ten behind him. Not mindless corpses—they moved with purpose, awareness. They obeyed silently, not like puppets, but like soldiers awaiting orders.
Ash stuck close, growling softly at the newcomers. Skulk reappeared too, slinking in and out of the broken alleys with wary glances toward the kneeling undead.
Kael remained close, hand near her sword.
Ezra raised a hand. "Wait here."
The undead stopped immediately.
Kael exhaled. "Useful trick."
"Still figuring it out," Ezra admitted, sweat beading his brow. "Keeping them active is like juggling fire. Feels like the energy could burn out of control if I push too hard."
"You will," Kael said.
He turned to her. "What do you mean?"
"You will push too hard," she said matter-of-factly. "Because you're Ezra Vale. Because you don't know how to quit."
Ezra opened his mouth, then shut it. She wasn't wrong.
She nudged his shoulder. "Let's head back to the outpost before your undead scare the locals to death."
Sector Twelve's temporary base of operations was nothing more than a reclaimed subway station. Faded tile walls, flickering lanterns, reinforced steel doors. The survivors that huddled here weren't military—they were scavengers, medics, runners, and broken souls too stubborn to die.
When Ezra and Kael descended into the station with undead in tow, the reaction was immediate.
Screams.
Weapons drawn.
Panic.
Ezra held up both hands. "They're mine! They're controlled!"
The guards—mostly low-rank Awakened—hesitated. Several raised batons, others took defensive positions.
Then the station leader arrived.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man in worn military gear. His eyes flicked over Ezra's summons, narrowed, then locked onto Ezra's face.
"You bring a fucking necromantic host into my station?" he barked.
Kael stepped forward. "He saved my life. Killed at least fifty undead—controlled another ten. He's not a threat."
"He commands undead. That makes him a threat by default."
Ezra stepped forward. "I'm Ezra Vale. No rank, no title. But I'm the reason this station didn't get overrun last night. Ask around."
A pause.
Then the leader exhaled and nodded once.
"Fine. But your dead stay outside. You get one cot and no special treatment. Understood?"
Ezra nodded. "Understood."
The undead were left on the surface, stationed just outside the gates with strict commands. Ezra felt their presence like distant flickers of thought—dormant, but ready.
Inside, the station buzzed with conversation.
Everyone was talking about the necromancer.
The Hollowborn.
Ezra tried to ignore them as he washed the blood from his face at a rusted sink in one of the back tunnels. His reflection in the cracked mirror barely looked human—blackened eyes, pale skin, veins like vines crawling his forearms.
He barely recognized himself.
Kael leaned against the doorway. "You going to rest?"
"Can't," Ezra muttered. "I still feel it."
"Feel what?"
"The Core," he said. "It's sleeping… but it's there. Like a voice just out of earshot."
Kael hesitated. "Do you think it's a curse?"
Ezra turned. "No. I think it's a choice."
He looked down at his hands. "The world changed. I'm just catching up."
Kael stared at him for a long moment. Then she walked over and handed him something—a folded map.
"What's this?"
"The next lead. Another Sanctum. Stronger. Older. Somewhere in the ruins of Midtown."
Ezra raised a brow. "Why are you helping me?"
Kael shrugged. "Because I saw you in a dream. Because you've already changed the rules. And because…" she met his eyes, "if we're going to survive this world, we need people like you in control of the dead—not the monsters."
Ezra smiled softly. "Then we better move before someone else finds it first."
That night, Ezra didn't sleep.
He tried—curled on a cot, eyes closed—but the moment his breathing slowed, visions flooded his mind.
Not memories. Echoes.
A battlefield. Skies black with ash. Millions of undead marching under a single banner.
A woman screaming. A child's laughter.
A city falling.
A throne of bone.
He woke drenched in sweat, hand reaching for a sword that wasn't there.
He was still Ezra.
But something else was inside now.
Something watching.
The next morning, Ezra and Kael left the station before dawn. The undead followed, cloaked in makeshift armor and robes scavenged from the ruins. They moved in eerie silence, stepping over rubble like water around stone.
As they neared Midtown's outskirts, a strange feeling washed over Ezra.
Not danger.
Not power.
Familiarity.
Like returning to a place he'd never been.
Then he saw it.
A building half-swallowed by the earth. What was once a skyscraper now leaned at a broken angle, embedded with vines and rust. Strange runes glowed faintly along its base, visible only from certain angles.
A message flickered in the air.
[Zone Entered: Echospire]Status: Dormant DungeonRank: BThreat Level: HighAnomaly Signature: HollowbornWarning: Multiple Factions Scanning Area
Kael swore. "We're not alone."
Ezra's hand clenched around his glaive.
And in the distance, silhouettes moved—cloaked figures, armed, watching.
Not undead.
Not friendly.
New Quest Unlocked: [Race to the Spire]Objective: Reach the core chamber before rival factionsBonus: Defeat enemy scavenger partyDanger: Imminent
Ezra smiled.
"Time to test just how dangerous the Hollowborn can be."