New Hallownest, as the king had christened it, was being washed away under the wave of slumber. Bugs making themselves at home in the ruins that dotted their new island home.
Except, of course, the guards still held vigil—fervently devoted to king and kingdom.
Standing tall, they held watch—the roaring waves only feet away.
"Are you sure we should be standing so close to such turbulent water? Drowning is far too common even in the city, where the water, you know, stays still." One of them asked another.
"Sorry, I wasn't paying too much attention to the lake. It's just that…" The other trailed off, staring at the clouds above.
"What?" Their companion inquired.
"Can you feel water on you?" They asked, noticing the feeling of tiny droplets of water sliding down their shell, reminding them of their city.
"Now that you mention it, yes. Rather perplexing, considering that we're on the surface."
Just as they began to mentally tug at the mystery of the sudden sky-flood, the sky flashed white with a deafening boom. A few guards just barely caught the sight of arcs of white light screeching through the sky.
"Oh! I wasn't aware such energy could manifest here as well. Fascinating, it's even more intense than those that fill Fog Canyon. If only I could find a way to use that energy…" Monomon was cut off by an panicked noble.
It was nearly half an hour before Monomon had managed to calm down the terrified citizens, informing them that the strike of lightning was likely just a larger equivalent of the arcs of light that periodically filled Fog Canyon.
"Now that that's settled, where was I… ah, studying this blade." The king stated, sketching the spiderweb of magic and runes—spellwork made from thin strands of lapis lazuli imbued with pure magic energy—that enwrapped the iron sword.
He noted its slight glow that only seemed to intensify in the darkness of the building he now claimed as his workshop. It almost appeared to be subtly warring with the dark surrounding it.
He could see how the spell stored magic within the blade, unleashing it when triggered in some way, likely when used.
Just as he was about to attempt figuring out how to make his own 'enchantment,' he saw a statuesque bit of white in the corner of his vision.
He still never saw Wander approach before they reached him—so used to them not moving on their own—and it still startled him sometimes.
"Hi father, I'm bored but all the other bugs are slumbering or wanna teach me things that are too new." They scribbled.
"What do you mean too new?" He asked.
"Just want to do something familiar. Can you teach me a new spell?" The child pleaded.
He looked back at his work for a moment. Well, he could save that for later.
The king racked his mind for a moment before he found a spell within his centuries of memory.
Not so long ago he remembered a shaman that worked with Monomon having explained a situational, but powerful spell.
"I'll teach you how to conjure Howling Wraiths." The king stated.
"First try to focus your soul into your mout—uh… your eye sockets I suppose, imagine screaming out, howls echoing and spirits spilling from your body. Don't focus too intensely, however. The more intensely you focus, the louder the howls will be, and we would not want to make the citizens more alarmed than they already are." He instructed.
After several attempts, they managed to let out a shriek, screaming faces bolting from their eyes.
"Do not worry subjects, we are simply practicing a spell." The king stated in response to the coming questions of worry.
The ocean ebbed and flowed at the guards feet.
They were tiring now, preparing to soon switch shifts.
And then one of them perked up at the sight of something shining beneath the waves.
Pinpricks of cyan light, dozens… hundreds… no… thousands of pairs of lights in the rolling waters.
That one guard stepped forward, almost entranced by the wonderous sight.
And yet… something felt so terribly wrong about the lights. Something about them seemed uncannily, hateful even.
They finally realized the lights to be eyes when they noticed how they were getting closer.
And yet, they barely had time to dwell on the sight before they felt something tear through the air inches from their shell.
They whirled around to see a trident—now half buried in the sands—gleaming with powerful magic.
Screams and battle cries erupted from the sentries as the rest of them saw those thousands of hateful eyes, slowly dragging themselves onto the shore.
Soon, sentries were pushing forward in mass, hacking away at the corpses staggering onto the beach.
Cries of pain roared out from both sides as drowned bit and grabbed while the warriors stabbed and slashed.
Then, as the guards were reaching the edge of the beach, one felt a powerful grip on his foot, and soon water began filling into his body, pouring through the tiny holes in his shell.
He could feel his mind slipping away and his body beginning to go still as more Drowned grabbed hold of him and pulled him further down into the ocean.
Then his vision went black, blacker than black, and his life faded.
More than a dozen had been dragged beneath the waves before it became clear what was happening.
Even with the total number of sentries in the low hundreds, too many had been dragged below.
"Retreat! We cannot fight them well near the waters." One of the larger guards—a great sentry and sudden de facto leader of the group—ordered.
"What about those who've been dragged down?" One of them called out.
"Take them back if you can, but don't risk your own life and get dragged down as well." The great sentry ordered.
The sentries back away, now with a few dozen feet between them and the water, along with the majority of the Drowned.
Then once again a trident flew, this time striking true.
Just as one sentry was about to take the weapon for themselves and help their mortally wounded brethren, they saw waves of strange light dance around the handle.
Before they knew it, the trident ripped itself from the guards shell and flew back to its wielder unimpeded.
One by one, more tridents flew and the Drowned began to surge forward, aided by the attacks of their most powerful members.
Some of the tridents stood still in the sand or wounds, most, however, flew back again and again to wielders that had walls of fleshy, damp shields between them and the sentries.
The sentries shouts and battle cries had not gone unanswered, as scores of various bugs now neared the beach.
"What are we under attack by?!" A harried-looking pillbug called out.
"Not sure, seems to be risen corpses of natives. Also, get us some of the weavers, now!" The great sentry commanded.
Soon two scores of weavers and the beast herself had emerged, gazing out at the thousands of shambling corpses, hundreds of sentries, and glimmering tridents soaring over it all.
"The weapons they're throwing. They keep returning to their wielders. I need you to bind them, or web them, or whatever the hell you can do to 'em." The great sentry shouted over the growing cacophony of battle cries and screams.
"Also. You, pillbug again. I need you to get me Ogrim, I'm far from a real commander myself." He stated as he started moving closer to the front lines.
Herrah charged forward, eyes darting across the battlefield and the sky above.
Soon, she saw a glimmering purple light streak over the sentries, only a few yards away.
She dashed towards the trident—the weapon being washed in waves of purple light.
The foreign magic upon the weapon began to shine brighter and brighter and it started vibrating, wiggling free from the ground.
In a moment she unleashed a flurry of threads infused with soul, quickly ensnaring the trident and overpowering its loyalty. The weapon tried to return for several more seconds until its magic ran dry, the web sealing it in place.
More threads started whipping and cracking through the air courtesy of the Weavers. Tridents snatched from the air, now laying motionless on the ground.
The Weavers held behind the sentries, catching more and more weapons.
Now it was the Drowneds turn attack those that would dare hide behind other warriors.
A trident surged forward, arcs of light trailing in its wake.
Soon it hit its mark, a bolt of lightning tearing through the sky, searing the Weavers queen.
Herrah growled in frustration and surprise, slightly staggering and readying her needle.
The trident to began to shimmer with that now familiar glow, slowing wrenching itself from the sand.
Silken threads entangled it, yet sparks flew from the trident and soon the bindings were blasted apart a small storm of lightning.
"Kill its wielder!" Herrah commanded.
However, there were still countless corpses between the armies of New Hallownest and the apparent wielder of the sizzling weapon that now returned to their grasp.
Monomon watched an arc of lightning crackle across the sky, heard the shouts of the beast.
She realized how powerful of a weapon it must be, that trident. Its powers over lightning turning it into a force to reckoned with.
Her mind raced, attempting to figure how she could help. There were sentries and Weavers and the beast herself putting themselves in danger out there and the most she could do is mildly zap the enemy.
Except… her own powers might just add to those of the trident if only she could take it, and considering the fact that the Undeads main method of attack is trying to drown their victims—something that would be simply ineffective on her—she had quite the opportunity to do so and thus turn the tide of this battle.
The sentries on the left side of New Hallownest were holding relatively well alongside the Weavers. However, the right group was disarray, some fleeing, some fighting and being surrounded, some desperately trying to restore some semblance of order.
The king had noticed this himself, flying a good dozen meters above the ground, gazing across the battlefield.
The right group continued to fall back, tridents soaring through the air and risen corpses dragging one guard after another down into the dark waters.
He needed to act, and fast.
He could send commanders to organize the shattering army, and he could send some of the Weavers to focus their efforts there instead, but if half the Weavers went to that flank, it would leave both sides partially defenseless to the ranged attacks, and sending commanders would take too much time.
He remembered, though, he was a god, he would take down these wielders, these undead affronts to life personally and hopefully grant more than an opening to his army.
He soared through the air, luminescent wings intentionally positioned to reflect his light on the hordes of undead below.
His gaze locked onto the glimmering purple lights that rolled in waves across the foreign weapons. Soon he saw the wielder of one and focused, manifesting a sharp, elegant spear forged of soul.
The spear struck true, impaling the offending Drowned. He soon summoned spear after spear to execute the trident wielders.
Unfortunately, he hadn't accounted for the fact that more drowned could still reclaim the weapons and thus render his efforts rather fruitless.
He also hadn't accounted for just how well his attempt at distraction had worked. Many of the armed Drowned now looked to him, searing hatred for that taunting light boiling behind their hazy eyes.
As he eliminated dozens of Drowned, a trident soared past him, then another, and another—each flying uncomfortably close. He dodged them, one after another, reveling in how easy it seemed.
And then, he felt one of his wings tear open, sparks of magic glistening from the wound.
Before he knew it, he was falling, desperately, reflexively trying to push as hard as he could with his remaining wing.
From across the battle field, Wander looked on in sheer panic. They saw his pale light tumbling down, with little other than hate filled corpses below waiting to greet him.
Their mind faded into sheer alarm and their body and training took over; They ran forward as fast as their nubs could carry them, intermittently teleporting forward, growing ever closer to the falling monarch.
He was managing to slow his fall surprisingly well, practically gliding down as he tried to find a way to escape the hordes below.
But still, New Hallownest had only seen two of the three unique varieties of tridents.
The tides suddenly seemed to ripple as one of the corpses burst from the water at an alarming speed, tearing through the air towards the object of their collective hatred.
Their weapon shined, making it oh so easy to see how it was aimed exactly for the lights heart.
Wander was almost below him now, most of the surrounding Drowned seemingly paying no mind to them—whether it was because of them focusing solely on the king or mistaking Wanders darkness for their own was unclear.
But their father was still too far above, and the riptide wielder closing in too quickly.
They rushed to be in position to grab him once he fell, but they knew that the weapon would—in their mind—certainly kill him.
Besides, they had dashed too far forward at the last moment, now soon to be directly below the risen corpse.
They couldn't save him.
He had done so much for them, created them, nurtured them, freed them of their duty. And they just had to watch his death happen, helplessly.
The agony swelled within them. They felt like if they had a voice, nothing but screams would tear their way out of them.
And then they felt the soul building, responding to their not-meant-to-be mind.
Howls tore their way from their eye sockets, their strange, distorted screams manifesting, reaching just high enough to rip into the Drowned above.
Theodore was tossing and turning, trying to get himself to sleep.
He was still somewhat alarmed at the rumors that had been circulating.
And then he heard it, a horrible shriek, many voices crying out as one.
So close to what he had heard on the day it was put together a kingdom away.
It sounded so far away, yet it was still deafening.
Everyone else, previously asleep, now bolted awake at the horrific noise.
The aquatic zombie tumbled from the air, close to dying—permanently, this time.
They realized that now that with that terrible wielder no longer a threat, they still could save their father. They only needed to clear the area near where he was going to land and then slash their way back to friendly territory.
"Wander?! Get out of here!" the king shouted, noticing the figure running below him.
They shook their head vigorously, and then raised their nail.
One Drowneds head rolled, the others suddenly aware of the danger this pinpoint of familiar darkness posed.
They didn't waste time though, trying to slash in every direction as the Pale King reached solid ground.
There were thousands of Drowned, but there had to only be hundreds in between them and safer ground.
The king realized he had no time to talk with Wander and convince them that he could get out himself.
Part of him knew that he likely couldn't, but that was concealed by pride.
Regardless, Wander could not carve a path through this army alone.
He conjured a lance, this one having more weight, more physicality to it than its predecessors.
He took the lead, impaling corpse after corpse as they tried to claw at and stab him.
Wander was dashing around him, so fast they practically became a protective blur that stabbed or slashed any Drowned that grew too close.
Eventually, with one final attack—a mix of sawblades, lances, and a Wander uncannily eager to put the invaders to rest forever—they broke through the horde, ready to turn the offensive back and finish off the army of undead.
Monomon swam incredibly fast—trying to dodge and weave through the reaching limbs and tridents in the water—all in pursuit of the wielder carrying a weapon crackling with miniature arcs of lightning.
Soon, she was upon them. The undead tried to jam their weapon into her, but the prongs missed and the electricity proved futile.
She knew she didn't have much time in this mission, for the undead around her were closing in, packing together tighter and tighter.
She ensnared the wielder in a few tendrils, and felt as the charge within burst out, shocking the risen corpse.
With its old wielder laid to rest, Monomon easily told hold of the crackling weapon and thrashed for the surface of the water. Even with her heavy resistance to electrical attacks, she didn't want to be in the water when she used the channeling trident.
She burst through and then flew above the ocean.
Then she started to focus on the potential energy within the clouds. Each one could become lightning in time.
But she would make all of that energy release now.
She hurled the weapon down onto the head of a Drowned just beneath the waves and could feel the energy of the clouds peaking and then focusing onto the target.
Then the sky boomed with thunder, dozens of arcs of blinding light flashing across it. The current quickly spread through the water, hundreds or perhaps even a few thousand Drowned that had been packed around her now falling limply onto the ocean floor, fully dead.
She couldn't perform such an attack again, having depleted the sky of its coming strikes.
"Good work Madame Monomon!" Ogrim called jovially from near the shore, now leading the sentries, Weavers, and other, newly joined soldiers in battle.
She quickly looked around, noticing what had to be thousands of Drowned now permanently laid to rest, and not just from her own attack.
At both sides of New Hallownest, the undead hordes were thinning immensely.
It wouldn't be long until the battle was won.
And then they could think about what happens after… she supposed.