Conquest of the Underdark

The Underdark, Dragonshadow City. Perpetual night reigned here; day was an unknown concept. The city once ruled by the shadow dragon hung suspended above a colossal chasm, where the freezing winds blowing through the rift screamed incessantly. Scorch marks covered the city, with thick ash everywhere. These shattered walls and ruins silently bore witness to the red dragon's brutal incinerating of the city, recording buried history. "Whoosh—" The cold wind blew through the fissures of the city, letting out an ear-piercing shriek, sounding like the wailing of lingering souls. Yet atop these ruins, a brand-new city had been erected. Its architectural style was simple, grandiose, and brimming with strength—an unmistakably imperial aesthetic. Within this new city built upon ruins, familiar half-dragons, humans, and hobgoblin soldiers came and went, though mindless, low-level undead skeletons were by far the most numerous. Even a few peddlers had appeared in the city, selling lanterns, walking canes, leather boots, and other items commonly used in the Underdark. "Hiss... hisss..." A skin-crawling sound. Outside the city, massive skeletal behirs slithered and crawled across the ground like a moat, ready to tear any intruder to shreds. Atop the newly built ramparts, Hart stood quietly, gazing down into the bottomless depths of the Howling Chasm. "Once, I too had a beating heart. Once, I too could savor fine food and good wine..." The wight lamented so. He possessed all of Hart's memories, obsessions, and even hatred from life, yet had lost that living flesh and his original emotions. A wight: an existence whose shattered soul was awakened and whose rotting corpse was sustained solely by the obsessions and hatred from its past life. Hart's lips twitched, his two pitch-black eyeballs gleaming in the darkness. "Still... this isn't bad either. Immortality, killing one enemy after another, conquering the vast Underdark for my master." He was a brand-new entity. Different from the original Hart, and different from an ordinary wight. Hart stiffly parted his pale mouth, striving to produce a smile, though to an onlooker the expression seemed exceedingly eerie. "Old... General Hart." A familiar voice came from behind. "What is it?" Hart turned his head and spoke calmly. It was his colleague, a living person—more precisely, a half-dragon, and likewise His Majesty's vassal. His name was Zaiko Granger. He too was a veteran member who had joined the empire back during the Cinder Nest days. Now he was an imperial count, of equal rank to Hart. Curiously, however, he had also been one of the original slave traders, once Hart's subordinate. Due to his status as an undead creature, Hart had not become the empire's governor of the Underdark. The cabinet ministers wanted a profitable Underdark, not a necromantic wasteland. Had it been the living Hart, he surely would have been furious, but "Hart," whose heart had long since grown cold, cared nothing for such things. That was how things were on the home front. All he needed to do was lead his undead legion, devote himself entirely to the battlefield, follow orders, and slaughter valiantly. But the matters those in the rear had to consider... Zaiko flipped through a document and said in a low voice, "Lady Ingrid is about to return to the surface. She has already helped us dispel the shadow curse over Dragonshadow City." "According to the plan provided by the Department of Strategic Operations, we are to build near the Howling Chasm..." Ingrid. Hart—or rather, the wight—remembered the name. He had met that woman. She reeked of the holy light that sickened him, and the hostility in her gaze made him deeply uncomfortable. If Ingrid had not been an envoy sent by the empire, he would have gladly lopped off the cleric's head and hung it from the top of the ramparts. At that thought, Hart cut him off bluntly. "You know, Zaiko, I don't care, nor do I need you to tell me any of this. And I certainly don't want to hear about the whereabouts of that damned cleric." "I only need you to tell me one thing: where does His Majesty want me to conquer, and where can I slaughter the living to my heart's content?" The wight's pitch-black eyeballs glinted faintly in the dark, sending a chill through even the battle-hardened Zaiko. "Ha..." His lips twitched slightly, yet he couldn't bring himself to speak. Hart had certainly been brutal and selfish, but to that band of slave traders from similarly humble origins, Hart had played the role of "family" in their eyes. The wight let out a self-deprecating scoff, then said raspy-voiced, "Hart died long ago—at least the Hart you knew did." "Now, standing before you is merely an undead monster living for His Majesty, thirsting to slaughter the living." "..." Zaiko fell silent for a long moment before pulling out a document and slowly unfolding it. "Near Dragonshadow City lies a city called 'Black Wings.' It is ruled by House Jaezred, shadow dragon-blooded drow elves who are the scions of Mortifer." Mortifer—naturally, he had heard that name. That was the legendary "Foe of the Emperor," who had once possessed vast domains in the Underdark until he was torn to shreds by His Majesty Cassius in Year 1785 of the New Era. "Following the fall of Dragonshadow City, House Jaezred, once under the shadow dragon's thumb, began to expand rapidly, seizing the shadow dragon's former territory and trade networks. Their scouts have even appeared around Dragonshadow City." "This is undeniably a provocation against the empire, and an insult to His Majesty Cassius." Zaiko closed the document, his tone solemn. This was a declaration of war—even though he knew full well the scout had been captured hundreds of li away. The Cinder Empire merely wanted a pretext to demonstrate its presence in the Underdark, and along the way weed out Mortifer's progeny to eliminate future troubles. Zaiko said, "General Hart, you should know what to do." The wight simply turned his head, gazing at him with pitch-black eyes, and asked casually, "Can I massacre the city?" Zaiko did not answer directly. Instead, he explained in an informative tone, "'Black Wings' is the stronghold of the shadow dragon-blooded drow. Sixty percent of the population there consists of shadow dragon-blooded drow." He produced a crisp letter stamped "Top Secret" from his pocket and handed it to the wight. Hart opened the envelope and immediately saw the text within: Special Authorization [Authorization is hereby granted to carry out a complete purge of the shadow dragon-blooded drow. Ensure it is done cleanly. —Chief Minister, Trump] "Very well. Understood." Hart's bloodless lips curved slightly, and his pitch-black eyes narrowed into an uncanny arc. He drew the bone scepter at his waist, walked to the edge of the ramparts, and held it high. In an instant, the hundreds of skeletal behirs prowling outside the city and tens of thousands of undead skeletons converged, forming an ivory-white torrent. Those ancient bones scraped against one another with crisp clattering sounds that made one's skin crawl. Hart leaped down from the wall, plunging into the sea of bones. Straddling the head of the largest skeletal behir, he swung the bone scepter. *Rumble...* Hundreds of skeletal behirs surfaced in unison, slithering across the earth. The ground of the Underdark trembled, and the pitch-black canopy above seemed to let out a collective moan. The white deluge stood out starkly against the black ground. "Come, undead legion..." "Any living creature that dares stand in the way of the empire's expansion—slaughter them all." So spoke the wight.