Murphy stood at the edge of the cliff, leaning on Nightguard as he looked down.
From here, he could see Banks City beneath the Veil of Eternal Night. The city, bathed in light, was fighting back. Exhausted living warriors marched beyond its walls, led by the dead.
Dozens of black dragon riders cleared the way for them. Iron Fist missiles streaked through the air every second, crashing down onto the battlefield. Amid the flames, Underworld Knights led fully armed skeletal warriors forward. At the very front, Count Sicomel rode a monstrous, eight-legged undead construct of a warhorse, leading the fallen winged riders in a merciless trampling of the Chaos forces and ratmen beyond the light.
He could even see Loren.
The dwarven marshal was outside the defensive line, back with the Pioneer Legion and once again fulfilling his duty as its commander.
This would be his final battle.
It seemed Loren wanted to complete his last journey as a warrior, before death came for him.
There were several Earth priests right beside him. If he wished, he could ask them to send him back to Silverkeep at any time, where he could live out his days in that dwarven city until he died of old age.
If he really did that, Murphy wouldn't arrest him. Even the Sicomel undead would just dismiss him as a laughingstock.
But clearly, that wasn't the ending this short-tempered dwarf had chosen for himself.
"Why don't you come over? What kind of look is that, hiding over there?"
Murphy said quietly,
"If you want to watch the end of this 'Battle of Eternal Night,' shouldn't you pick a better spot? Old Black, I've already picked one for you. Come over. There's room beside me."
"Heh."
Old Black was so awkward it could have dug a