Zetharu stared over the carnage and chuckled to himself.
The Capital had sent a whole army to take him down. A whole army!
And now all 10,000 of them are dead.
They never stood a chance.He grew stronger each one he killed. They just kept sending them in, hoping to kill him but instead they turned into his own army.
He continued to chuckle at the memories whilst sitting on a throne of dead bodies.
His newest undead army stood before him waiting for a command. Waiting to destroy.
'I think the Capital deserves a special present in return for sending me all of you, don't ya think?" he asked to all the undead.
He took there silent screams of torment as a yes.
He waved his hand to his left and his trusty blood red scythe appeared. It gleamed still from it's use in recent killing.
Zetharu stood up from his throne and rose in the air ,floating to the front of his minions.
" Lets go get more dead, gentlemen!" He shouted out before gliding towards the ones who provided him with his lovely army, said army following behind him,their tortured souls pleading for him to stop.
By morning, The capital existed no more.
