The light had not yet faded when the screams began.
The Queen's form was engulfed in the aftermath of detonation, flame and bone erupting in unison, the stench of scorched ichor thick in the air, choking even the stone around them. Blinding flashes of pale necrotic fire had rolled outward from her in pulsing waves, and every single one of Ludwig's undead, thirty-two in total, had gone off like a choir of ruptured drums. Their bodies exploded mid-latch, bones turned to jagged shrapnel, rib cages and rusted weapons cleaving through bark and rot as if splitting paper drenched in oil. Death Echo did its part, repeating the incantation without mercy. What had started as fire was echoed with greater force, louder, more unhinged, a second detonation overlapping the first in a violent symphony of obliteration.
First came the shockwave to where Ludwig used his Stone Wall, then came the flames that burst outward and everywhere.
