Prompt:
The crimson sun, like a bleeding eye, gazed upon the parched earth. Here, where emerald grasses once rustled, now lay only a scorched wasteland, strewn with ash and bones. In the center of this nightmarish landscape stood he – the necromancer Zar'Akan. His face, etched with deep wrinkles, resembled an ancient map of sorrow, and his eyes burned with unholy fire.
Zar'Akan raised his bony hand to the sky, and in response, a prolonged wail echoed, like the groan of an entire world. The ground trembled, and from beneath it, like vipers from a disturbed nest, the dead began to crawl out. Warriors in decayed armor, peasants with gaping holes in their chests, children with empty eye sockets – all of them, stripped of will and reason, became part of the army of darkness.
The necromancer whispered ancient incantations, and bones fused together, flesh stretched over skeletons, and a dim, lifeless light returned to the empty eye sockets. With each word, the army grew, multiplied, transforming into an innumerable horde, ready to unleash itself upon the world of the living.
At the forefront of the troops stood Zar'Akan himself, clad in a black robe adorned with skulls and bones. In his hand, he gripped a staff, topped with a ruby that pulsed with sinister energy. He gazed upon his creation with pride and malice. The world would tremble before his power. Death would come, and there would be no mercy for anyone. The war had begun.
Artist
