Dead bones risen from the ground. As dark sorcery plagues, the mist flows.

Mountains covered by it. The living flee as the mists slows.

Brave souls enter. Horrible hounds watch as their flesh born. Their life given as the wind blows.

Aching for combat in the eyes of one. New flows of terror in the other. Both are needed to end this new nightmare. This they know.

Unknown to the undead, the fowl sorcery strengthens one. The Mysterious Mystic awaits. Here comes the final blows.

As death approach, the Mystic prepared. For the reaping of the crops for he has sown.