The eastern edge of the Necro-Mall's growing territory pulsed with the silent, relentless rhythm of labor. Ghouls stripped logs of bark and drove thick, pressure-treated wooden beams deep into the earth. Their pale, dense muscles flexed, hauling massive carts of stone and soil. They moved with an eerie, tireless steadiness, never breathing, never pausing except when Vitro barked an order.
Karl stood on a small rise, hands folded behind his back. His immaculate black suit seemed out of place against the mud and raw industry of the worksite, but the sight pleased him. A future was being built here, brick by calculated brick.
Down below, two ghouls strained to lift a particularly heavy beam into its socket.
"Higher. Left. No, left." One rasped, voice flat but oddly precise.
"Your left or my left?" the other muttered, eye sockets glowing faintly white.
"The lord's left."
"…What does that even mean?"
