The village was no longer whole.
Flames licked the rooftops. Smoke clouded the streets. Screams rose and fell in all directions—some from pain, some from rage, and others… inhuman.
Cael stood in the road beside Ravik, his sword half-drawn, unsure where to look. Around them, soldiers burned alive, their armor glowing red-hot as unstable magic flared from their bodies. A young mage dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. He let out a wet cough, blood spilling from his lips, then fell face-first into the dirt. Behind him, a priest stumbled into a wall, vomiting black bile as his eyes rolled back.
One soldier tackled another to the ground near the center of the square.
At first, Cael thought it was panic. But then he saw it—the top soldier's face, torn and twitching, his jaw forced wide as he sank his teeth into the other's throat.
Cael snapped out of his daze. He sprinted forward.
He rammed his boot into the side of the attacker, sending the thing tumbling back. The wounded man beneath it clutched his torn neck, gurgling as blood bubbled from his mouth.
Cael knelt to help him—but froze.
The attacker was already rising again, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, jaw twitching violently. Its hands twitched and clawing at the dirt. And then, a voice—raspy, wrong—gurgled from its lips.
"…Cael?"
Cael's eyes widened. That voice… it sounded like someone he knew from the war. Someone who died years ago.
But there was no recognition in the eyes, only hunger.
It lunged at him.
Before Cael could react, a blade flashed—Ravik's—cleaving straight through the creature's neck. The body crumpled, twitching as the head rolled in the dirt.
"You okay?" Ravik asked, pulling Cael back by the arm.
Cael barely had time to answer. The other one—the one he had kicked—suddenly charged at him, face twisted, hands clawing like a beast.
Cael gritted his teeth, drew his sword fully, and with one clean arc, cut through the attacker's torso.
It collapsed—but didn't stop. Its upper half dragged itself forward, one hand reaching for his ankle.
"What the hell are they?" Cael breathed.
"Dead," Ravik said, "but not gone."
Around them, others began to break. Soldiers turned on each other. Mages screamed as their spells backfired. Some knelt, coughing violently. One tried to speak but collapsed mid-word, clawing at his own chest.
Even Cael staggered, coughing hard, blood flecking the corner of his mouth.
Ravik's crew rushed up from behind—Torric, the towering bearkin, Fen and Reva, the twin wolfkin, and Nyric, the lean, sharp-eyed foxkin.
"We need to move," Fen said, his voice low and urgent.
"There are too many," Reva muttered. "This whole place feels sick."
"We should get away from the crowd," Nyric added, eyes scanning the rooftops.
Cael wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. His vision blurred for just a second—but he pushed it down.
He looked to Ravik, who gave him a nod.
"Out of the square," Ravik said. "Now."
Together, they turned from the fire and screams, slipping into the shadows of the alleyways as the world behind them crumbled into something they didn't yet understand.