They had stopped trying to plan. Now, they just tried to keep their minds busy.
Torric leaned near the window, sharpening his broadsword. The rasp of stone on steel echoed softly through the ruined house. Reva stretched out on the floor, flipping a dagger between her fingers. Fen sat by the door, back to the wall, silent and still. Nyric stood near the window, bow in hand, always half-ready.
Cael sat on the floor beside his gear. A plain longsword rested across his lap, and his other hand gripped the haft of a sturdy, iron-tipped spear. Both were old, worn, but sharp.
"Alright," Reva said, trying to lift the weight off her voice. "Let's try this again. Who's got the latest theory? Cursed ritual? Rotten gods? Angry dwarves?"
"Could be necromancers," Nyric offered dryly.
That earned a few glances.
"Doubt it," Ravik said. He stood near the door, adjusting the harness on his back where two large greatswords were crossed behind his shoulders. "This doesn't feel like necromancy."
"Still, people are rising after death," Fen added. "Seems close enough."
"Doesn't match what little we know," Torric said. "This thing—it spreads. Lingers in the air, the blood, maybe even the mana itself. Necromancers don't do that."
"And they're rare," Reva added. "One in a thousand. During the war, not even one showed up in the field."
"There's only two still known today," Fen said. "And both are kept in check. Watched constantly."
"Unless one of them found something new," Nyric muttered.
Then came the sound.
A shrill screech. Sharp. Guttural. Wet.
They froze.
A low hiss followed, then rushing footsteps—more than a dozen, maybe more.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The door shook violently.
"They heard us," Cael whispered, gripping his spear tight.
"Back exit!" Ravik barked, already drawing both greatswords with a metallic scrape.
Torric kicked over the dresser blocking the rear door. But as he opened it, figures swarmed in the alley.
One of the infected—a soldier, its face torn open—screamed.
Dozens more answered.
"Run!" Ravik shouted.
They bolted, weapons in hand, cutting through the alley. Behind them, the house they'd sheltered in was quickly overrun—priests with tattered robes, knights in broken armor, civilians with vacant eyes and twisted limbs. Some still held weapons, dragging them as they moved.
Nyric jumped onto a crate, loosing two arrows that dropped a pair of them instantly.
Cael slammed his spear into a charging man's gut—someone who still wore a noble's crest—and yanked it out just in time to swing his sword across the neck of another.
"Don't let them touch you!" Ravik called out, cleaving down a hulking orc-like undead that had once worn royal livery.
They broke into a wider street—and stopped short.
The city was in chaos.
Undead flooded the roads. Soldiers, mages, and civilians, all turned. Burning carts lay overturned. Fireballs screamed through the air—some thrown by infected mages, others by terrified survivors.
A bolt exploded nearby. The shockwave knocked dust from the walls.
"Go, go!" Ravik shouted, parrying a rusted halberd from a priest-turned-monster. "We cut our way through or we die here!"
The group pushed forward.
Cael's spear skewered another infected through the chest before he drew it back and swung his sword low at the knees of a second. The thing collapsed, twitching, but still tried to crawl toward him.
"They don't stop," Cael panted. "Even when they're falling apart."
"They're not people anymore," Ravik said, not looking back.
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky—no, not the sky. A mage. Twisting with charred skin and glowing eyes. He hurled spells wildly, incinerating buildings and friendlies alike.
They turned another corner, bodies piled along the road. One wore golden armor.
"Was that—?" Nyric started, but didn't finish.
Cael gritted his teeth. "That was one of the Veyron royal guards."
They kept moving, slipping through alleyways, fighting when they had to. Dodging when they could.
By the time they stopped, they were deeper in the village district—half the buildings unfamiliar, the roads thick with smoke.
"Where are we even going?" Reva asked, panting.
"Away from the screaming," Ravik replied. "That's all that matters."
And they kept running.