Smoke and ash choke the night, heavy over the ruins of a shattered city. Crumbling buildings loom, their rusted monorails twisted into skeletal arcs, and the streets are clogged with broken concrete and scorched vehicles sprouting weeds.
The moonlight, pale and shrouded by drifting clouds, struggles against the oppressive haze of death that blankets the scene.
Fiery embers crackle amidst the scattered rubble, casting flickering reds and oranges that dance across the fractured walls and shards of jagged glass. The shadows twist and contort, imbuing the atmosphere with a sense of a city desperately reaching for life amid the chaos.
Zombies stir in the darkness—hundreds of them, their moans low and gurgling—Rank-zeros and ones, running in shamble, some without jaws, others dragging shattered limbs with wet, grating scrapes.
Among them lurked another type: Rank-twos, infection-twisted, their eyes sharp with awareness and claws gleaming. They closed in like a rotting tide.
Five individuals could be seen holding a semicircle around three reinforced transport vehicles, the last refuge of a lost city now filled with zombies.
The fighters' breaths were raspy, not from fear but exhaustion, each swing and spell fueled by desperation. They fought like cornered beasts, their resolve fraying.
"Shield to the right!" the vice-captain shouts, her feminine voice cutting through the snarls.
Ethan brings his shield up with a clang, battering two undead aside. His axe arcs, severing a neck with brutal force. The head tumbles into the dark, landing with a wet plop. "There are too many of them, he thought, sweat stinging his eyes.
Philip, the swordsman, moved like a shadow at Ethan's flank, all edge and motion. He ducks a lunging corpse, driving his blade through its jaw. A snap, a twist, and it crumples. They're relentless, his mind snarls as he decapitates another.
"They're not letting up," Philip growls, teeth clenched.
"Arrows loose," Jace mutters from atop a vehicle, his voice soft but steady. His quiver, half-empty, swings as he draws and fires in a practised rhythm.
An arrow pierces a Rank-two's eye, its gurgle choking off as it collapses mid-run. 'I'm already running low,' Jace thought, dread coiling in his gut.
Eryn—stands below, her white robes snapping as she casts from her staff. Mana bullets burst forth, exploding zombie heads in sprays of blood and bile. 'We have to hold the line,' she urges herself, mana draining fast.
The vice-captain, Kara, in red robes, grips her staff as fireballs flare to incinerate clusters of undead—the night pulses with flames, reflected in pools of gore.
The horde pressed closer. Ethan slams his shield into a Rank Two's chest, his axe splitting it from shoulder to hip. He bellows into the void, "Where are the reinforcements?"
Silence fell for a few moments, then a smooth, feminine voice crackles through the comms in each of the team's ears—Mary, their Custodian, spoke. "ETA ten to fifteen minutes."
Ethan freezes, heart sinking. Ten minutes? The Kars's jaw tightens, her eyes grim. 'Not enough time,' she thought, as she analysed the situation.
Philip's blade stills for a heartbeat, Jace's next arrow wavers, and Eryn's staff dips. Their faces mirror dread—they're on borrowed time, each breath stolen from the horde.
A few moments later, Mary's voice rang out softly, wary. "How's the captain?"
The team pauses, a half-second of stillness amid chaos. Their eyes turned left, drawn to the deepest shadows where the air warps with power.
In a ruined plaza, another battle took place. Felix, their captain, was battling a Rank-three Rook Zombie, a monstrous being of pure destruction. The team couldn't see the clash, but each faint tremor rippled through their bones.
"Shit," Ethan mutters, dread pooling.
"We won't last ten minutes, let alone fifteen," Kara said, her tone flat, eyes hard.
Even with that, they still held the line, muscles screaming at them.
Seeing as things were, Kara decided to charge things up as her voice cut through the battle. "Ethan, Formation 4."
Ethan's jaw clenches. 'Here we go.'
"Alright… you want a meal? Come feast on me." He slams his axe's base to the ground, roaring, "Battle Cry!"
A huge Mana wave pulses, a primal wave snagging every zombie's attention. Rank-ones scream, charging at him; Rank-twos twitch, eyes wild. His earthen-brown armour began glowing, as the enchantments in it flared. "Body Empowerment." His muscles surged, metal plates thickened, and his axe and shield hummed with power.
The Kara began to chant, her red staff glowing, eyes locked on the kill zone Ethan created. 'Too slow, dead things.' A circle of runes flares beneath the horde. "Explosion," she shouted
The Earth erupts. A pillar of flame engulfs over four dozen zombies, flesh melting, bones ashing. Rank-twos screamed, those too slow to flee.
Next moment, Philip dashes into the fading blaze, his voice low. "Sword of Winds… seven blades."
His form blurs, razor air slicing. Silence falls. Seven Rank-twos heads dropping like overripe fruit. His blade gleams, untouched by gore.
Jace, atop the vehicle, drew his bow as a mana-charged arrow that glowed pale blue appeared on the bow. "Rain of Arrows."
The arrow soared into the air before bursting into a rune circle in the sky. A few seconds later, spectral arrows rain down, whistling, pinning and killing zombies to the ground, their twitching bodies skewered.
Eryn raised her staff, light whirling around her robes. "Enhancement Boost. Stamina Boost. Empowerment." A golden glow bathes the team, easing their mana-drained fatigue and stamina.
A few seconds of silence fell over the world as it processed the devastation that had just unfolded. But soon after, the space became full, the horde surged once more—burned, mangled, and relentless.
Ethan swung his axe like a pendulum, while Philip's blade carved through the chaos, once more.
'It felt as if the earth itself were spitting them out,' Ethan thought, his chest heaving.
"They just keep coming," he gasps, glancing back.
"We're not even halfway done," the vice-captain says, her voice grim.
Mary's voice crackles, steady yet strained. "Hold the line. Reinforcements should arrive in five minutes."
Five minutes, Philip thinks, slicing a Rank-one. That's too long.
"Let's hope they make it," Jace mutters, nocking another arrow, his quiver nearly bare.
As the team began fighting once more, with the hope of reinforcement.