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The lone survivor grips his bloodstained blade, breath ragged as the guttural chorus closes in. Shadows writhe beneath the crimson moon—rotted limbs, hollow eyes, teeth gnashing in the reek of decay. No retreat. No reinforcements. Every swing carves through rancid flesh, boots slipping on viscera as the horde presses closer. His armor cracks. Adrenaline burns through exhaustion. They’ll not claim this city while he draws breath. One final roar tears from his throat, a primal anthem against the tide. Let them come. Steel meets bone. Dawn will break on a mountain of corpses—or none at all.
