The moon cast an eerie glow over a run-down village...
Agorix: What the hell? It's like someone's been here before...
The air hangs thick with unease. The buildings sag with age and decay, like they're ready to collapse under their own memories. Something's off. Too still. Too quiet. Just as I start to move, I hear it—the creak of a bowstring being drawn from one of the crumbling buildings nearby.
Instinct takes over. I dive behind a nearby well, crouching low. Footsteps—heavy and deliberate—grow louder. I'm not alone. Undead. More of them. Their hollow groans echo through the rotting village.
Agorix: "Just great."
I mutter under my breath. No shield. No bow. Perfect. I scan the area—tight quarters, crumbling walls, nowhere good to run. I need to fight smart. I can't let them box me in.
I break into a sprint, heading straight for the archer's position. An arrow whistles past my cheek, close enough to feel it. It slams into one of the undead behind me. Good. If they're distracted, I get a window.
Another arrow zips by. I sidestep, heart hammering but feet steady. I close the distance fast—pushing hard, vaulting over debris. Adrenaline floods me. I round the corner just as the archer disappears inside.
No hesitation. I slam into the rotting door, shoulder-first. It bursts inward off the hinges. Darkness swallows the interior, but I don't stop moving. Sword in hand. Eyes adjusting.
There. A figure hunched in the dark, raising his bow again.
Too slow.
I drive my blade forward. The steel tears across his chest, carving through what's left of his armor. He drops before he can even scream. I grab his bow, check his quiver. Light—just a few arrows—but it's something.
I draw a breath. Steady myself. No time to celebrate. The village still crawls with the dead. And if I don't keep moving, I'll be next.
I notch an arrow. Aim. Exhale. Release.
The shaft slams into a rotting skull. It crumples on impact. I don't wait. I pull from my pack, shove debris against the doorframe, barricading it as best I can.
Then I head to the window. Another arrow. Another hit. The body drops.
But something shifts. A flicker behind the house—light. Movement. Voices.
A woman's voice, sharp with panic. Can't tell if they're friend or foe, but that tone? They're not part of the horde.
I clear the barricade and light a torch from the corner. The flame flickers to life. I hold it high—let them know someone's alive in here.
Then I step out, loosing one more arrow into the skull of a straggler. Dead center. It drops.
Last one. Quiver's dry.
Two figures round the far side of the house—a man and a woman. They move fast, alert. The guy's got bright blue hair tied back in a loose ponytail. The woman's jet-black hair veils one of her eyes, but the way she carries herself? She's no stranger to blood.
I wave them in. No time for introductions. I slam the door shut behind them and take a quick read. The guy's stone sword is worn but well-kept. The woman clutches her torch like it's part of her.
I place mine on the wall and turn to them.
Agorix: Name's Agorix. Can you fight?
No hesitation. The man answers, urgent.
Feyn: Feyn here. She's Sharra. We're ready.
Sharra: Any plan?
I glance at the window. Shapes moving. Closer now.
Agorix: Any of you got arrows?
They dig into their gear. Feyn pulls out five. Sharra shows two.
Agorix: Seven total. Good enough. We're heading for the center, back to back. Pick off anything far or armed. Conserve shots. Move quiet, hit hard.
They nod. No questions. Good.
We move as one, slipping into the night. Fast. Silent. The village breathes death, but we cut through it. I spot an archer just past the first line of groaning corpses.
He shoots.
I shoot.
Our arrows cross midair. His shot's on target—but Feyn lunges forward, catches it mid-flight, twists midair, and lands in a roll. Fast bastard.
My arrow sinks deep into the archer's skull. Clean kill.
Feyn tosses me the one he caught.
Agorix: Nice catch.
I load it back into my quiver. We shift—backs to each other, covering every angle. The street ahead isn't swarmed yet, but I don't kid myself. They're coming.
I pull two arrows. Fire in quick succession. Both hit. Two more down.
Behind me, I hear Feyn's blade slicing clean, efficient.
Sharra: I got an idea!
I turn just as she grabs an arrow from my quiver, lighting part of it with the torch. The flame curls up fast. She hands it back to me.
No time to question her. I aim. The heat pulses against my fingers. I release.
The fire arrow streaks forward like a comet and hits its mark. The undead bursts into flame. Then another catches. And another. In seconds, fire engulfs the front line, turning them into a wall of burning bodies.
Sharra: That should slow them down a bit.
The blaze crackles and screams. The path behind it is lit like a furnace. We've bought ourselves a moment.
But I can feel it in my bones—this isn't random. Not just another night of survival.
More Hoppers are showing up. Something's going on out here. And I'm going to find out what....
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