Ragnar clawed backward across the ground, leaving a smear of blood behind him, his fingers digging into the asphalt as desperately as if he could sink into it and disappear.
"D-Don't come near me, you damned creatures!" he rasped at the zombies.
They kept coming - slow, unhurried - like they knew this time their prey wasn't getting away.
He tried to rise, but his legs were useless. Bones shattered. Muscles torn. So he dragged himself with his arms, wheezing, every movement accompanied by the sick scrape of bone on pavement and a wet, sticky shudder as his body slid through blood.
If he'd been in anything resembling a normal state, he still could've used his ability. Even after fighting Natalia and Roland, he had mana left - enough to tear apart the approaching corpses with a single violent gust and buy himself a few seconds to run.
