The stranger's pistols continued to spit out bullets that took one life after another. Even as he looked in the direction of the approaching rook, every shot split rotted skulls with unerring precision.
He moved like smoke, slipping through grasping claws and never breaking rhythm. The man's eyes narrowed as he shot down another Rank Two, the gunshot echoing like punctuation in his thoughts.
'No wonder reinforcements have yet to arrive.' The thought settled in his mind, confirming his doubts. He scanned the horizon, taking in the ruined streets and the endless tide of corpses.
'A Queen—or perhaps a King.' The difference didn't matter to him. What mattered was that he couldn't feel the presence of such strong beings around, which was weird.
The horde was not merely unleashed into chaos; it was orchestrated with chilling precision. Rank-one creatures surged forth, flooding the streets and creating a suffocating barricade of bodies that made retreat impossible.
Meanwhile, the Rank-twos worked in unison, skillfully herding desperate survivors into tight, inescapable choke points, their movements calculated and merciless. Leading the charge was the Rook, a formidable figure sent forth to draw out their remaining strength, a pawn in a grander scheme.
Every aspect of this malevolent strategy was meticulously planned, each wave of the horde a deliberate act designed to instill fear and confusion.
His pistols flashed again. Thwip. A skull burst, spraying fragments across rubble. 'They sealed every route. No reinforcements would ever arrive. And if, by any chance, the first Rook and its army fell… the second would be waiting to crush what remained.'
The thought did not spark anger, nor fear—only cold acknowledgment. An ambush. A culling. Efficient. Ruthless. Exactly what a rank three king or queen-type zombie would do.
He slipped through the grasping claws, his coat snapping as he pivoted. Thwip! Another Rank Two collapsed, half its head gone. The stranger's eyes, burning red in the shifting smoke, remained fixed on the path that the transport needed to take to reach safety. 'I will need to call them.'
Another Rank-two lunged. Thwip. The creature's skull shattered, its body collapsing at his boots. His inner voice did not slow with the killing. 'Seems I'll need to call them.'
His lips barely moved. "Rae. You're up."
The response didn't originate from the battlefield; it echoed within his mind, powerful and profound.
'Why don't you handle it yourself? It's not a problem.'
Thwip. Another Rank-two dropped, brain spraying across the rubble. His reply was as flat as his expression:
"You know my hands are full with these."
The voice in his mind chuckled darkly. 'Didn't you say you wouldn't need my help against those weaklings, David?'
He remained silent for a moment as he leapt over a claw slash from a rank two zombie, while also blasting off its head.
'Are you coming or not?' he said in an emotionless tone.
'It's hard to argue with you; I'm on my way… Also, I will bring her along, as this city isn't really safe. Rea replied.
The word hung in his mind, unspoken, but its weight bled into the air.
Suddenly, the comm of the team crackled, and Mary's voice, strained and frantic, echoed out.
"Guys, get out of there now! Another huge energy reading… one equal to that of the Rook is heading your way!"
The atmosphere hung heavily over the squad, a thick silence swallowing their voices and thoughts alike.
Kara's fingers relaxed, the ornate staff she wielded dipping slightly as a sharp breath caught in her throat, her wide eyes reflecting the gravity of their situation.
Ethan's grip on his shield faltered, the metal quivering in his hands, sweat trickling down his brow and stinging his eyes, blurring his vision.
Across from him, Philip's jaw was set tightly, the muscles in his arms straining as he gripped his blade, though a small voice inside him echoed a haunting question—how will they possibly emerge from this ordeal unscathed?
Jace's face went bone-white, his horror stretching further than the others, his eyes locked on David. His whispered words from before haunted the silence: "Still alive…" As it seemed he hadn't heard what Mary said.
Even Eryn, who had stood frozen, felt her knees weaken, her sword tip dipping toward the dirt.
The stranger—David—did not falter. His coat shifted in the ash-heavy wind, his pistols rose again. Red eyes fixed on the horizon where the second storm approached.