Step. Step.
With slow, measured strides, Merek walked along the cracked pavement, the cold night air brushing against his face. His hands rested in the pockets of his long, dark coat, the fabric swaying lightly with his movement.
Above him, the sky stretched wide, an endless canvas of black ink, unbroken save for the faint shimmer of distant stars. The oppressive darkness cloaked everything, as if the world itself held its breath.
Ahead, the wet, sickening sound of steel cleaving through rotting flesh echoed in the gloom. His wraiths were at work silent, relentless, methodical in their slaughter. The night belonged to them.
At the forefront, Yuki moved like a phantom. The blade in her hand rose and fell with graceful precision, each swing cutting down a zombie in a single stroke.
Beside her, flanking wide, the Vulture undead moved in eerie unison, their rusted chains clinking softly as they dispatched any stragglers that came too close.
