Villain Ch 1937. Cold Soup
Alex whimpered. "I'm still the priest in this metaphor, right?"
The undead shrieked in unison—high, jagged, awful sounds like knives screaming.
Then the charge.
Red_King sprinted in first, roaring like a man who'd never known restraint. His greatsword cleaved through the first wave, slicing one Guest clean in half. "WHOOOO!"
Mastercraft followed, slamming into two Nobles with a forge-smash that sent them clattering across the stone floor. "Watch your left!"
Allen didn't charge. He never did.
He slipped into the fray like a phantom, blades dipped in holy water glinting faintly with blue fire. A dagger to the temple, a twist of the wrist—pop. Skull gone. Another lunge, two quick stabs under a ribcage, flick upward—snap.
The undead dropped like dolls losing strings.
He spun behind Red_King, ducked under a Noble's jagged blade, stabbed upward into its chin—its skull exploded in a fine black mist.
The smell was rancid. Sour.
Burnt sugar and rot.
