Captain Marwen Hale wiped her hammer clean against the patchy, torn skin of what remained on the bones of the corpse at her feet.
The undead collapsed properly this time, not even sounding a final rasp as it went from a state of undeath to that of proper and true death.
"Clear!" someone shouted.
Marwen straightened and swept her gaze across the alley. Sixteen bodies down. The mixing of rotting stench and binding salts hit her nostrils at once, making the captain wrinkle her nose.
"Disgusting…" she muttered.
Her squad regrouped instinctively.
All ten of them.
"Everyone is still breathing," she nodded proudly. "Good."
A few tight smiles answered her. There was no cheering, no real relief on any of their faces. How could there be? They were fighting on the outskirts of humanity's border against the Elvardian siege, who had undead helping them.
Things were incredibly dire.
Wind rolled through the broken street, carrying heat and ash.
Marwen frowned.
