Steel slid free from its sheath.
In an instant, the air filled with the sharp sound of weapons being drawn.
Rhett's group moved on instinct, blades up, stances set, eyes locked on the enemies closing in from all sides.
Across from them, the figures didn't hesitate.
Carrion stepped forward, his hollow gaze fixed on Rhett. Up close, the details were clearer—his skin was pale and tight over hardened muscle, his movements too stiff and too smooth at the same time. In his hand, he held a massive cleaver, its edge chipped and stained dark.
Then, He spoke.
"Kill them all."
His voice was low. Empty. Like something dragged up from a grave.
The moment the words fell.
The undead moved.
They surged forward all at once, their speed explosive, their steps heavy enough to crack the dry ground beneath them.
"Here they come!" Kellan barked.
The clash erupted instantly.
Bram met the first attacker head-on, his blade slamming against the incoming strike with a loud clang.
