"Demonic zombies," Andrew breathed, the understatement hanging heavy in the air. These were nightmares given flesh.
"Hold your ground," Marrow commanded, his sword shifting to a ready stance. The air around him shimmered faintly, a subtle distortion that spoke of latent power. "Do not engage unnecessarily. Observe their patterns. Look for weaknesses."
The first few "Turned," as Marrow had silently categorized them, emerged from the fog, their moans rising in pitch to a chilling shriek. They moved with a disturbing fluidity, their bodies twisting and contorting as they lunged forward. They were not aiming for vital points; they were simply aiming to tear, to rend, to consume.
Andrew felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the fight-or-flight response that had become his unwelcome companion in this world. But this time, a new layer was present: a focused determination. He wasn't just surviving; he was hunting. He needed that Key.
