STORIES • Swen
The air was thick with a damp, clayey smell—evidence of rain-soaked earth mixed with the decaying flesh of wild animals. I ducked low behind a twisted trunk, my heart pounding in time with the quiet rumble of the surrounding jungle. Rainbow hues of mutated plants shimmered softly as pale shafts of sunlight filtered through the dense foliage above. My previously slow breath quickened as I peered around the gnarled branches to catch sight of my enemy. Radix Predatoria, a carnivorous plant named for its roots that writhed like snakes, ready to strike.
A soft hiss. It had sensed me, and the air seemed to freeze with tension. It spun around suddenly, its tentacle-like vine snapping toward me with a bang. I rolled away just in time, feeling a gust of wind as the tentacle flew past my face. The underbrush trembled with its aggressive movements, and I could feel every vibration transmitted through the earth and into my bones. “Oh you!” I cried, pulling out my old, worn knife. Its blade was coated in a layer of rust, as if long forgotten by the world, yet I kept it carefully sharpened. It was a primitive weapon, but I had learned long ago that survival depended more on speed and agility than on the power of my wielding.
I lunged forward, aiming for the heart of the leafy beast. With a quick thrust, I plunged the knife into the fleshy, green center. I watched with pleasure as its sap clashed with the dull gray of the world I knew. “Eeeek!” A grotesque cry tore from the plant, a sound more befitting a living creature than a green monster. It convulsed, releasing a cloud of spores that filled the air with a sickly sweet scent. I stumbled back, feeling sick to my stomach. I pressed forward again, twisting the knife before stabbing again. “Stay where you are, you overgrown weed!” I shouted, determination fueling my blows. With a final thrust, the blade dug deeper, the plant’s cries fading to a pitiful whine before it fell dead into the underbrush.
Panting, I pulled the knife out and wiped it on my now rather dirty pants. My heart rate began to calm, the adrenaline slowly draining from my system, and as the world fell silent, I allowed myself a moment’s respite. Victory was a small consolation in the chaos that had consumed everything above and below the ground. I slowly rose, feeling the tension in my muscles give way to exhaustion. The ground beneath my feet was still damp, as if soaked not only with water but also with the shadow of that short, brutal fight. My breathing evened out, and my heart stopped pounding. I was alive!
I continued on, knife in hand, though my hand was shaking, betraying how tired I was. The road ahead was tightly packed with vegetation, but at least it didn’t lead to the swamp. The last thing I wanted was to run into some animal that would decide my skeleton would be a great addition to its dinner.
As I passed through the thickets that obscured everything, I caught the same familiar, sickly scent that had accompanied my fight moments earlier. I froze.
At first glance, there seemed to be nothing there, but my nose and eyes told me otherwise. Bushes. Too thick, too tall to be considered ordinary vegetation. After a moment, I noticed movement. Slow. Unconscious, but definitely alive. Radix Predatoria! Another one, and right on the only road that would take me away from these damned swamps! I took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden surge of adrenaline that was starting to build up pressure in my head again. She hadn’t sensed me yet. Maybe I had a moment to think. But what to do?
I closed my eyes for a split second, pushing down all doubt. “Act before it does,” I told myself. I gripped the knife in my hand, waiting for the moment for the weed to move. I knew that if I gave it time, it would end like any other fight, only this time it might not be in my favor. I lunged forward, aiming for the most exposed part of the stem.
The blade dug deep, but to my surprise I felt none of the familiar, satisfying resistance. Instead I heard a low, gurgling sound, like someone had just opened a bottle of the worst, rotten wine in history. At the same moment, something slimy and cold wrapped around my ankle. “Great, now I’m done for,” I thought before I was thrown to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Mud clung to my face and another tentacle lashed me over my shoulder, leaving a stinging mark. I struggled to lift my head, the sight before me making me curse under my breath. This beast was at least twice as big as the last one, and its tentacles moved with menacing precision, as if it knew my every move before I made it. “Sure, attack something bigger, what could go wrong?” I said to myself, crawling to the nearest tree that could serve as cover.
But I didn’t have much time for strategy. Another blow landed right next to me, tearing the earth apart and showering me with clay. I jumped to my feet, raising my knife. “You want to dance? Then we will!” I growled, lunging for the pulsing center of the plant. This time I aimed for the lower part of its stem, where the roots twisted in a chaotic tangle.
It was a good plan—for about two seconds, at least, before one of the vines wrapped around my torso and lifted me into the air. For a moment, I felt like I was in a tragic farce. I hung helplessly, watching the enormous flower slowly open as if it were going to devour me. “Great, Swen. Your life is ending as dinner for an overgrown weed.”
I gathered all my strength, twisting the knife in my hand. In one swift movement, I cut through the tentacle that held me. The fall to the ground was unpleasant—my back met with a particularly hard root, but at least I had a moment to catch my breath. Without hesitation, I lunged forward again, this time driving the blade straight into the roots with all my strength. The plant shuddered, making a sound like a shriek. Sap—rotten, slimy, and stinking—spurted onto my face, forcing me to hold back my nausea.
“I got you, you overgrown plague,” I growled, driving the knife even deeper. More tentacles tried to reach me, but their movements became increasingly chaotic, as if the plant was losing control. Finally, everything fell silent. The tentacles fell away, and I stepped back, panting heavily. I looked down at myself – I was dirty, caked in sap and mud, and blood was seeping from my arm. Well, at least I was still breathing, and that was something. I wiped my knife on the nearest leaf, which seemed less toxic, and looked at the dead monster. I wondered how many more of them were waiting here? I didn’t want to know the answer.
Only now did I realize that I had been hearing footsteps for some time. I froze, and the sound caught my attention. Footsteps? The air rustled with tension again, and instinct told me to do my thing. I hid behind the remains of the defeated plant. A moment later, a figure emerged from the thicket – a familiar silhouette.
A messenger from a distant bunker. One of the Pasewalk Scribes, led by two armed guards. Their eyes wide with desperation must have seen better days than traveling through the Romincka Forest.
“Swen!” the envoy called, his voice laced with joy at the encounter.
“Brehm?” I asked in surprise, entering the more lighted area. “What are you doing in this swamp? Shouldn’t you be underground? It’s safer there!”
“Safer?” he snorted, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Do you think the walls of the bunker can protect us from everything? We’re in deep trouble!” He shifted uncomfortably, casting a quick glance at the guards. Their gaze had recently settled on a dead plant. “We’re being attacked by some creatures. Humans, but not really. More like corpses—empty shells, but with the fury of a living creature.”
Images of rotting, swaying corpses flashed through my mind, brought to life by some darker force. I had seen reports of such attacks long ago, heard stories from those who had supposedly escaped them, but I hadn’t taken them too seriously. “They’re attacking our people,” he continued. “People are disappearing from the fields, sometimes in droves, and then they come back changed.” My stomach clenched as he said it. “Death is spreading through the ranks of the Scribes, and you come here asking for help. Friend, I will help you, but I can’t do anything without more information.”
“Yes, yes! Like when you fixed the water pump?” I interrupted, a bitter smile spreading across my face. “I’d rather not think about that damned rusty machine right now.” Brehm’s expression grew serious. “I know it’s no easy task. But we can’t figure out what’s going on until we catch one of these… things. We need someone with your skills.” With that, I felt the weight of their desperation.
My previous encounters with the Scribes had been relatively peaceful, full of mutual respect, but this time their problems were mixed with some dark fantasy. This wasn’t just another technical crisis. I could sense the danger in the air. “Okay,” I finally answered. “We need a plan.” As I spoke, the shadows thickened at the edge of the clearing, the remains of the plant dancing ominously under the now red sky. “Let’s gather what we can from this Predatoria,” I suggested, and after a while we set off toward the distant bunker. My mind was racing with images of the threats lurking in the shadows ahead.
The journey to the Pasewalk Scribe bunker had taken ten days—ten long, damp, and unpleasant days that seemed to stretch on forever. The Scribe and I walked ahead, watching for danger, while the guards stayed behind, covering our rear. They looked like people who didn’t like their jobs very much.
The first few days of our journey took us through the dense, damp Romincka Forest. The air smelled of rotting wood and wet earth, and the tall trees, leaning in different directions, seemed to be looking down on us. Every crack of branches, every rustle of leaves made our hearts beat faster. Brehm was silent, staring ahead.
On the fourth day, we came across tracks—huge, disturbingly deep paw prints in the mud. Lupus Ferox, mutated beasts that the human settlements feared like the plague. Their jaws could tear a man to pieces, and their eyes glowed in the darkness like lanterns.
“We need to change our route,” I muttered, pointing to the prints. Brehm nodded, clearly tired but still alert. We turned off the main road, heading toward the ruins of the old city. The apartment blocks leaned silently. The concrete skeletons of the buildings were overgrown with vines, and the surviving roofs sagged under the weight of weeds and mutated mosses. The uneasiness of the place was broken only by the distant howling of wolves.
We moved slowly, trying to avoid open spaces. In one of the squares I spotted a rusty playground—swings moving gently in the wind, making a faint creaking sound. We quickened our pace. By the time we finally emerged from the ruins, the sun was low on the horizon, painting the sky red. The wolves did not follow us, but their howls echoed through the night.
On the sixth day we reached the marshes. The world grew quieter, as if the water and the muddy ground were absorbing every sound. Mosquitoes attacked us mercilessly, and we took steps carefully so as not to fall into deeper puddles hidden by the dense vegetation.
Halfway through the swamp, we heard movement—a quiet splashing and panting. We stopped, crouching in the tall reeds. In the distance, to our left, a lone wolf was tearing through the undergrowth. His fur was matted, torn off in places, and his body was covered in growths. He was even more terrifying than the mutants I had met before. Unfortunately, one of the guards took a step too far. The mud scudded under his foot, and in a split second, the wolf emerged from the tall reeds like a shadow come to life. In one leap, he threw himself at the guard, knocking him to the ground. A cry of pain shattered the silence as the beast's teeth sank into his throat. The other guard, terrified, raised his sword but didn't take a single step.
“Great, now they’re all dead,” I thought, grabbing my knife and running out of hiding. If I didn’t move, they both would.
I struck blindly with my first blow, trying to distract the beast. The knife swiped at its side, barely grazing it, but enough to make it let out a low, vibrating growl. The wolf turned toward me, its eyes glowing greenish, blood dripping from its muzzle.
I didn’t have time to think about the dead guard. The wolf lunged at me, and I barely managed to dodge, rolling in the mud. Its claws snagged my leg, tearing through the fabric of my pants and my skin. I hissed in pain, but I couldn’t stop.
“Come on, show me what you’ve got!” I growled, feeling the adrenaline take over my body.
The other guard regained his composure and lunged forward, swinging his sword. The wolf reacted quickly, jumping to the side, but the blade grazed his shoulder. This only enraged him. The beast leapt at the guard, knocking him to the ground.
I lunged at the wolf, jabbing my knife into its side. The beast howled, distracting the guard who was struggling to crawl away into the mud. The wolf lunged at me, and I dodged its jaws again. It was increasingly chaotic, but still deadly.
Finally, I saw my chance. Something pulsating green light flashed under the wolf's belly. I forced myself to move, ignoring the pain in my leg. I jumped forward, jabbing the knife into that spot. The wolf howled, its body quivering, then fell to the ground. Its eyes went dark, and I fell to my knees, gasping for breath.
I looked at the guards. The one who lay still with his throat slit was dead—there was no doubt about it. The other one rose slowly, leaning on his sword.
"Are you alive?" I said, looking at him.
"Barely," he gasped, clutching at the wound.
I wiped the knife on the grass, leaving a trail of blood. I was exhausted, but still alive. That was something.
The last few days of the journey had been less dramatic, but more grueling. Once we left the swamp, the world opened up more—fields of wild grasses and shrubs stretching to the horizon. The road was easier, but the air was stifling, as if the very memory of the swamp haunted us.
When we finally reached the Scribes’ bunker, we looked like the embodiment of misery. Our damp clothes, caked with mud and plant debris, stank so much that even I could smell it. We were all exhausted, but we made it there unscathed.
The concrete walls, surrounded by the remains of abandoned factories, promised respite, although the air inside was supposed to be just as stifling as outside. It smelled of damp earth and old paper. Maps of the pre-explosion world hung on the walls alongside charts documenting mutations, and scribbles in the margins revealed both hope and despair. I saw those once called scholars now overwhelmed with paranoia. Their eyes flickered toward me—half expecting salvation, half fearing my arrival.
When they returned, they gave me a twenty-four-hour window to get myself in order. Clean water and a few hours of sleep were more than I’d had in weeks. The pain in my leg from the wolf fight was soothed by some herbal salves, and a fresh bandage made the stinging of the wound seem to have been forgotten, if only for a short while. Finally, when I felt strong enough to stand, the summons came.
I was led to a small room where the most important Scribes waited. A table made of welded metal groaned under the weight of scrolls, books, and sheaves of papers, and above it hung a lamp that gave off just enough light to see the faces of those gathered. Their looks were a mix of distrust and desperation.
“Hunting?” one of them muttered, clutching a clear piece of parchment covered in lines of text. “You want to bring these corpses here? Just to understand the threat?”
“Understanding is key,” I replied calmly. “But we have to act quickly. Every wasted moment means more bodies and more chaos.” A man stepped out of the shadows. His eyes were sunken, as if he hadn’t slept since the day this had started. “We’ve lost too many already,” he stated almost quietly. “Too many of our scholars are now among them.”
As I prepared to devise a plan of attack, memories of old, pre-war hunting techniques flashed through my mind. Suddenly, a piercing cry echoed through the corridors, “Aaaaaaaaaahhh!” The bunker immediately erupted into chaos. The footsteps turned into a single sound as people rushed to their weapons. I gripped my knife tighter, adrenaline pumping through my veins again. “They found us!” Brehm shouted, drawing his sidearm and stepping in front of me in a defensive gesture.
“Everyone, stay calm!” I struggled to be heard over the commotion, but my voice was barely audible. The sound of pounding feet grew louder, pressing against the walls we had long considered shelter. A deafening crack echoed through the corridors. The guards were preparing themselves, and I could feel them as tense as a string about to snap.
“Barricade the door!” I shouted, rushing toward the source of the sound. I had to know what we were dealing with. When I peeked through the crack in the door, my heart sank. Shadows rustled in the darkness outside, their shapes torn and dismembered, embodying everything that was both terrible and grotesque in our world. “Brehm,” I whispered, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“Worse?” Brehm repeated incredulously, his eyes darting back and forth. The skeletal forms of these zombies had familiar faces twisted in macabre expressions of hunger and pain. They clawed at the concrete, a horde ready to destroy everything in their path. “They’re trying to break in!” one of the guards shouted, throwing a heavy metal chair at the door. “We have to stop them!”
“Not just stop them,” I said, my mind racing, “We have to find a way to catch one and study it!” As soon as I had said it, the door creaked ominously under their relentless attacks. The tension grew like an invisible wave of fear and determination. I couldn’t believe these creatures had once been human, but now I saw something undeniably captivating about them—the mystery of their existence and the threat they posed. The desire to know the answer was greater than the fear for my life.
“Let’s do this!” I shouted, a shiver of danger burning through my insides. “Stand together! We can’t let them in!” With those words, we braced ourselves for the coming storm, the line between salvation and destruction narrowing like a shutter around a dying light. The battle was only just beginning.
The blows rained down at a steady pace, as if I had been fighting for hours, the knife an extension of my arm. The corpses, despite their visible damage, moved without hesitation, pressing like a tidal wave. The blade sliced through their rotten flesh, and the ground was covered in slippery remnants of flesh. Their dead eyes seemed to see neither me nor the world around them – only the need for blood drove them.
The fight intensified. Every now and then, out of the corner of my eye, I would see one of my companions disappear before the horde’s onslaught, only for another to rush in his place, trying to hold the line. Blood and sweat merged into one, mixing with the stench of rotting flesh, and I could barely keep up with the blows. They were everywhere.
Suddenly… something changed. The zombies, who had been pressing forward in disarray just a moment earlier, began to retreat. Slowly, almost in sync, as if following an invisible signal. Not all of them, but most of them began to move in one direction, like a herd that had suddenly found its leader.
The stragglers remained. Their numbers were still significant, enough to keep the fight going. But this strange, mass retreat made me uneasy. Something or someone was guiding them, but why? And what was waiting in the place they were heading for?
“These creatures… they’re everywhere!” Brehm panted, his eyes darting wildly. “We thought they were just mindless zombies, but they’re organized! They know what they’re doing!” I sheathed my knife. The clang of bone on metal echoed ominously in the darkness. “So they’re not just the living dead? Are they being controlled by something?”
“We saw them feeding on the bodies of the fallen.” Brehm replied, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and disorientation. “I think the bodies would get up afterward, like something took over their nervous systems. It’s like they were puppets. They’d get up and follow the herd.”
The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. I looked at the bloody footprints left on the ground. “Maybe their master isn’t so invisible after all. Something is controlling them, and maybe he’s not far away.” Brehm’s eyes widened as he cautiously looked around the deserted bunker. “What do you mean?”
"These aren't mutations. You're a Scribe, you know that things like that don't happen." I explained, feeling certain. "Someone is controlling them, and I think it's time for us to pay this terrifying person a visit." Brehm pressed his lips together so tightly that he barely opened them again. "There are old, recorded legends that speak of a being controlling the undead," I interrupted him abruptly as the familiar, heightened hum of machinery reached my ears. "Pump!" I mumbled, feeling a chill in my stomach. "The water pump at the old subway station is working again! That's where those corpses are headed!"
Without a word, I broke into a run, my boots hitting the cobblestones with a dull thud. Brehm struggled to keep up, his lighter frame having trouble keeping up. We sped through the dark streets, the shadow of the bunker becoming a distant echo.
The subway station loomed ahead of us, its entrance a gaping maw of darkness. The humming grew louder, an ominous warning of what lay within. My heart was pounding, but I was determined.
As we descended the stairs, the putrid stench of decay assaulted my nostrils. Torchlight bounced off the damp walls, and the humming vibrations of the pump seemed to permeate the air. Candles flickered in the darkness, dripping wax to the ground in long, twisted strands. The air grew thicker, the stench more overwhelming. Finally I saw them—a sea of writhing, mindless figures, their eyes and mouths twisted in eternal screams. The undead reached out to us with their rotting hands.
Suddenly I saw one who looked different from the rest—a new addition to the horde. His clothes were still partially intact. Brehm noticed him, too. “It’s Samuel! He was a guard here.” My mind raced. If these creatures still had any sense of identity, maybe there was a chance. “Samuel! This is Swen! Listen to me!” I shouted, raising my knife to defend myself.
Samuel looked at me blankly, his body moving awkwardly toward me. I parried his blow, the sound of metal on bone echoing through the room. “Brehm, stop him!” I shouted, giving him time to lunge at the zombie with the rope. Together we tackled Samuel to the ground. “We have to get him back to the bunker, now!” Brehm could barely steady his shaking hands.
I looked out at the horde. The undead were still ignoring us, their attention focused on the pump against the far wall. And then I heard it—a low, vibrating groan. I looked into the chamber, where something huge was moving in the darkness. The undead parted, revealing a massive silhouette. I tightened my grip on the knife. It was a true beast, taller and more massive than any human, covered in scales like armor. It stank of rot and feces. “You have trespassed on my territory, little ones.” She hissed. “The penalty for such audacity is death!”
I stood firm, my heart pounding in my chest. "We seek an explanation of what possesses these men! Why do you command them?" Her laughter filled the chamber. "Explanations? These poor souls serve me willingly. It is a gift!"
"You lie!" Brehm's cry echoed. "You control them!" The Queen's eyes narrowed. "You cannot free them, traveler. The consequences will be unpleasant." I stepped forward, raising my knife. "We shall see!"
The Queen's eyes widened, and her powerful hands clenched into fists. "Foolish mortal!" she screamed, and I reflexively glanced at Brehm. He looked as if he were about to faint—his face white as a sheet. Then I focused back on the monstrous Queen. "We will solve this problem, one way or another!" I blurted out, trying to hide my mounting fear.
The beast's cry cut through the air. It was so piercing I felt my eardrums begin to throb. I could feel something changing. The undead horde could sense their queen’s unease—their groans and growls were growing louder, a cacophony that drowned out everything else. Samuel, our dead companion, was thrashing wildly, clearly responding to the call. Brehm and I could barely contain him.
“You are making a mistake,” the queen hissed, glaring at me. Her gaze pierced through and through, as if to rip out my soul. “Leave now, and I may spare your life.”
My lips curved into a defiant smile. “We have come too far. We will not rest until we discover the truth!”
The truth. I knew the word would enrage her. Her roar rent the air as she lunged at me, claws outstretched. Instinctively, I raised my knife to defend myself. The force of the impact was crushing – I flew backwards, hitting the ground with my back, and intense heat spread across my chest. The pain of my bruised ribs pierced my mind, and every breath was torture. But she didn’t let up. The next blows fell on me like a hammer, and I could barely resist.
Through my blurry vision I saw Brehm still fighting Samuel. The zombie was getting weaker and weaker, and his movements were losing their power. Brehm had him under control, at least for a moment.
Blocking another blow from the queen, I felt sparks spray around me. Her scales were impenetrable. I took advantage of her body’s momentum and made a quick jump, throwing myself under her massive frame, trying to reach Brehm. Each step burned me with pain, and the air filled my lungs like lead.
The queen’s gaze shifted to us. Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Fools! You have damned yourselves!” she roared in fury, raising her hands high above her head.
I knew we didn’t have much time. The horde was closing in, sensing their ruler’s desperation. The cries of the undead were getting louder. I knew they would attack us at any moment.
"We have to run!" Brehm was barely catching his breath, and his face was as white as chalk. He was right—we had to run. I tightened my grip on the ropes that bound Samuel. The dead bastard was thrashing, trying to free himself, but I had the impression that his strength was fading with every passing moment. Brehm was panting, holding him from the other side. He didn't look the best. I wasn't in the best of shape either. The pain in my ribs reminded me of itself with every step, as if someone was driving nails into my side.
"Faster!" I shouted as I heard the moans of the undead growing louder behind me. I didn't have to look back to know that they were coming for us soon. I pushed Brehm toward the exit. He pulled Samuel with him, and I covered the back. I could feel the thick, stale breath of the undead beginning to surround us. Each of their steps echoed through the subway tunnel, and their claws scraped the ground as if they were already rubbing their hands together for a feast.
We reached the nearest stairs leading up. Brehm, exhausted as he was, was the first to start climbing. Samuel struggled like a rabid animal, but the rope held. I tried to keep up, but every time I had to take a breath, my vision went black. Get to the exit, I repeated to myself in my head, although I wasn’t sure if that would be enough to survive.
The sounds of pursuit faded. I looked over my shoulder—the undead had stopped suddenly, as if on command. Most of them began to slowly move away in the opposite direction, obedient to an invisible order, like a herd.
“Don’t ask why, just run!” I shouted to Brehm. We were still far from safety, and those who remained were still able to catch up with us.
Using all our strength, Brehm and I half-carried, half-dragged the struggling Samuel back to the bunker. He struggled, trying to break free of his bonds, but we held him tight. Fortunately, the living dead didn’t follow us—their attention was still focused on the queen. I had no idea why they had suddenly retreated, but it didn’t matter at the moment.
Staggering down the stairs, we finally emerged onto the dimly lit street. The torches were already fading, and each step filled me with agony. I knew our fight was far from over. This monster wouldn’t give up its hold on the servants that easily, and that meant we’d have to face it again. I wasn’t going to give up. Not now that we were so close to discovering the truth and restoring some semblance of order to this madness.
I headed toward the bunker, feeling the pain around my lungs grow with each step. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer in this state. I had to ask the Scribes to tend to the wounds – that would have to do for now.
As the bunker doors slammed shut behind us, I allowed myself a small smile. The battle had been fierce, but we hadn’t lost. We had met the Queen, we had seen her strength, and the people had been able to breathe a sigh of relief. But I knew it was only a temporary peace. Sooner or later, we would face her terror again.
The next day, I was invited to observe the research on Samuel, our captured zombie. We stood in one of the bunker’s small rooms, where the Scribes had spread the body out on a metal table. I watched with interest as they slowly removed the blood- and mud-soaked clothes and exposed the deformed body, full of rot and hardened muscles. His eyes were empty, dead, but his body still seemed to be responding. Something was moving inside him.
“What could it be?” one of the Scribes said, glancing at me as if expecting me to answer his question. But what could I know? I was no expert.
One of the oldest in the group took a scalpel and made a precise incision along Samuel’s spine. As he cut away the tissue, we saw a long, thin, snake-like creature coiling tightly around his spine. It was a parasite that seemed to move delicately within Samuel’s dead body.
“Look, it’s coiling around the nerve roots,” Brehm said, indicating the creature’s delicate movements. “It controls the body.” The parasite is like a string that controls the corpse. Its movements are barely perceptible and terrifyingly precise.
“So this is it?” I asked, trying to understand what exactly this finding meant.
“Yes, it controls the body. Without it, this man is just dead meat,” Brehm replied, removing his gloves. “We don’t know where these parasites come from or why they are loyal to the Queen.”
The Eldest Scribe stood over Samuel’s dead body, his face a cold determination. In his hand he held something long and sharp—it looked like an old hunting knife. Before I could react, he plunged the blade straight into the undead’s skull. Blood and gray fluid sprayed everywhere, and I felt my stomach drop. The parasite that had been wrapped around Samuel’s spine began to writhe violently, then suddenly froze.
“I understand now,” the oldest said, wiping the blade. “That’s why we didn’t notice them before. They die from brain damage.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but the sight of what they were doing shocked me to the core. The parasite had been removed, and Samuel’s body now lay motionless. As it should have. I knew that this was only the beginning of our problems, but one thing was clear—these creatures were not acting of their own free will. They were tools in the hands of someone much worse.
“The Queen,” I whispered, and everyone turned to look at me.
“Yes,” one of the Scribes said. “She is the key.”
I looked at the dead body. After everything I had seen here, I knew I had to learn more. There were too many questions waiting to be answered, and the answers could only be found in the one place that was right for them—the Scribes’ library.
“Brehm,” I began as we left the lab, “I need access to your library. I need to learn more about this queen and the parasites. We can’t go blindly any longer.”
He looked at me, slightly confused, as if unsure if this was a good idea. “This place isn’t open to everyone, Swen, but after what you saw, I guess you’re an exception?” He nodded, and a moment later we were walking toward the library.
When we entered, I was immediately hit by the smell of old books and lingering dust. Faint light flowed through the cracks, creating narrow beams that cut through the darkness of the room. The shelves stretched far into the depths, filled with forgotten knowledge from before the explosion. There was something mysterious and slightly unsettling about this place.
“We need to find something about the queen, about the monster that controls corpses with parasites,” I said, starting to look through the first rows of books. Brehm nodded and headed in the other direction.
We immersed ourselves in the reading. The books were old and heavy, and some of the pages broke when touched. The descriptions of monsters, beasts, mutations after the explosion, and other terrible things seemed endless. Most were familiar—ancient demons and spirits, two-headed animals, poisonous plants. Nothing that could fit our queen.
The hours passed. I was starting to lose hope when I suddenly opened something interesting. It was an old volume, barely holding itself together. Its title didn’t mean much, but after browsing a few pages, I came across something that stopped my heart for a moment.
“Lich,” I read quietly under my breath. “An undead who has a will of his own, enormous strength, and often magical abilities that affect the mind. To achieve immortality, she must encase her soul in a special container—a phylactery.” I turned my gaze to Brehm. “That sounds like our queen!”
“A lich?” he asked, stepping closer and peering over my shoulder. “The only way to kill him is to destroy the phylactery. So it’s not the queen herself who’s the target, but her soul, locked away somewhere else. Do we need to find this phylactery?”
We sat for a moment longer, absorbing the new information. It was all starting to make sense. If the queen was a lich, her control over the parasites could be the result of her powerful, ancient powers.
“That explains a lot,” I said, closing the book. “But it also means that our mission becomes much more complicated. It’s not enough for us to kill the queen—we have to destroy her phylactery.”
Brehm nodded, though I could see the weariness in his eyes. I felt the same. After hours of reading, we were both exhausted. “I think it’s time to rest,” I said, standing up and stretching my stiff and still-aching muscles. “Tomorrow will be a big day. We have to be ready.”
Brehm didn’t argue. We left the library together, and I kept thinking about what we had found. A lich, immortality, and a phylactery. What lay ahead of us could be the hardest fight of my life. But I knew one thing—I wouldn’t give up.
We set out first thing in the morning, not waiting for a miracle. The ruins of the old city stretched out before us, swallowed by gnarled vines and the creeping shadows of morning. The air was heavy with decay, and the smell of damp earth mingled with a hint of something more sinister. I tightened my fingers around the hilt of my knife, my nerves tingling with tension.
“Are you ready for this, Brehm?” I asked, glancing at the Scribe walking beside me.
Brehm adjusted his glasses and stared into the distance, his expression unreadable. “I could use a little more courage. This is no ordinary hunt. This is a mission to kill a queen.” His voice trembled slightly, but his determination was unquestionable. We both knew what was at stake—if we didn’t eliminate the undead queen who controlled the horde, the tide of the living dead would only grow.
Brehm smiled reluctantly. “You have centuries of experience, and I have spent my life recording history, not fighting monstrosities.”
“The recorded histories contain valuable notes on the Liches,” I replied, my heart beating faster. The plan was risky. We had gathered a small force of Scribes and a few mercenaries accustomed to combat who were present in the bunker, and they would be key to the attack.
The streets around us seemed to hum with unseen life. The crunch of dead leaves underfoot echoed ominously through the ruins. I could almost feel the moisture clinging to my skin, as if the very air itself were aware of our destination.
“Gather!” I called as we approached the barricade. Grim faces emerged from the shadows—hardened mercenaries, Scribes with worry etched beneath their brows, all clad in various armor and metal plates they’d found along the way.
“Listen!” I raised my voice to pierce the silence. “We’re going to gather a horde at the metro exit. That should attract the queen.”
“Attract a horde? Are we bait?” The stocky mercenary, Garrik, crossed his arms, his tone dripping with skepticism.
“Exactly,” I replied. “If we can organize the chaos properly, the queen won’t know what’s going on. Brehm and I have done a lot of preparation for this moment, learning about the enemy through a captured zombie, Samuel. We also found a lot of information in the library."
“Samuel is just a shell,” Brehm admitted, frowning. “We’ve pieced together the bits and pieces, but much of it is still unclear. First, we need to get down there and find the phylactery.”
The group nodded uncertainly, but I could see the uncertainty in their eyes. “You’re asking us to wade in there to our deaths to try to kill the queen. What guarantee do we have that this monster won’t figure out our plan?” Garrik continued.
“The smart move is to exploit her arrogance,” Brehm interjected quickly. “She thinks the zombies are extensions of her will, absolute power. What happens if we take care of them?”
“Then she’ll lose control. I understand.” Garrik squared his shoulders, deciding, “Let’s kill this queen.” Hope flickered in the eyes of both Scribes and mercenaries. We stood united, ready to face the horrors that lay ahead. I could feel the adrenaline racing through my pulse. “Let’s go,” I ordered.
We set off into the city. The streets twisted like a maze, every shadow vibrating with terror. Soon we reached the entrance to the old subway. Suddenly, a soft groan echoed through the alleys, freezing my blood.
“Zombies!” I whispered, gripping my weapon tighter. The groans mingled with the sound of rotting bodies hitting stone.
“They’re coming,” I warned Brehm, who was still leafing through his notebook. “Focus,” he said in a calm voice. The group tried to keep their cool, but I could see the panic growing in their eyes.
The smell of rotting flesh hit like a physical blow. I raised my knife, the blade gleaming faintly in the gray light.
“Hurdle them to the entrance!” Brehm shouted, using his knowledge of pack behavior. “On my mark!” I screamed as the first zombie rushed toward us. His rotted, half-decomposed face twisted into a grotesque grimace.
“NOW!” I lunged forward, severing one of the zombie’s arms. Without a moment’s hesitation, I pushed it toward the subway stairs.
“Aim for the brains! We know their weaknesses!” Brehm shouted incessantly. We fought wildly, the noise of bodies smashing and screams filling the air. With each zombie that fell, the strange sounds from the underground grew clearer.
“Come on, let’s drive them closer to the stairs!” I shouted. With each zombie that fell, I could feel the tide of my own battle with the queen changing. I wondered if her will had broken, if she felt helpless?
Suddenly Brehm called, “Swen! The queen is coming!” My stomach clenched with nerves.
“Retreat! Regroup!” I shouted, knowing that the real fight was only just beginning, and fear would soon begin to return to our hearts.
Chaos. Chaos bathed in an eerie light that bathed the setting sun, torches flickering, casting long shadows over the dead bodies of the zombies. A symbolic wound festering just beneath the ruins of humanity.
“Prepare a diversion!” I shouted, gathering the mercenaries. Everyone began to hastily pull out makeshift Molotov cocktails ready to throw at the horde of living dead. Brehm’s hands scribbled notes feverishly, capturing the chaos unfolding before us.
I stared into the dark subway tunnel, fear tingling my skin. “She will show herself,” I thought as the night sky above us was a blanket of stars. A disturbing reminder of the vastness of the universe and the horrors that could lurk within it.
The first scream shattered the spell of twilight, an unearthly wail that made everyone freeze. “Oh no,” I whispered, staring as a colossal shadow swept through the rubble. The Queen emerged, bathed in darkness, covered in rags of silk and leather. Her presence dominated the entire battlefield, her eyes glowing terrifyingly.
“Submit to my rule,” a voice crackled like thunder through the heavy air. “Your futile resistance only feeds me!” I clenched my fists, determination hardening my heart. “Not today!”
The Queen’s expression twisted into a psychotic smile as she pointed at me. Her fingers were incredibly slender and club-like, a gesture full of power and menace. “You underestimate the bond I have forged with my army, wanderer!” Before she could finish speaking, the undead were rushing at us in waves. Our crude barricades were barely holding their ground. Brehm’s journal had highlighted their weaknesses, but now we needed every ounce of strength we could muster.
“Ignite them!” I shouted to the mercenaries. Flames erupted as the makeshift Molotov cocktails hit their targets, lighting up the air and igniting the zombies in a spectacular blaze. Their roars echoed the crackling of fire, and amidst the chaos, the Queen's laughter was barely audible.
"Brehm, this is our chance," I whispered. We ducked, avoiding the barricades and the fighting Scribes. Their fate was uncertain, but we had a different mission.
We entered the subway tunnel unnoticed. The silence was broken only by the distant cries and grunts of zombies that roamed the remains of the once normal world. The air was heavy with moisture, and I felt the darkness pressing down on my shoulders.
In the room next door, I could hear the clatter of undead feet. Their bodies were rotten, covered in black, rotting tissue, their skin hanging from their bones like wet paper. Their eyes were lifeless, as if they were victims. But there was something eerily calm about it all, as if existence without a soul was their only blessing.
"Avoid or fight?" I asked quietly, gripping my knife. The thought of facing them in such a confined space was terrifying. There were more of them than we had expected.
“Kill quickly,” Brehm replied, more to himself than to me.
We moved like shadows, our knives cutting silently through rotting flesh. With every step and every fallen zombie, the air became more suffocating. I wondered what the ancient philosophers would have said if they had seen this determinant of human fate. Maybe there was no great revelation after death, only endless wandering, aimless, with emptiness in our eyes?
We finally reached the old engine room, where a water pump dominated the entire room. The sight before us filled us with almost existential horror—dozens of zombies gathered around the pump, like obedient sheep unable to act independently. Amidst all this, small white eggs gleamed in the water.
“Snakes,” I whispered. “They are responsible for taking control of humans. The queen’s phylactery must be nearby!” I added quietly, unable to tear my gaze from the eggs.
“We don’t have time,” Brehm replied, clutching his weapon. “Let’s destroy this before they sense us.”
He was right.
I slowly approached the eggs, which gleamed in the murky water. Their shells trembled, as if something inside was dying to be released. I threw one of the bottles filled with flammable liquid, watching as the shells cracked and the burning contents spilled into the water. I expected an attack, a quick reaction, but the zombies remained motionless. Instead of us, their dead eyes were directed at the water pump. Strange, even for these monsters.
"Something's wrong here," I said, and Brehm gave me a quick, confirming look. I frowned at the pump. It was the one they were interested in, not the eggs. "The pump must be the phylactery!" I whispered, feeling a cold shiver run down my neck. "She's the most important thing to them!"
I began to approach, ready to destroy her. I knew that this could end things once and for all, but then something changed. The silhouette of the queen emerged from the darkness of the tunnel. Her face was barely visible in the dim light, but her eyes gleamed menacingly. Her voice echoed: “Dare you, traveler?”
Before I could say anything, the battle from the surface had spilled out into the depths of the subway. I could hear screams and the sound of weapons bouncing off the walls of the tunnel. Zombies rushed at us from every side, and the Queen stood in the midst of the madness, as if drawing strength from it. I tried to fight my way to the pump, but she blocked my every move.
“Do something, Brehm!” I shouted, trying to gain some advantage.
The weight of two centuries crushed me as I realized the scale of this duel. Each of the Queen’s blows had the force of wild fury mixed with something older, unnatural. I dodged her claws, but she was fast—far faster than I could have expected. I barely parried each blow, and every time her claws sliced the air, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
Brehm didn’t leave me alone. I could see him fighting the undead who were coming at us, trying to help his queen. His blade flashed in the dim light of the tunnel, every movement a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable. I could hear the screams of the Scribes fighting in the narrow corridors, and despite the cacophony, something inside me knew that this wasn’t over yet.
The queen lunged at me again, and I didn’t have time to move away. Her claws dug into my arm, crushing muscle and piercing bone. I fell to my knees, trying to catch my breath. It felt like all my strength was leaking out along with my blood. “Not today!” I thought, struggling to my feet. But she was already above me, ready to end this once and for all.
Brehm fought bravely, but the numbers overwhelmed him. Zombies kept coming out from all sides, as if driven by some endless impulse. Something inside me screamed that it was the pump, that this phylactery must be connected to their lives. But before I could say it out loud, the Queen's blow sent me back to the ground. This time the pain was so overwhelming that I couldn't move.
Suddenly I heard a whistling in the darkness. Burning arrows tore through the silence, and the water pump exploded in a shower of sparks. Water flooded the room, and all the zombies fell without a sound. Only corpses remained, from which life had been suddenly ripped away. The snakes that had guided them convulsed in their final convulsions. It was Garrik. All the time waiting in the darkness for the moment to deliver the final blow.
The Queen, seeing what was happening, tried to escape, but I couldn't let that happen. I gathered the last of my strength and went after her, and Garrik joined me, emerging from the darkness. With the last of my strength, I jumped down from the crude scaffolding and drove my blade straight into her skull, while Garrik pushed his perfectly between the scales that lined her side. The Queen let out a terrifying howl before she fell dead, her eyes finally empty.
Finally, there was silence. The remaining Scribes and surviving mercenaries collapsed onto the wet, cold floor. In that silence, soaked with fatigue and fleeting relief, no one spoke a word.
A few weeks later, I felt my strength returning. The Scribes surrounded me with care, and their shelter provided peace and quiet. My wounds, albeit slowly, were healing. Weeks passed in the bunker, but I knew that this was not the place for me. The journey east could not wait.
As I packed, I heard faint whispers and the sounds of the Scribes working to rebuild the bunker. As I stood at the exit, Brehm called out, "Serpensin Cerebro!"
"What?" I stopped in my tracks.
"Serpensin Cerebro. Serpents that the Lich created to control the dead. They will be included in one of the more important bestiaries," he replied, a hint of a smile on his face.
"Thank you," I replied with the utmost sincerity.
As we exchanged last glances, Garrik stood to one side, as always a little in the shadows, but ready. He nodded to me, and I returned the gesture. I knew him, briefly, but too well to say anything more. As
I headed east, feeling the cold wind on my face, I turned once more. The Pasewalk bunker was far behind me, and the Scribes and mercenaries were beginning to rebuild what was left of their haven. But to me, this was just another battle, another stop. My place was on the road.
With each step, I felt the weight of past battles slowly receding, though probably not for long.
Statystyki: autor: BIG POTATO — 14 gru 2024, 15:37
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https://bigpotato.online/viewtopic.php?p=5&utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=blogger&utm_campaign=grzegorz%20w%20sieci%21#p5
A soft hiss. It had sensed me, and the air seemed to freeze with tension. It spun around suddenly, its tentacle-like vine snapping toward me with a bang. I rolled away just in time, feeling a gust of wind as the tentacle flew past my face. The underbrush trembled with its aggressive movements, and I could feel every vibration transmitted through the earth and into my bones. “Oh you!” I cried, pulling out my old, worn knife. Its blade was coated in a layer of rust, as if long forgotten by the world, yet I kept it carefully sharpened. It was a primitive weapon, but I had learned long ago that survival depended more on speed and agility than on the power of my wielding.
I lunged forward, aiming for the heart of the leafy beast. With a quick thrust, I plunged the knife into the fleshy, green center. I watched with pleasure as its sap clashed with the dull gray of the world I knew. “Eeeek!” A grotesque cry tore from the plant, a sound more befitting a living creature than a green monster. It convulsed, releasing a cloud of spores that filled the air with a sickly sweet scent. I stumbled back, feeling sick to my stomach. I pressed forward again, twisting the knife before stabbing again. “Stay where you are, you overgrown weed!” I shouted, determination fueling my blows. With a final thrust, the blade dug deeper, the plant’s cries fading to a pitiful whine before it fell dead into the underbrush.
Panting, I pulled the knife out and wiped it on my now rather dirty pants. My heart rate began to calm, the adrenaline slowly draining from my system, and as the world fell silent, I allowed myself a moment’s respite. Victory was a small consolation in the chaos that had consumed everything above and below the ground. I slowly rose, feeling the tension in my muscles give way to exhaustion. The ground beneath my feet was still damp, as if soaked not only with water but also with the shadow of that short, brutal fight. My breathing evened out, and my heart stopped pounding. I was alive!
I continued on, knife in hand, though my hand was shaking, betraying how tired I was. The road ahead was tightly packed with vegetation, but at least it didn’t lead to the swamp. The last thing I wanted was to run into some animal that would decide my skeleton would be a great addition to its dinner.
As I passed through the thickets that obscured everything, I caught the same familiar, sickly scent that had accompanied my fight moments earlier. I froze.
At first glance, there seemed to be nothing there, but my nose and eyes told me otherwise. Bushes. Too thick, too tall to be considered ordinary vegetation. After a moment, I noticed movement. Slow. Unconscious, but definitely alive. Radix Predatoria! Another one, and right on the only road that would take me away from these damned swamps! I took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden surge of adrenaline that was starting to build up pressure in my head again. She hadn’t sensed me yet. Maybe I had a moment to think. But what to do?
I closed my eyes for a split second, pushing down all doubt. “Act before it does,” I told myself. I gripped the knife in my hand, waiting for the moment for the weed to move. I knew that if I gave it time, it would end like any other fight, only this time it might not be in my favor. I lunged forward, aiming for the most exposed part of the stem.
The blade dug deep, but to my surprise I felt none of the familiar, satisfying resistance. Instead I heard a low, gurgling sound, like someone had just opened a bottle of the worst, rotten wine in history. At the same moment, something slimy and cold wrapped around my ankle. “Great, now I’m done for,” I thought before I was thrown to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Mud clung to my face and another tentacle lashed me over my shoulder, leaving a stinging mark. I struggled to lift my head, the sight before me making me curse under my breath. This beast was at least twice as big as the last one, and its tentacles moved with menacing precision, as if it knew my every move before I made it. “Sure, attack something bigger, what could go wrong?” I said to myself, crawling to the nearest tree that could serve as cover.
But I didn’t have much time for strategy. Another blow landed right next to me, tearing the earth apart and showering me with clay. I jumped to my feet, raising my knife. “You want to dance? Then we will!” I growled, lunging for the pulsing center of the plant. This time I aimed for the lower part of its stem, where the roots twisted in a chaotic tangle.
It was a good plan—for about two seconds, at least, before one of the vines wrapped around my torso and lifted me into the air. For a moment, I felt like I was in a tragic farce. I hung helplessly, watching the enormous flower slowly open as if it were going to devour me. “Great, Swen. Your life is ending as dinner for an overgrown weed.”
I gathered all my strength, twisting the knife in my hand. In one swift movement, I cut through the tentacle that held me. The fall to the ground was unpleasant—my back met with a particularly hard root, but at least I had a moment to catch my breath. Without hesitation, I lunged forward again, this time driving the blade straight into the roots with all my strength. The plant shuddered, making a sound like a shriek. Sap—rotten, slimy, and stinking—spurted onto my face, forcing me to hold back my nausea.
“I got you, you overgrown plague,” I growled, driving the knife even deeper. More tentacles tried to reach me, but their movements became increasingly chaotic, as if the plant was losing control. Finally, everything fell silent. The tentacles fell away, and I stepped back, panting heavily. I looked down at myself – I was dirty, caked in sap and mud, and blood was seeping from my arm. Well, at least I was still breathing, and that was something. I wiped my knife on the nearest leaf, which seemed less toxic, and looked at the dead monster. I wondered how many more of them were waiting here? I didn’t want to know the answer.
Only now did I realize that I had been hearing footsteps for some time. I froze, and the sound caught my attention. Footsteps? The air rustled with tension again, and instinct told me to do my thing. I hid behind the remains of the defeated plant. A moment later, a figure emerged from the thicket – a familiar silhouette.
A messenger from a distant bunker. One of the Pasewalk Scribes, led by two armed guards. Their eyes wide with desperation must have seen better days than traveling through the Romincka Forest.
“Swen!” the envoy called, his voice laced with joy at the encounter.
“Brehm?” I asked in surprise, entering the more lighted area. “What are you doing in this swamp? Shouldn’t you be underground? It’s safer there!”
“Safer?” he snorted, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Do you think the walls of the bunker can protect us from everything? We’re in deep trouble!” He shifted uncomfortably, casting a quick glance at the guards. Their gaze had recently settled on a dead plant. “We’re being attacked by some creatures. Humans, but not really. More like corpses—empty shells, but with the fury of a living creature.”
Images of rotting, swaying corpses flashed through my mind, brought to life by some darker force. I had seen reports of such attacks long ago, heard stories from those who had supposedly escaped them, but I hadn’t taken them too seriously. “They’re attacking our people,” he continued. “People are disappearing from the fields, sometimes in droves, and then they come back changed.” My stomach clenched as he said it. “Death is spreading through the ranks of the Scribes, and you come here asking for help. Friend, I will help you, but I can’t do anything without more information.”
“Yes, yes! Like when you fixed the water pump?” I interrupted, a bitter smile spreading across my face. “I’d rather not think about that damned rusty machine right now.” Brehm’s expression grew serious. “I know it’s no easy task. But we can’t figure out what’s going on until we catch one of these… things. We need someone with your skills.” With that, I felt the weight of their desperation.
My previous encounters with the Scribes had been relatively peaceful, full of mutual respect, but this time their problems were mixed with some dark fantasy. This wasn’t just another technical crisis. I could sense the danger in the air. “Okay,” I finally answered. “We need a plan.” As I spoke, the shadows thickened at the edge of the clearing, the remains of the plant dancing ominously under the now red sky. “Let’s gather what we can from this Predatoria,” I suggested, and after a while we set off toward the distant bunker. My mind was racing with images of the threats lurking in the shadows ahead.
The journey to the Pasewalk Scribe bunker had taken ten days—ten long, damp, and unpleasant days that seemed to stretch on forever. The Scribe and I walked ahead, watching for danger, while the guards stayed behind, covering our rear. They looked like people who didn’t like their jobs very much.
The first few days of our journey took us through the dense, damp Romincka Forest. The air smelled of rotting wood and wet earth, and the tall trees, leaning in different directions, seemed to be looking down on us. Every crack of branches, every rustle of leaves made our hearts beat faster. Brehm was silent, staring ahead.
On the fourth day, we came across tracks—huge, disturbingly deep paw prints in the mud. Lupus Ferox, mutated beasts that the human settlements feared like the plague. Their jaws could tear a man to pieces, and their eyes glowed in the darkness like lanterns.
“We need to change our route,” I muttered, pointing to the prints. Brehm nodded, clearly tired but still alert. We turned off the main road, heading toward the ruins of the old city. The apartment blocks leaned silently. The concrete skeletons of the buildings were overgrown with vines, and the surviving roofs sagged under the weight of weeds and mutated mosses. The uneasiness of the place was broken only by the distant howling of wolves.
We moved slowly, trying to avoid open spaces. In one of the squares I spotted a rusty playground—swings moving gently in the wind, making a faint creaking sound. We quickened our pace. By the time we finally emerged from the ruins, the sun was low on the horizon, painting the sky red. The wolves did not follow us, but their howls echoed through the night.
On the sixth day we reached the marshes. The world grew quieter, as if the water and the muddy ground were absorbing every sound. Mosquitoes attacked us mercilessly, and we took steps carefully so as not to fall into deeper puddles hidden by the dense vegetation.
Halfway through the swamp, we heard movement—a quiet splashing and panting. We stopped, crouching in the tall reeds. In the distance, to our left, a lone wolf was tearing through the undergrowth. His fur was matted, torn off in places, and his body was covered in growths. He was even more terrifying than the mutants I had met before. Unfortunately, one of the guards took a step too far. The mud scudded under his foot, and in a split second, the wolf emerged from the tall reeds like a shadow come to life. In one leap, he threw himself at the guard, knocking him to the ground. A cry of pain shattered the silence as the beast's teeth sank into his throat. The other guard, terrified, raised his sword but didn't take a single step.
“Great, now they’re all dead,” I thought, grabbing my knife and running out of hiding. If I didn’t move, they both would.
I struck blindly with my first blow, trying to distract the beast. The knife swiped at its side, barely grazing it, but enough to make it let out a low, vibrating growl. The wolf turned toward me, its eyes glowing greenish, blood dripping from its muzzle.
I didn’t have time to think about the dead guard. The wolf lunged at me, and I barely managed to dodge, rolling in the mud. Its claws snagged my leg, tearing through the fabric of my pants and my skin. I hissed in pain, but I couldn’t stop.
“Come on, show me what you’ve got!” I growled, feeling the adrenaline take over my body.
The other guard regained his composure and lunged forward, swinging his sword. The wolf reacted quickly, jumping to the side, but the blade grazed his shoulder. This only enraged him. The beast leapt at the guard, knocking him to the ground.
I lunged at the wolf, jabbing my knife into its side. The beast howled, distracting the guard who was struggling to crawl away into the mud. The wolf lunged at me, and I dodged its jaws again. It was increasingly chaotic, but still deadly.
Finally, I saw my chance. Something pulsating green light flashed under the wolf's belly. I forced myself to move, ignoring the pain in my leg. I jumped forward, jabbing the knife into that spot. The wolf howled, its body quivering, then fell to the ground. Its eyes went dark, and I fell to my knees, gasping for breath.
I looked at the guards. The one who lay still with his throat slit was dead—there was no doubt about it. The other one rose slowly, leaning on his sword.
"Are you alive?" I said, looking at him.
"Barely," he gasped, clutching at the wound.
I wiped the knife on the grass, leaving a trail of blood. I was exhausted, but still alive. That was something.
The last few days of the journey had been less dramatic, but more grueling. Once we left the swamp, the world opened up more—fields of wild grasses and shrubs stretching to the horizon. The road was easier, but the air was stifling, as if the very memory of the swamp haunted us.
When we finally reached the Scribes’ bunker, we looked like the embodiment of misery. Our damp clothes, caked with mud and plant debris, stank so much that even I could smell it. We were all exhausted, but we made it there unscathed.
The concrete walls, surrounded by the remains of abandoned factories, promised respite, although the air inside was supposed to be just as stifling as outside. It smelled of damp earth and old paper. Maps of the pre-explosion world hung on the walls alongside charts documenting mutations, and scribbles in the margins revealed both hope and despair. I saw those once called scholars now overwhelmed with paranoia. Their eyes flickered toward me—half expecting salvation, half fearing my arrival.
When they returned, they gave me a twenty-four-hour window to get myself in order. Clean water and a few hours of sleep were more than I’d had in weeks. The pain in my leg from the wolf fight was soothed by some herbal salves, and a fresh bandage made the stinging of the wound seem to have been forgotten, if only for a short while. Finally, when I felt strong enough to stand, the summons came.
I was led to a small room where the most important Scribes waited. A table made of welded metal groaned under the weight of scrolls, books, and sheaves of papers, and above it hung a lamp that gave off just enough light to see the faces of those gathered. Their looks were a mix of distrust and desperation.
“Hunting?” one of them muttered, clutching a clear piece of parchment covered in lines of text. “You want to bring these corpses here? Just to understand the threat?”
“Understanding is key,” I replied calmly. “But we have to act quickly. Every wasted moment means more bodies and more chaos.” A man stepped out of the shadows. His eyes were sunken, as if he hadn’t slept since the day this had started. “We’ve lost too many already,” he stated almost quietly. “Too many of our scholars are now among them.”
As I prepared to devise a plan of attack, memories of old, pre-war hunting techniques flashed through my mind. Suddenly, a piercing cry echoed through the corridors, “Aaaaaaaaaahhh!” The bunker immediately erupted into chaos. The footsteps turned into a single sound as people rushed to their weapons. I gripped my knife tighter, adrenaline pumping through my veins again. “They found us!” Brehm shouted, drawing his sidearm and stepping in front of me in a defensive gesture.
“Everyone, stay calm!” I struggled to be heard over the commotion, but my voice was barely audible. The sound of pounding feet grew louder, pressing against the walls we had long considered shelter. A deafening crack echoed through the corridors. The guards were preparing themselves, and I could feel them as tense as a string about to snap.
“Barricade the door!” I shouted, rushing toward the source of the sound. I had to know what we were dealing with. When I peeked through the crack in the door, my heart sank. Shadows rustled in the darkness outside, their shapes torn and dismembered, embodying everything that was both terrible and grotesque in our world. “Brehm,” I whispered, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“Worse?” Brehm repeated incredulously, his eyes darting back and forth. The skeletal forms of these zombies had familiar faces twisted in macabre expressions of hunger and pain. They clawed at the concrete, a horde ready to destroy everything in their path. “They’re trying to break in!” one of the guards shouted, throwing a heavy metal chair at the door. “We have to stop them!”
“Not just stop them,” I said, my mind racing, “We have to find a way to catch one and study it!” As soon as I had said it, the door creaked ominously under their relentless attacks. The tension grew like an invisible wave of fear and determination. I couldn’t believe these creatures had once been human, but now I saw something undeniably captivating about them—the mystery of their existence and the threat they posed. The desire to know the answer was greater than the fear for my life.
“Let’s do this!” I shouted, a shiver of danger burning through my insides. “Stand together! We can’t let them in!” With those words, we braced ourselves for the coming storm, the line between salvation and destruction narrowing like a shutter around a dying light. The battle was only just beginning.
The blows rained down at a steady pace, as if I had been fighting for hours, the knife an extension of my arm. The corpses, despite their visible damage, moved without hesitation, pressing like a tidal wave. The blade sliced through their rotten flesh, and the ground was covered in slippery remnants of flesh. Their dead eyes seemed to see neither me nor the world around them – only the need for blood drove them.
The fight intensified. Every now and then, out of the corner of my eye, I would see one of my companions disappear before the horde’s onslaught, only for another to rush in his place, trying to hold the line. Blood and sweat merged into one, mixing with the stench of rotting flesh, and I could barely keep up with the blows. They were everywhere.
Suddenly… something changed. The zombies, who had been pressing forward in disarray just a moment earlier, began to retreat. Slowly, almost in sync, as if following an invisible signal. Not all of them, but most of them began to move in one direction, like a herd that had suddenly found its leader.
The stragglers remained. Their numbers were still significant, enough to keep the fight going. But this strange, mass retreat made me uneasy. Something or someone was guiding them, but why? And what was waiting in the place they were heading for?
“These creatures… they’re everywhere!” Brehm panted, his eyes darting wildly. “We thought they were just mindless zombies, but they’re organized! They know what they’re doing!” I sheathed my knife. The clang of bone on metal echoed ominously in the darkness. “So they’re not just the living dead? Are they being controlled by something?”
“We saw them feeding on the bodies of the fallen.” Brehm replied, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and disorientation. “I think the bodies would get up afterward, like something took over their nervous systems. It’s like they were puppets. They’d get up and follow the herd.”
The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. I looked at the bloody footprints left on the ground. “Maybe their master isn’t so invisible after all. Something is controlling them, and maybe he’s not far away.” Brehm’s eyes widened as he cautiously looked around the deserted bunker. “What do you mean?”
"These aren't mutations. You're a Scribe, you know that things like that don't happen." I explained, feeling certain. "Someone is controlling them, and I think it's time for us to pay this terrifying person a visit." Brehm pressed his lips together so tightly that he barely opened them again. "There are old, recorded legends that speak of a being controlling the undead," I interrupted him abruptly as the familiar, heightened hum of machinery reached my ears. "Pump!" I mumbled, feeling a chill in my stomach. "The water pump at the old subway station is working again! That's where those corpses are headed!"
Without a word, I broke into a run, my boots hitting the cobblestones with a dull thud. Brehm struggled to keep up, his lighter frame having trouble keeping up. We sped through the dark streets, the shadow of the bunker becoming a distant echo.
The subway station loomed ahead of us, its entrance a gaping maw of darkness. The humming grew louder, an ominous warning of what lay within. My heart was pounding, but I was determined.
As we descended the stairs, the putrid stench of decay assaulted my nostrils. Torchlight bounced off the damp walls, and the humming vibrations of the pump seemed to permeate the air. Candles flickered in the darkness, dripping wax to the ground in long, twisted strands. The air grew thicker, the stench more overwhelming. Finally I saw them—a sea of writhing, mindless figures, their eyes and mouths twisted in eternal screams. The undead reached out to us with their rotting hands.
Suddenly I saw one who looked different from the rest—a new addition to the horde. His clothes were still partially intact. Brehm noticed him, too. “It’s Samuel! He was a guard here.” My mind raced. If these creatures still had any sense of identity, maybe there was a chance. “Samuel! This is Swen! Listen to me!” I shouted, raising my knife to defend myself.
Samuel looked at me blankly, his body moving awkwardly toward me. I parried his blow, the sound of metal on bone echoing through the room. “Brehm, stop him!” I shouted, giving him time to lunge at the zombie with the rope. Together we tackled Samuel to the ground. “We have to get him back to the bunker, now!” Brehm could barely steady his shaking hands.
I looked out at the horde. The undead were still ignoring us, their attention focused on the pump against the far wall. And then I heard it—a low, vibrating groan. I looked into the chamber, where something huge was moving in the darkness. The undead parted, revealing a massive silhouette. I tightened my grip on the knife. It was a true beast, taller and more massive than any human, covered in scales like armor. It stank of rot and feces. “You have trespassed on my territory, little ones.” She hissed. “The penalty for such audacity is death!”
I stood firm, my heart pounding in my chest. "We seek an explanation of what possesses these men! Why do you command them?" Her laughter filled the chamber. "Explanations? These poor souls serve me willingly. It is a gift!"
"You lie!" Brehm's cry echoed. "You control them!" The Queen's eyes narrowed. "You cannot free them, traveler. The consequences will be unpleasant." I stepped forward, raising my knife. "We shall see!"
The Queen's eyes widened, and her powerful hands clenched into fists. "Foolish mortal!" she screamed, and I reflexively glanced at Brehm. He looked as if he were about to faint—his face white as a sheet. Then I focused back on the monstrous Queen. "We will solve this problem, one way or another!" I blurted out, trying to hide my mounting fear.
The beast's cry cut through the air. It was so piercing I felt my eardrums begin to throb. I could feel something changing. The undead horde could sense their queen’s unease—their groans and growls were growing louder, a cacophony that drowned out everything else. Samuel, our dead companion, was thrashing wildly, clearly responding to the call. Brehm and I could barely contain him.
“You are making a mistake,” the queen hissed, glaring at me. Her gaze pierced through and through, as if to rip out my soul. “Leave now, and I may spare your life.”
My lips curved into a defiant smile. “We have come too far. We will not rest until we discover the truth!”
The truth. I knew the word would enrage her. Her roar rent the air as she lunged at me, claws outstretched. Instinctively, I raised my knife to defend myself. The force of the impact was crushing – I flew backwards, hitting the ground with my back, and intense heat spread across my chest. The pain of my bruised ribs pierced my mind, and every breath was torture. But she didn’t let up. The next blows fell on me like a hammer, and I could barely resist.
Through my blurry vision I saw Brehm still fighting Samuel. The zombie was getting weaker and weaker, and his movements were losing their power. Brehm had him under control, at least for a moment.
Blocking another blow from the queen, I felt sparks spray around me. Her scales were impenetrable. I took advantage of her body’s momentum and made a quick jump, throwing myself under her massive frame, trying to reach Brehm. Each step burned me with pain, and the air filled my lungs like lead.
The queen’s gaze shifted to us. Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Fools! You have damned yourselves!” she roared in fury, raising her hands high above her head.
I knew we didn’t have much time. The horde was closing in, sensing their ruler’s desperation. The cries of the undead were getting louder. I knew they would attack us at any moment.
"We have to run!" Brehm was barely catching his breath, and his face was as white as chalk. He was right—we had to run. I tightened my grip on the ropes that bound Samuel. The dead bastard was thrashing, trying to free himself, but I had the impression that his strength was fading with every passing moment. Brehm was panting, holding him from the other side. He didn't look the best. I wasn't in the best of shape either. The pain in my ribs reminded me of itself with every step, as if someone was driving nails into my side.
"Faster!" I shouted as I heard the moans of the undead growing louder behind me. I didn't have to look back to know that they were coming for us soon. I pushed Brehm toward the exit. He pulled Samuel with him, and I covered the back. I could feel the thick, stale breath of the undead beginning to surround us. Each of their steps echoed through the subway tunnel, and their claws scraped the ground as if they were already rubbing their hands together for a feast.
We reached the nearest stairs leading up. Brehm, exhausted as he was, was the first to start climbing. Samuel struggled like a rabid animal, but the rope held. I tried to keep up, but every time I had to take a breath, my vision went black. Get to the exit, I repeated to myself in my head, although I wasn’t sure if that would be enough to survive.
The sounds of pursuit faded. I looked over my shoulder—the undead had stopped suddenly, as if on command. Most of them began to slowly move away in the opposite direction, obedient to an invisible order, like a herd.
“Don’t ask why, just run!” I shouted to Brehm. We were still far from safety, and those who remained were still able to catch up with us.
Using all our strength, Brehm and I half-carried, half-dragged the struggling Samuel back to the bunker. He struggled, trying to break free of his bonds, but we held him tight. Fortunately, the living dead didn’t follow us—their attention was still focused on the queen. I had no idea why they had suddenly retreated, but it didn’t matter at the moment.
Staggering down the stairs, we finally emerged onto the dimly lit street. The torches were already fading, and each step filled me with agony. I knew our fight was far from over. This monster wouldn’t give up its hold on the servants that easily, and that meant we’d have to face it again. I wasn’t going to give up. Not now that we were so close to discovering the truth and restoring some semblance of order to this madness.
I headed toward the bunker, feeling the pain around my lungs grow with each step. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer in this state. I had to ask the Scribes to tend to the wounds – that would have to do for now.
As the bunker doors slammed shut behind us, I allowed myself a small smile. The battle had been fierce, but we hadn’t lost. We had met the Queen, we had seen her strength, and the people had been able to breathe a sigh of relief. But I knew it was only a temporary peace. Sooner or later, we would face her terror again.
The next day, I was invited to observe the research on Samuel, our captured zombie. We stood in one of the bunker’s small rooms, where the Scribes had spread the body out on a metal table. I watched with interest as they slowly removed the blood- and mud-soaked clothes and exposed the deformed body, full of rot and hardened muscles. His eyes were empty, dead, but his body still seemed to be responding. Something was moving inside him.
“What could it be?” one of the Scribes said, glancing at me as if expecting me to answer his question. But what could I know? I was no expert.
One of the oldest in the group took a scalpel and made a precise incision along Samuel’s spine. As he cut away the tissue, we saw a long, thin, snake-like creature coiling tightly around his spine. It was a parasite that seemed to move delicately within Samuel’s dead body.
“Look, it’s coiling around the nerve roots,” Brehm said, indicating the creature’s delicate movements. “It controls the body.” The parasite is like a string that controls the corpse. Its movements are barely perceptible and terrifyingly precise.
“So this is it?” I asked, trying to understand what exactly this finding meant.
“Yes, it controls the body. Without it, this man is just dead meat,” Brehm replied, removing his gloves. “We don’t know where these parasites come from or why they are loyal to the Queen.”
The Eldest Scribe stood over Samuel’s dead body, his face a cold determination. In his hand he held something long and sharp—it looked like an old hunting knife. Before I could react, he plunged the blade straight into the undead’s skull. Blood and gray fluid sprayed everywhere, and I felt my stomach drop. The parasite that had been wrapped around Samuel’s spine began to writhe violently, then suddenly froze.
“I understand now,” the oldest said, wiping the blade. “That’s why we didn’t notice them before. They die from brain damage.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but the sight of what they were doing shocked me to the core. The parasite had been removed, and Samuel’s body now lay motionless. As it should have. I knew that this was only the beginning of our problems, but one thing was clear—these creatures were not acting of their own free will. They were tools in the hands of someone much worse.
“The Queen,” I whispered, and everyone turned to look at me.
“Yes,” one of the Scribes said. “She is the key.”
I looked at the dead body. After everything I had seen here, I knew I had to learn more. There were too many questions waiting to be answered, and the answers could only be found in the one place that was right for them—the Scribes’ library.
“Brehm,” I began as we left the lab, “I need access to your library. I need to learn more about this queen and the parasites. We can’t go blindly any longer.”
He looked at me, slightly confused, as if unsure if this was a good idea. “This place isn’t open to everyone, Swen, but after what you saw, I guess you’re an exception?” He nodded, and a moment later we were walking toward the library.
When we entered, I was immediately hit by the smell of old books and lingering dust. Faint light flowed through the cracks, creating narrow beams that cut through the darkness of the room. The shelves stretched far into the depths, filled with forgotten knowledge from before the explosion. There was something mysterious and slightly unsettling about this place.
“We need to find something about the queen, about the monster that controls corpses with parasites,” I said, starting to look through the first rows of books. Brehm nodded and headed in the other direction.
We immersed ourselves in the reading. The books were old and heavy, and some of the pages broke when touched. The descriptions of monsters, beasts, mutations after the explosion, and other terrible things seemed endless. Most were familiar—ancient demons and spirits, two-headed animals, poisonous plants. Nothing that could fit our queen.
The hours passed. I was starting to lose hope when I suddenly opened something interesting. It was an old volume, barely holding itself together. Its title didn’t mean much, but after browsing a few pages, I came across something that stopped my heart for a moment.
“Lich,” I read quietly under my breath. “An undead who has a will of his own, enormous strength, and often magical abilities that affect the mind. To achieve immortality, she must encase her soul in a special container—a phylactery.” I turned my gaze to Brehm. “That sounds like our queen!”
“A lich?” he asked, stepping closer and peering over my shoulder. “The only way to kill him is to destroy the phylactery. So it’s not the queen herself who’s the target, but her soul, locked away somewhere else. Do we need to find this phylactery?”
We sat for a moment longer, absorbing the new information. It was all starting to make sense. If the queen was a lich, her control over the parasites could be the result of her powerful, ancient powers.
“That explains a lot,” I said, closing the book. “But it also means that our mission becomes much more complicated. It’s not enough for us to kill the queen—we have to destroy her phylactery.”
Brehm nodded, though I could see the weariness in his eyes. I felt the same. After hours of reading, we were both exhausted. “I think it’s time to rest,” I said, standing up and stretching my stiff and still-aching muscles. “Tomorrow will be a big day. We have to be ready.”
Brehm didn’t argue. We left the library together, and I kept thinking about what we had found. A lich, immortality, and a phylactery. What lay ahead of us could be the hardest fight of my life. But I knew one thing—I wouldn’t give up.
We set out first thing in the morning, not waiting for a miracle. The ruins of the old city stretched out before us, swallowed by gnarled vines and the creeping shadows of morning. The air was heavy with decay, and the smell of damp earth mingled with a hint of something more sinister. I tightened my fingers around the hilt of my knife, my nerves tingling with tension.
“Are you ready for this, Brehm?” I asked, glancing at the Scribe walking beside me.
Brehm adjusted his glasses and stared into the distance, his expression unreadable. “I could use a little more courage. This is no ordinary hunt. This is a mission to kill a queen.” His voice trembled slightly, but his determination was unquestionable. We both knew what was at stake—if we didn’t eliminate the undead queen who controlled the horde, the tide of the living dead would only grow.
Brehm smiled reluctantly. “You have centuries of experience, and I have spent my life recording history, not fighting monstrosities.”
“The recorded histories contain valuable notes on the Liches,” I replied, my heart beating faster. The plan was risky. We had gathered a small force of Scribes and a few mercenaries accustomed to combat who were present in the bunker, and they would be key to the attack.
The streets around us seemed to hum with unseen life. The crunch of dead leaves underfoot echoed ominously through the ruins. I could almost feel the moisture clinging to my skin, as if the very air itself were aware of our destination.
“Gather!” I called as we approached the barricade. Grim faces emerged from the shadows—hardened mercenaries, Scribes with worry etched beneath their brows, all clad in various armor and metal plates they’d found along the way.
“Listen!” I raised my voice to pierce the silence. “We’re going to gather a horde at the metro exit. That should attract the queen.”
“Attract a horde? Are we bait?” The stocky mercenary, Garrik, crossed his arms, his tone dripping with skepticism.
“Exactly,” I replied. “If we can organize the chaos properly, the queen won’t know what’s going on. Brehm and I have done a lot of preparation for this moment, learning about the enemy through a captured zombie, Samuel. We also found a lot of information in the library."
“Samuel is just a shell,” Brehm admitted, frowning. “We’ve pieced together the bits and pieces, but much of it is still unclear. First, we need to get down there and find the phylactery.”
The group nodded uncertainly, but I could see the uncertainty in their eyes. “You’re asking us to wade in there to our deaths to try to kill the queen. What guarantee do we have that this monster won’t figure out our plan?” Garrik continued.
“The smart move is to exploit her arrogance,” Brehm interjected quickly. “She thinks the zombies are extensions of her will, absolute power. What happens if we take care of them?”
“Then she’ll lose control. I understand.” Garrik squared his shoulders, deciding, “Let’s kill this queen.” Hope flickered in the eyes of both Scribes and mercenaries. We stood united, ready to face the horrors that lay ahead. I could feel the adrenaline racing through my pulse. “Let’s go,” I ordered.
We set off into the city. The streets twisted like a maze, every shadow vibrating with terror. Soon we reached the entrance to the old subway. Suddenly, a soft groan echoed through the alleys, freezing my blood.
“Zombies!” I whispered, gripping my weapon tighter. The groans mingled with the sound of rotting bodies hitting stone.
“They’re coming,” I warned Brehm, who was still leafing through his notebook. “Focus,” he said in a calm voice. The group tried to keep their cool, but I could see the panic growing in their eyes.
The smell of rotting flesh hit like a physical blow. I raised my knife, the blade gleaming faintly in the gray light.
“Hurdle them to the entrance!” Brehm shouted, using his knowledge of pack behavior. “On my mark!” I screamed as the first zombie rushed toward us. His rotted, half-decomposed face twisted into a grotesque grimace.
“NOW!” I lunged forward, severing one of the zombie’s arms. Without a moment’s hesitation, I pushed it toward the subway stairs.
“Aim for the brains! We know their weaknesses!” Brehm shouted incessantly. We fought wildly, the noise of bodies smashing and screams filling the air. With each zombie that fell, the strange sounds from the underground grew clearer.
“Come on, let’s drive them closer to the stairs!” I shouted. With each zombie that fell, I could feel the tide of my own battle with the queen changing. I wondered if her will had broken, if she felt helpless?
Suddenly Brehm called, “Swen! The queen is coming!” My stomach clenched with nerves.
“Retreat! Regroup!” I shouted, knowing that the real fight was only just beginning, and fear would soon begin to return to our hearts.
Chaos. Chaos bathed in an eerie light that bathed the setting sun, torches flickering, casting long shadows over the dead bodies of the zombies. A symbolic wound festering just beneath the ruins of humanity.
“Prepare a diversion!” I shouted, gathering the mercenaries. Everyone began to hastily pull out makeshift Molotov cocktails ready to throw at the horde of living dead. Brehm’s hands scribbled notes feverishly, capturing the chaos unfolding before us.
I stared into the dark subway tunnel, fear tingling my skin. “She will show herself,” I thought as the night sky above us was a blanket of stars. A disturbing reminder of the vastness of the universe and the horrors that could lurk within it.
The first scream shattered the spell of twilight, an unearthly wail that made everyone freeze. “Oh no,” I whispered, staring as a colossal shadow swept through the rubble. The Queen emerged, bathed in darkness, covered in rags of silk and leather. Her presence dominated the entire battlefield, her eyes glowing terrifyingly.
“Submit to my rule,” a voice crackled like thunder through the heavy air. “Your futile resistance only feeds me!” I clenched my fists, determination hardening my heart. “Not today!”
The Queen’s expression twisted into a psychotic smile as she pointed at me. Her fingers were incredibly slender and club-like, a gesture full of power and menace. “You underestimate the bond I have forged with my army, wanderer!” Before she could finish speaking, the undead were rushing at us in waves. Our crude barricades were barely holding their ground. Brehm’s journal had highlighted their weaknesses, but now we needed every ounce of strength we could muster.
“Ignite them!” I shouted to the mercenaries. Flames erupted as the makeshift Molotov cocktails hit their targets, lighting up the air and igniting the zombies in a spectacular blaze. Their roars echoed the crackling of fire, and amidst the chaos, the Queen's laughter was barely audible.
"Brehm, this is our chance," I whispered. We ducked, avoiding the barricades and the fighting Scribes. Their fate was uncertain, but we had a different mission.
We entered the subway tunnel unnoticed. The silence was broken only by the distant cries and grunts of zombies that roamed the remains of the once normal world. The air was heavy with moisture, and I felt the darkness pressing down on my shoulders.
In the room next door, I could hear the clatter of undead feet. Their bodies were rotten, covered in black, rotting tissue, their skin hanging from their bones like wet paper. Their eyes were lifeless, as if they were victims. But there was something eerily calm about it all, as if existence without a soul was their only blessing.
"Avoid or fight?" I asked quietly, gripping my knife. The thought of facing them in such a confined space was terrifying. There were more of them than we had expected.
“Kill quickly,” Brehm replied, more to himself than to me.
We moved like shadows, our knives cutting silently through rotting flesh. With every step and every fallen zombie, the air became more suffocating. I wondered what the ancient philosophers would have said if they had seen this determinant of human fate. Maybe there was no great revelation after death, only endless wandering, aimless, with emptiness in our eyes?
We finally reached the old engine room, where a water pump dominated the entire room. The sight before us filled us with almost existential horror—dozens of zombies gathered around the pump, like obedient sheep unable to act independently. Amidst all this, small white eggs gleamed in the water.
“Snakes,” I whispered. “They are responsible for taking control of humans. The queen’s phylactery must be nearby!” I added quietly, unable to tear my gaze from the eggs.
“We don’t have time,” Brehm replied, clutching his weapon. “Let’s destroy this before they sense us.”
He was right.
I slowly approached the eggs, which gleamed in the murky water. Their shells trembled, as if something inside was dying to be released. I threw one of the bottles filled with flammable liquid, watching as the shells cracked and the burning contents spilled into the water. I expected an attack, a quick reaction, but the zombies remained motionless. Instead of us, their dead eyes were directed at the water pump. Strange, even for these monsters.
"Something's wrong here," I said, and Brehm gave me a quick, confirming look. I frowned at the pump. It was the one they were interested in, not the eggs. "The pump must be the phylactery!" I whispered, feeling a cold shiver run down my neck. "She's the most important thing to them!"
I began to approach, ready to destroy her. I knew that this could end things once and for all, but then something changed. The silhouette of the queen emerged from the darkness of the tunnel. Her face was barely visible in the dim light, but her eyes gleamed menacingly. Her voice echoed: “Dare you, traveler?”
Before I could say anything, the battle from the surface had spilled out into the depths of the subway. I could hear screams and the sound of weapons bouncing off the walls of the tunnel. Zombies rushed at us from every side, and the Queen stood in the midst of the madness, as if drawing strength from it. I tried to fight my way to the pump, but she blocked my every move.
“Do something, Brehm!” I shouted, trying to gain some advantage.
The weight of two centuries crushed me as I realized the scale of this duel. Each of the Queen’s blows had the force of wild fury mixed with something older, unnatural. I dodged her claws, but she was fast—far faster than I could have expected. I barely parried each blow, and every time her claws sliced the air, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
Brehm didn’t leave me alone. I could see him fighting the undead who were coming at us, trying to help his queen. His blade flashed in the dim light of the tunnel, every movement a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable. I could hear the screams of the Scribes fighting in the narrow corridors, and despite the cacophony, something inside me knew that this wasn’t over yet.
The queen lunged at me again, and I didn’t have time to move away. Her claws dug into my arm, crushing muscle and piercing bone. I fell to my knees, trying to catch my breath. It felt like all my strength was leaking out along with my blood. “Not today!” I thought, struggling to my feet. But she was already above me, ready to end this once and for all.
Brehm fought bravely, but the numbers overwhelmed him. Zombies kept coming out from all sides, as if driven by some endless impulse. Something inside me screamed that it was the pump, that this phylactery must be connected to their lives. But before I could say it out loud, the Queen's blow sent me back to the ground. This time the pain was so overwhelming that I couldn't move.
Suddenly I heard a whistling in the darkness. Burning arrows tore through the silence, and the water pump exploded in a shower of sparks. Water flooded the room, and all the zombies fell without a sound. Only corpses remained, from which life had been suddenly ripped away. The snakes that had guided them convulsed in their final convulsions. It was Garrik. All the time waiting in the darkness for the moment to deliver the final blow.
The Queen, seeing what was happening, tried to escape, but I couldn't let that happen. I gathered the last of my strength and went after her, and Garrik joined me, emerging from the darkness. With the last of my strength, I jumped down from the crude scaffolding and drove my blade straight into her skull, while Garrik pushed his perfectly between the scales that lined her side. The Queen let out a terrifying howl before she fell dead, her eyes finally empty.
Finally, there was silence. The remaining Scribes and surviving mercenaries collapsed onto the wet, cold floor. In that silence, soaked with fatigue and fleeting relief, no one spoke a word.
A few weeks later, I felt my strength returning. The Scribes surrounded me with care, and their shelter provided peace and quiet. My wounds, albeit slowly, were healing. Weeks passed in the bunker, but I knew that this was not the place for me. The journey east could not wait.
As I packed, I heard faint whispers and the sounds of the Scribes working to rebuild the bunker. As I stood at the exit, Brehm called out, "Serpensin Cerebro!"
"What?" I stopped in my tracks.
"Serpensin Cerebro. Serpents that the Lich created to control the dead. They will be included in one of the more important bestiaries," he replied, a hint of a smile on his face.
"Thank you," I replied with the utmost sincerity.
As we exchanged last glances, Garrik stood to one side, as always a little in the shadows, but ready. He nodded to me, and I returned the gesture. I knew him, briefly, but too well to say anything more. As
I headed east, feeling the cold wind on my face, I turned once more. The Pasewalk bunker was far behind me, and the Scribes and mercenaries were beginning to rebuild what was left of their haven. But to me, this was just another battle, another stop. My place was on the road.
With each step, I felt the weight of past battles slowly receding, though probably not for long.
Statystyki: autor: BIG POTATO — 14 gru 2024, 15:37
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