To live is to suffer. One cannot live without suffering. If one admitted to live without suffering, then others must have suffered for one. —The Wandering Philosopher
Hungry for the human soul, the undead was ignorant of what was ahead.
Until it roared for their attention.
BRRRT!
Three carriages came out of the gate, blaring a world shaking sound as bullets rampaged into them. These bullets were big, powerful, and quick. In a blink of an eye, dozens of them arrived.
The undead were punched with holes, the horses too. But they kept going. They expressed no pain. No wincing or shouting.
Instead, they grimaced as if the enemy were mocking them. They were death itself, so they took the enemies' lousy attack as an insult.
"Humans with their toys!"
"This isn't enough to stop us!"
