The sun had barely crested over the horizon, casting a pale, golden light across the war-torn landscape of Washington D.C. For a moment, it seemed like the world had been restored to a fragile peace. But George knew better. He stood at the edge of the stone wall, his eyes scanning the distant landscape for signs of movement. The distant rumble of artillery echoed in the still air, a haunting reminder of the battle they had just fought.
Around him, the soldiers were regrouping. Bodies of the fallen, both human and monstrous, were being gathered and moved from the front lines. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and blood, and the mood among the soldiers was grim. They all knew this lull in the fighting wouldn't last long.
Raven approached George, her face streaked with dirt and blood, her katana still in hand. "How long do you think we have until the next wave hits?" she asked, her voice quiet but steady.
