The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting the cemetery in an eerie, yellowed light that seemed to cling to the mist drifting between the headstones. George led his team into the burial ground, their steps unnervingly loud in the silence. The air felt thick, each breath heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Around them, the scattered stones and wooden crosses stood as bleak reminders of lives lost in a world now ruled by monsters.
As they reached the first grave, George glanced around at the grim faces of his companions. No one wanted to be here. Digging up graves was a task they could barely stomach, but after the horrors of last night, they knew they couldn't ignore the lingering threat. Each member of the group carried stakes, vials of holy water, and silver daggers, weapons that now felt like pitiful defenses against what they might uncover.
