Leon stood frozen, heart pounding, trapped between the ravenous undead hounds closing in and the ferocious tigers behind him. The stench of decay clung to the air, thick and nauseating. These hounds, long deprived of the instincts they once possessed, no longer cared for strategy or self-preservation. They were driven by a primal hunger for the living, their blood-streaked fangs bared in anticipation. The vengeful spirits that controlled them had been denied peace for so long, their desperation manifesting in savage fury. The lead hound lunged forward, its jaws open wide, aiming for Leon's throat.
He had no time to think, only react. With a grunt of effort, Leon gripped the spear tightly, his knuckles white, and thrust it forward with all his strength. The wooden tip plunged into the hound's mouth, meeting resistance as it pierced through decayed flesh and bone.
For a brief moment, Leon felt a flicker of triumph. But it was short-lived. The undead beast, undeterred by the wound that would have crippled any living creature, surged forward with relentless force. Leon stumbled backward, the rough shaft of the spear tearing into his hands, leaving raw, bloody grooves. His palms stung, but there was no time to wince.
With a sickening crack, the spear snapped in half. The hound's monstrous jaws clamped down, splintering the wooden weapon as if it were nothing more than a brittle twig. The beast growled low, chewing through the spearhead with ease, its powerful teeth grinding the wood into dust.
Leon's breath caught in his throat as he watched, disbelieving. The warhound's hollow, glowing eyes fixed on him, lifeless yet brimming with malice. It spat out the broken fragments, splinters scattering at Leon's feet like discarded bones. His heart raced as he took a step back, trying to steady his nerves.
He knew these creatures weren't like anything from the living world. No matter how precise or fatal his blows, these undead beasts wouldn't stop. The fatal wounds that would incapacitate any predator in life meant nothing to a creature that had long since transcended the boundary between life and death. The girl's voice had warned him: "In the spirit fields, the undead are far more resilient. Beheading alone won't suffice. You have to destroy the body or the brain, remove their ability to serve as vessels for the restless souls that animate them."
The broken wooden stick in Leon's hand now felt useless, almost mocking. His mind raced for options as the undead hounds circled, growling, ready to pounce again. He could hear the low growl of the other beasts behind him, but he knew better than to flee. Turning his back meant certain death. Even if he could run, his speed was no match for their tireless pursuit.
What now? Should he chant the spell, activate the soul-repelling rune, and banish the spirit from the warhound? The thought crossed his mind, but doubt quickly followed. They had spent too much time and energy preparing the ritual, and if he disrupted it now, gathering the necessary materials again would be nearly impossible.
But without a proper weapon, how could he possibly fend them off?
Just as despair threatened to overtake him, Leon's sharp eyes caught sight of movement. Brandon. The quiet figure had slipped behind the hound, moving with a predator's grace. The zombie hound, driven purely by its fixation on Leon, had no awareness of Brandon's presence. Its blood-red eyes, dull and lifeless, stayed locked on Leon, oblivious to the danger now stalking it.
The hound let out a bone-chilling bark and lunged once more, its massive jaws snapping at the air between them. Leon's body reacted instinctively. He swung the broken stick like a bat, gripping it with both hands and smashing it across the side of the warhound's skull. The impact jarred his arms, but the blow was solid. The beast's head whipped to the side, a spray of blackened saliva splattering the ground.
For a heartbeat, Leon felt a rush of satisfaction. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.
But the hound was relentless. With a savage snarl, it shook off the blow and lunged again, teeth flashing. Leon barely had time to raise the stick for a second strike before the creature clamped down on it, its jaws crushing the wood as if it were paper. The once-proud weapon snapped again, leaving Leon with nothing more than a useless fragment barely the length of his forearm.
Panic flared in his chest as the warhound inched closer, its breath hot and foul. Just as the situation seemed hopeless, there was a sudden blur of motion behind the creature. Brandon, swift and silent, struck. A glint of steel flashed as the blade found its mark, driving deep into the base of the warhound's skull.
The undead beast shuddered violently, its body stiffening. The crimson glow in its eyes flickered, then dimmed. The massive body collapsed at Leon's feet with a dull thud, twitching once before going still.
Leon exhaled, his pulse still racing. He looked up at Brandon, who gave a curt nod, his expression as calm as ever. "Don't lose your focus," Brandon said quietly, wiping the blackened blood from his blade. "We're not done yet."
Leon nodded, gripping what little remained of his broken weapon. His palms stung, his arms ached, but he couldn't afford to rest. More shadows moved in the distance. The undead weren't finished with them yet.
The massive war dog, snarling through bloodied teeth, charged forward relentlessly, its massive form plowing through the terrain with terrifying strength. Leon barely had time to react as the beast slammed into him, sending him sprawling onto the ground. The air left his lungs in a single painful burst. The stench of decay filled his nostrils, and before he could recover, the dog's slavering jaws were snapping towards his throat, fangs gleaming with the promise of death.
In the split second between life and death, pure survival instinct overrode the terror gnawing at his mind. With his left arm still smarting from an earlier wound, Leon grabbed the remaining piece of the broken stick with his right hand. His fingers trembled, slick with sweat and blood, but he managed to shove the jagged stick into the war dog's maw just before its jaws could close around his neck.
The wooden stick strained as the war dog bit down, a guttural growl rumbling from its chest. Leon could feel the pressure from the beast's powerful bite, the splintering wood threatening to give way at any second. Time slowed down, each heartbeat a countdown to his potential demise.
Out of the corner of his eye, Leon spotted movement. Brandon, with a swift, almost graceful leap, landed squarely on the war dog's back. The young nobleman, his face set in determination, straddled the undead beast, gripping his dagger tightly with both hands. He raised it high and plunged it down with all the strength he could muster, aiming for the creature's skull.
The blade sank into the dry, leathery skin but halted at the bone, barely grazing the surface. Brandon gritted his teeth as the war dog bucked and thrashed beneath him. The dagger, worn from battle and travel, bent under the pressure. With frustration boiling inside him, Brandon muttered a curse about the inferior quality of the weapon. But he wasn't one to give up so easily. Adjusting his grip, he targeted the war dog's eye socket, hoping to end the fight with a well-placed strike.
But before the blade could land its fatal blow, the war dog surged with newfound energy, its massive body shaking wildly. The dagger missed its mark, glancing off the eye and instead burying itself deep into the beast's neck, a blow that would have killed a living creature instantly, but this was no living thing. The war dog, fueled by undead rage, continued its assault, shaking off the attack as if it were nothing.
With a vicious snarl, the beast spat out the broken stick it had been biting and whipped its body to the side, sending Brandon flying. Leon's heart raced as the situation turned grim once more. The war dog, freed from Brandon's weight, fixed its glowing red eyes on Leon again. Its jaws opened wide, preparing to finish him off.
Thinking quickly, Leon seized the dagger still lodged in the war dog's neck. With a grunt of effort, he yanked it free, the blade slick with black, putrid blood. Without hesitating, he drove the blade upward, aiming for the base of the dog's skull. The point of the blade found its mark, sliding into the gap between its jaws and skull.
The war dog let out an unearthly howl of rage, thrashing violently as Leon clung to the handle of the dagger, refusing to let go. He knew this was his only chance. If he lost his grip now, he'd be done for. His arms burned with the effort, but he couldn't give up. With every ounce of strength left in his body, Leon twisted the blade deeper into the creature's brain.
"Ahhhhhhh!" Leon roared, pushing the war dog back with his knees while using his free arm for leverage. His muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't stop. Slowly, painfully, the dog began to teeter towards the pit just beside them.
Suddenly, a force slammed into the beast from the side; Brandon, battered but not beaten, had thrown himself back into the fray. His strike, though not devastating, was enough to tip the balance. The war dog, already struggling against Leon's weight, lost its footing and tumbled into the trap.
Leon, dagger still in hand, fell with the war dog into the shallow pit. He hit the ground hard, but before he could react, he felt the beast land on top of the concealed wooden spikes at the bottom of the pit. The dull thud of the spikes piercing undead flesh was accompanied by a low, guttural groan as the war dog shuddered, its limbs twitching weakly.
Breathing heavily, Leon used the momentum of the fall to drive the dagger deep into the creature's skull, pushing with every last bit of strength. The thrashing slowed. The dog's body went limp.
It was over.
A moment of silence followed, broken only by Leon's ragged breathing. The war dog's blood-red eyes dimmed and, finally, went dark.
"Leon! Are you alright?" Brandon's voice came from above. He was peering over the edge of the pit, worry etched into his expression.
Leon, still gasping for air, managed a weak grin. "I'm… I'm fine. Thanks to that miserable thing." He glanced down at the war dog beneath him, its corpse finally still. His eyes darted to its head, where the dagger was lodged. The thought of it coming back to life sent a chill down his spine.
Without hesitation, he wrenched the dagger free and, in a frenzy of paranoia, stabbed the creature's skull several more times, each thrust more forceful than the last. It wasn't until the skull was thoroughly shattered, the brain little more than pulp, that Leon finally stopped, panting.
Only then did he allow himself to relax.
For now, they were safe.
Leon groaned as he heaved himself up, bracing his foot on the corpse of the war dog for leverage. The slick, putrid flesh squelched beneath his boot as he reached up, grabbing Brandon's outstretched hand. Together, with no small effort, he clambered out of the pit. His muscles ached from the fight, his breath still ragged, but there was no time to rest.
As soon as his feet touched solid ground, Leon's eyes were drawn to the shadowy edge of the forest ahead. His blood ran cold as a figure slowly emerged from the gloom. At first, it was only a hulking silhouette, but with each step, it became more terrifyingly clear.
The clinking, rhythmic sound of armor rattling filled the air, accompanied by heavy, deliberate footsteps that seemed to reverberate through the ground. 'Snap—snap—snap—' Every step felt like a hammer pounding on Leon's heart. His breath hitched, and he exchanged a quick, horrified glance with Brandon.
From the shadows of the forest stepped a knight; an undead knight, taller and more imposing than any warrior Leon had ever seen. The knight's armor gleamed in the fading light, intricately designed with ornate patterns that spoke of nobility and forgotten honor. The emblem of a thorny rose was engraved on his shoulder plate, marking him as a once-proud servant of some noble house, now long decayed.
But the most chilling part was his face or what was left of it. His helmet was gone, exposing a bald head where skin clung tightly to the bone, dry and stretched like old parchment. Two pinpricks of blood-red fire burned in his hollow eye sockets, casting an eerie glow that made Leon's stomach churn. This was no ordinary zombie. This was a human knight, corrupted and twisted into something unholy.
Leon felt his body tense up, his mind screaming danger. The war dog had been a nightmare, but the sight of this knight, a reflection of what humanity could become, was something far worse. A deep, primal fear took root in his gut.
The undead knight moved with a haunting grace, his steps gaining speed as though he could sense the living nearby. His sword, a once-beautiful, now bloodstained weapon, swayed with each step, catching the light and sending shards of cold steel glinting towards them.
"Damn it!" Leon cursed under his breath, heart pounding in his chest. Could this knight have been the one controlling the war dog? The thought sent a chill down his spine, but there was no time to dwell on it.
"Run!" Leon shouted to Brandon, who didn't need to be told twice. They both turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, dodging through the trees with the undead knight relentlessly pursuing them. But as they fled, another sound reached Leon's ears, one that filled him with dread.
A guttural, hate-filled roar echoed through the trees, growing louder and closer with every heartbeat. Leon's blood froze.
"Kill! Kill them all! Kill every last one of the Kantadars!" The voice was a frenzied snarl, twisted with rage. "I'll kill anyone who stands in my way! Kill! Kill!"
Leon skidded to a halt, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. Liam.
Charging towards them through the dense underbrush came Liam, his bloodied figure a whirlwind of fury. The young warrior's face was twisted into a mask of rage, his eyes wild and unhinged. In one hand, he gripped a sword dripping with blackened blood, and in the other, the decapitated head of a zombie, its expression frozen in eternal death.
Liam's armor was barely holding together, riddled with gaps, holes, and tears from countless battles. The chainmail jingled with every movement, but the gaps revealed the toll those battles had taken on him.
Leon groaned internally. The situation had just gone from bad to worse. On one side, they had the undead knight closing in, and on the other, Liam barreling towards them like a madman.
But maybe, just maybe, they could use this chaos to their advantage.
Leon stopped running, glancing at Brandon with a grim expression. "Change of plans," he muttered. "We don't have to fight the knight alone. Liam might be our ticket