The silence after the blaring alarms was sharp and biting, much like the cold that seeped into every corner of the mansion. Outside, under the pale moonlight, the Forsaken advanced—a grotesque parade of failed humanity. Their bodies shivered with each step, limbs jerking as if resisting invisible chains, yet they moved forward without pause, their frostbitten skin cracked and mottled. Some had eyes clouded over, milky and vacant; others stared ahead with unnatural sharpness.
Claire stood at the gate, her gloves tightened so fiercely that the leather creaked. Her breath misted in short, even puffs as she assessed their strength. "These things don't feel pain, do they?" she muttered, the question carrying a lethal edge. Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, stayed fixed on the advancing threat.
