Up ahead, the Carrion Reavers were tearing through the horde like rabid beasts. With razor-sharp claws, they shredded zombies into chunks, stuffing the twitching remains into their mouths and chewing with sickening enthusiasm before swallowing them whole.
But the zombies weren't going down without a fight. In packs, they lunged at the Reavers, biting and clawing with feral desperation. Some managed to snap a monster's arm or dislocate a knee, dragging it to the ground through sheer numbers.
Still, the cost was brutal. Most of them didn't even make it that far—slaughtered before they could do any real damage.
"Don't panic, I'm here!"
Ragnar stormed in like a living hurricane. He threw a punch forward, and the ground cracked open beneath the force of it. The shockwave blasted through the front line, instantly killing five or six Carrion Reavers.
The pressure on the zombie horde lifted in an instant, and a ripple of relief passed through them.
