The Hollowed Saints shadowing the rescue team soared ahead.
Unseen.
Unheard.
Unchallenged.
They drifted above the earth like smoke clinging to the edges of the sky, watching the landscape bend and bow beneath them. With a whisper of will, they reached down—not with fire or claw, but with thought. The kind that unravelled things.
They didn't raze the town.
Didn't burn it down.
They didn't need to.
With a flicker of intent, they broke it open.
Neighbors became soldiers.
Children became executioners.
Families became weapons.
The command was simple.
"Kill the ones who come."
Down below, Bastion—a six-wheeled military transport bristling with armor, steel, and firepower—rumbled toward the quiet town. Inside rode Colonel Darius Pierce and his ten elite soldiers, hardened by war, ready for anything.
Or so they believed.
Warrant Officer Theo Marn gripped the wheel tight, eyes narrowing as the town rose into view beyond the hills.
On the roof, Sergeant Mira Lockwood manned the mounted gun, her gloved hands steady. She scanned the still streets through her scope, a chill crawling down her spine.
"We've reached the town," she said into comms. "But something's off."
Pierce's voice crackled through her earpiece. "Report."
"No movement. No patrols. No people. It's… empty. Too empty."
Private Ezra Cole leaned between the front seats, peering through the windshield. "Last time we passed through, the locals barely gave us a second glance. Like we didn't exist."
"They didn't," Theo muttered. "Something's wrong."
He turned the wheel gently, guiding Bastion down the main road, tires grinding softly against cracked asphalt.
Mira turned slowly atop the gun mount. "Shops untouched. Lights still on. Doors open. No signs of struggle. It's like they vanished mid-sentence."
Then Theo hit the brakes.
"Shit!"
A man stumbled into the road—straight into their path.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
Clutched a rusted iron rod like it was part of his body. Drool clung to his chin. Eyes unfocused, unfathomable.
Private Alina Vos blinked. "He doesn't look right. Should we—?"
"No," Pierce cut in. "We don't have time. Drive past."
Theo pressed the gas—slow, cautious.
The man lifted the rod and slammed it against the side of Bastion.
"Jesus!" Mira hissed. "Why is he attacking us?!"
More figures spilled out from the alleyways like ants from a cracked nest.
Dozens of them.
Men. Women. Children.
All armed.
All silent.
All wrong.
"Mob incoming," Mira reported. Her voice was flat, trained—but a tremor lived just underneath.
Theo slammed into reverse, barely missing the rod-wielder as Bastion roared backward.
"They're swarming the street—cutting us off!"
Lieutenant Kellan Reeve tensed in his seat. "Did we do something to set them off?"
Alina, eyes wide and voice tight, whispered, "No. Look at them. They're not thinking. They're not here. They're moving like…"
"Zombies," Ezra finished. "But worse."
Pierce's tone was calm, cold. "Theo. Can you get us out without hurting anyone?"
"I can try." His knuckles were white on the wheel. "But if they jump in front of us—"
"Then keep going," Pierce ordered.
Bastion surged forward again, scraping past the growing mob. A woman shrieked and threw herself into the side of the vehicle, her body bouncing off the armor with a sickening thud. Another climbed onto the hood, her nails scratching against the reinforced glass as she screamed in tongues.
Alina climbed up through the hatch, gently nudging Mira aside.
"I need eyes."
She looked.
Really looked.
Some were dragging their own injured behind them, faces blank. Some screamed but didn't blink. Some laughed as they bled. A child with a broken arm swung a brick like a club, missing entirely and collapsing—but still trying to crawl forward.
She dropped back inside. Her voice was hollow.
"They're gone."
Pierce didn't pause. "Staff Sergeant Jonah Keene. Neutralize them."
Keene's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Yes, sir."
He climbed up, steady and practiced, taking Mira's place behind the mounted gun. His hands gripped the handles. The cold metal met his skin like judgment.
The crowd swelled in the distance.
Closer.
Closer.
The unforgiving noon sun beat down, casting stark shadows beneath the mob's frenzied forms, illuminating faces twisted by whatever had stolen their minds.
They came.
Mindless.
Twisted.
Human and not.
Keene stared down the barrel.
And he waited.