The ruined church groaned as if alive, its broken stones echoing the distant war between giants. Each tremor rattled loose shards of glass from the skeletal windows, their colors dulled by centuries of dust. The air slled of mildew and death—a fitting sanctuary for two souls hunted by horrors.
Damien scanned the nave, his boots crunching on glass. Every shadow seed to stretch too far, to twitch when his eyes slid away. The dead crept everywhere; he knew that much. It was never a matter of if they were inside, only when they chose to show themselves.
Zara followed close, her breath shallow, the chill seeping into her bones. She glanced up at the fractured ceiling where moonlight spilled through a jagged hole, painting the pews in silver streaks. “Do you think this place is safe?”
Damien shook his head. “Safe doesn’t exist anymore. But high ground might.”
He pointed to the spiral staircase, its iron fra bent but still intact. The steps wound upward toward a tower, once a place for bells. Now, perhaps, a vantage point—or a last stand.
They climbed quickly, boots echoing against the tal. Every groan of the steps felt like a scream in the silence. Halfway up, Zara froze. Her ears caught it first—a dragging shuffle, too deliberate to be the wind.
“Damien,” she whispered, clutching his sleeve.
He raised the hatchet, eyes narrowing into the shadows below. At first, nothing. Then—movent. A figure staggered between pews, pale skin stretched thin, jaw hanging slack. Another followed, then another, their groans rising like a sickly hymn.
“They’re here,” Zara breathed, panic slipping through her voice.
“Up. Keep climbing.” Damien pushed her forward, keeping one eye on the dead. Their hands clawed at the staircase’s base, grasping the railing as if the tower itself were pulling them closer.
At the top, the tower opened into ruin. The bell was gone, but its fra remained, rusted iron twisted like bones. Through the gaps, they could see the city stretching outward—a graveyard of fog and stone. And beyond, shadows moved: the Tyrannosaur still thrashing against waves of corpses, its roars blending with the endless chorus of the dead.
Zara gripped the railing, her chest heaving. “They’ll find us here too.”
Damien scanned the skyline, his jaw clenched. “Maybe. But from up here, we can see them coming.”
The first moans drifted up the staircase, closer now. The church below filled with the shuffling of dozens of feet. The dead were gathering, drawn by the scent of blood and fear.
Zara’s courage wavered. “What if they climb?”
Damien tested the edge of the railing with his axe, splintering a chunk of rusted tal free. “Then we cut them down, one by one.”
A sudden shriek split the air, louder than any groan. Both turned to the sky. The fog above shifted, parting as massive wings blotted out the moon.
Zara gasped. “It’s not just the ground anymore...”
Damien’s grip tightened on the hatchet, his voice a grim whisper. “The sky’s waking too.”
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