901: Story 901: The First Bite (Series HS: ZE10) 901: Story 901: The First Bite (Series HS: ZE10) The wind howled through the skeletal remains of trees, carrying with it the stench of rotting flesh.
Draven Cross tightened his grip on the rusted machete, his breath visible in the cold, damp air.
The world had ended long ago, but its horrors refused to die.
A dim light flickered in the distance—a lone cabin on the edge of the woods.
It was surrounded by motionless corpses, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles.
He hesitated.
Nothing ever ca without a cost in this world, and that cabin scread a price he wasn’t sure he was willing to pay.
But he had no choice.
Steeling himself, Draven stepped over a mound of tangled limbs and sunken faces.
He nudged a corpse with his boot, watching for any sign of movent.
The undead weren’t always predictable.
So rose at the slightest disturbance, others waited—silent, patient, hungry.
A muffled sob ca from within the cabin.
His pulse quickened.
Survivors were rare, and often more dangerous than the dead.
Draven pressed himself against the door and listened.
Another whimper, softer this ti.
A girl.
He pushed the door open, his machete raised.
A young woman sat in the corner, shackled to the wall.
Her dress was torn, her arms covered in bruises.
Her wide eyes locked onto his.
“You have to go,” she whispered.
“They’ll wake up.”
Draven’s muscles tensed.
“Who?”
A loud screech tore through the silence.
He spun just as a skeletal figure crawled from beneath the floorboards.
Its hollow eyes glead with unnatural hunger, its fingers elongated into talon-like claws.
Another form slithered from the shadows—a creature with skin stretched impossibly tight over its bones, its grin too wide for its face.
The dead hadn’t stayed dead.
Draven swung his machete, severing the first creature’s head.
It shrieked, its body convulsing before collapsing.
The second lunged, jaws snapping inches from his throat.
He twisted, driving his blade into its chest.
It screeched but didn’t stop.
The woman yanked at her chains.
“The book!” she cried.
“Burn the book!”
Draven’s gaze darted across the room.
A tattered, ancient to lay open on a wooden table, its pages glowing with an eerie, shifting light.
The text pulsed as if alive, and the stench of decay filled the air.
Without hesitation, Draven grabbed the book and hurled it into the fireplace.
Flas erupted, licking at the cursed pages.
The creatures let out an unearthly wail as their bodies crumbled to dust, their screams echoing into the void.
Panting, Draven turned back to the woman.
Her chains had loosened, her body slumping in exhaustion.
“What the hell was that?” he asked.
She lifted her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The beginning.”
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