The city burned slowly. Fire devoured the remnants of civilization, while ash settled on empty streets. The air was heavy, saturated with smoke and something sickly-sweet, like rotting flesh. König stared into the fog, listening to the distant sound of something collapsing.

Then came the sound.

A scrape.

Drawn-out, grating—like nails on metal.

— Contact! — one of the soldiers reported.

She emerged from the fog, unhurried. A tall, gaunt figure. A long dress, its hem decayed, clung to her body. Skin stretched tight over bone, unnaturally smooth, almost lifeless. The metal pyramid on her head gleamed in the firelight.

But that wasn’t what made König tighten his grip on the trigger.

The cross.

Too massive for human hands. It dragged behind her, carving deep grooves into the cracked asphalt. And then—the eye. Small, wet, still twitching, clutched between long fingers.

— Zaražena? — he muttered in German, unconsciously slipping into his native tongue.

She slowly raised her head.

And then others emerged from the fog.

Twisted figures, resembling people—but only from a distance. Their movements were jerky, unnatural, like marionettes on frayed strings. They stumbled, convulsed, as if it pained them to exist in this world.

König exhaled through his teeth.

— Scheiße!

Then, his lips curled into a smirk.

— Let’s make this quick.

Weapons were raised.