17 Zombies

"No wonder we havent found any animals around these areas, they are frightened of this weird plantlife that would keep them ensnared even after death." Hector's words resonated with the group as they surveyed the dense vegetation that engulfed the city. The towering trees, entangled vines, and sprawling undergrowth created an eerie atmosphere, a realm where nature dominated over man-made structures.

"It's as if the plants themselves have an objective," Elizabeth whispered, her voice barely audible amidst her companions. "They seem to trap and consume everything in their path, a formidable force that even the most dangerous animals wouldnt dare to challenge."

Edward nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on a nearby thicket where tendrils reached out like grasping fingers. "It's true, Hector. These plants possess a haunting allure, as if they have a hunger of their own. An insatiable appetite for life."

Dionisus, ever watchful, tightened his grip on his dagger. "We must proceed with caution," he warned. "This city harbors dangers beyond our comprehension. We cannot underestimate the power of these plants, for they may hold secrets and defenses we have yet to encounter."

The group exchanged glances, a mix of apprehension and determination reflected in their eyes. They understood the weight of Hector's theory and the potential threat that lay within the city's flourishing vegetation.

As they continued their exploration, each step was accompanied by a heightened sense of vigilance. They navigated the overgrown streets, careful to avoid the sinister tendrils that snaked along the ground and the grasping branches that reached out from the ancient structures. The air felt heavy with an otherworldly presence, as if the very essence of the plants pulsated with sinister energy.

In this abandoned city, the absence of animals was not a mere coincidence but a reflection of the oppressive grip the plants held. The travelers could almost imagine the silent cries of creatures trapped within the entangled masses, their struggle to escape a futile endeavor against the relentless growth.

With every passing moment, the group grew more aware of the living menace that surrounded them. The once-dead city had come alive in a twisted and unsettling manner, where the boundary between life and death blurred within the clutches of the ever-expanding vegetation.

A faint screech could be heard from under Edward's feet. The group turned to look at him while he lifted his right foot from the stone floor. He had landed right on top of a vine, which for some reason made the travelers all freeze in place. Everyone except Hector was frozen still, afraid of the consequences that stepping on a tendrill would bring to them.

Suddenly, from all the corners of the city the undead inhabitants of the city showed themselves. With a horrifyingly loud shriek the creatures began to move. The air grew thicker with tension as the undead inhabitants emerged from the shadows of the overgrown city. Their rotting forms shuffled forward with an insatiable hunger in their lifeless eyes. The group found themselves encircled, trapped within the grasp of the relentless horde.

Dionisus tightened his grip on the dagger, his heart pounding in his chest. Fear mingled with adrenaline as he locked eyes with the nearest undead creature, its pallid flesh decaying grotesquely. The stench of death permeated the air, threatening to overwhelm his enhanced senses.

Edward, always the first to act, stepped forward, his sword gleaming with flames casting a dim light. "Stay close," he commanded, his voice steady despite the imminent danger. The group formed a defensive circle, their backs pressed against each other, ready to face the relentless onslaught.

The undead pounced towards the travelers, their limbs contorting in unnatural ways. Hector with his crossbow ready, shot decisively. Landing a dart right in the middle of a creature's forehead. However, it was not enough, the undead continued ruthlessly charging forward, aiming at Hector.

Just when the creature's fist was about to land in Hector's face, Edward manages to throw it away with his burning sword. He quickly struck the undead in its abdomen, searing its flesh and causing it to flinch, missing its intended target, Hector. The undead whailed loudly, the others abruptly ran towards Edward with the intention of crowding him.

He swung his flaming sword around, trying to scare the undead away. However, this time they werent, having so many undead backing each other up it would be impossible for the travelers to get out of this situation unscathed. Even if Edward abused of the creature's fear of fire, there was no way they wouldnt manage to land at least some blows. Edward looked back to face his companions, seeing Elizabeth in a defenseless state, there was no other option residing in his mind, "Run away, I'll take care of these fuckers!" He shouted.

'Does this guy actually think he can handle the entire horde like that?' Dionisus mumbled to himself, 'Well either way, not my problem' Together with Elizabeth he began running away. That wasnt Edwards plan, an error in communication so small, yet so fatal had just occured. Seeing this, Hector began running towards them, trying to explain to Dionisus what Edward had actually meant.

The red haired man was now alone. To him it was as if he had been abandoned by his comrades, the undead were solely focused on him, the wielder of the flaming sword. Fear gripped Edward's heart, threatening to paralyze him as the undead viciously charged towards him.

His sword became an extension of his desperate will to survive as he swung it with all his might, desperately trying to keep the encroaching creatures at bay. The stench of decay filled the air, mingling with his own perspiration as his body strained under the relentless assault.

With each strike, Edward felt the weight of exhaustion bearing down on him. The horde seemed endless, an unstoppable tide of death inching closer with every passing moment. But he refused to succumb to despair. He knew that giving in meant certain doom.

Sweat poured down Edward's face as he fought, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Fatigue coursed through his veins, his body battered and bruised from the ceaseless onslaught. Blood dripped from his wounds, his muscles ached, his limbs felt heavy, but he pushed through all the pain, driven by an instinct to survive. Every swing of his sword became a desperate plea for salvation.

The undead pressed in, their gnarled hands reaching out for him, their skeletal faces contorted with hunger. Edward's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing for a way out, but the options seemed few and far between. In the midst of the chaos, a glimmer of hope flickered within him.

Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, Edward unleashed a final blaze of fire, a desperate attempt to survive. Removing any restraints that would hold him back from burning everything, would allow him to survive but at a cost. By redistributing the focus from fire resistance to pump the fire bursting effect, that would serve as an immediate increase in power. However the danger it posed to both his equipment and his body was undeniable.

His entire arm was suddenly engulfed in intense flames, his gauntlets and sword began melting. With a final burst of his strength he summoned an enormous flame and thrusted it right through the horde of enemies. Filled with a 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 to survive, the flames erupted stronger, brightly burning the vegetation and flesh in the path of Edward's searing fist.

The battlefield fell silent, except for the crackling of the dying flames and the heavy panting of Edward who surveyed the aftermath. The enemies were gone, the damage to the vegetation and buildings surrounding the area was unsurmountable. Edward looked at himself, the sword which he cared for deeply was now completely destroyed, melted and the expensive markings now gone.

His right arm was burnt to a crisp, a blackish tone of red covered the loose degloved skin. His skin was dry and with a leathery texture, akin to that of a third degree burn. He had lost sensation in most of his hand, only being able to move it slightly due to all the nerve damage caused. However, one thing stood out the most, his blood had tinges of gold in it, meaning he had somehow abruptly developed the ability to produce Covetia.

Not just that but the golden blood formed weird scribes in his burnt arm. In the middle of his inner forearm, the mark which was previosly located on the hilt of his sword, now embeded itself onto him. A second mark located in his right palm appeared, it wasnt anything like he had seen before. An upside down 'A' mixed with a normal 'A', transcribed itself in the thenor of his palm. In a strange twist of fate if the nerve endings in his arm werent so badly damaged the pain he would have felt would be of another world. Sometimes what was previously considered a curse can become a blessing.