A Journey That Changed The World

Archer watched as the creature staggered, its hollow moan cut short as it crumpled to the ground, lifeless once more. An expression of approval crossed his features as her gaze swept the road for the next target, her bow ready.

”Good shot beautiful,” he complemented her.

Maeve turned to him, beaming. ”Thank you, love, now to kill some more,” she replied.

As he stood motionless, his weary eyes roamed across the desolate landscape, cloaked in an oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow all traces of hope. A thick, swirling fog draped itself over the distant horizon, obscuring the forest.

The air was chilly, carrying a faint, acrid scent of decay that clung to his senses. Scattered across the frost-covered ground lay countless bodies, their twisted forms half-hidden in the gloom.

It was a grotesque picture of death and despair, a nightmarish vision. In the faint, flickering light of the moon, his gaze caught movement, a group of Drakeguards, their armor glinting as they prowled the treeline.

Their silhouettes, barely distinguishable through the fog, moved quietly, their eyes glinting like cold embers as they scanned the shadows, unaware of his presence in the tower watching them.

Archer turned his gaze to the quiet of the village, now guarded by the 6th, 7th, and 8th Legions as they built a massive wall around it, which felt like the calm before an inevitable storm.

He knew their rest would be short-lived. Moments later, dozens of zombies appeared from the road and the surrounding forest. Their guttural moans carried on the wind, a grim chorus. Below, soldiers toiled with disciplined urgency.

While the undead horde headed straight toward them, thanks to the sounds of hammers and shovels ringing against stone and timber as they erected a makeshift wall around the village’s perimeter.

Just then, the Drakeguards rushed back so they couldn’t get attacked. Following that, Archer decided to see what Maeve and the archers could do. He stepped back as the orange-haired beauty began.

”Hold steady,” she called, her voice calm but commanding, cutting through the low murmurs of the worried soldiers.

Maeve’s sharp gaze locked onto a cluster of zombies sprinting across the open field. Archer watched her, noting the faint flex of her jaw as she calculated distance and wind. The other archers followed her lead, their bows angled, waiting for her signal.

A sharp ting rang out as she loosed her arrow, the sound echoed by a chorus of twangs as the other archers fired in near-perfect sync. The projectiles sliced through the air, their fletched tails whistling before striking their targets.

Skulls shattered and limbs crumpled as the first line of undead fell, their bodies collapsing into the dirt like marionettes that had their strings severed. Maeve didn’t pause, already nocking another arrow, her movements fluid as water.

The other soldiers matched her pace, their hands a blur as they drew, aimed, and fired, thinning the approaching horde. Below, the soldiers of the 6th Legion pressed on, undeterred by the groans of the undead.

They hauled massive stones into place, their muscles straining under the weight, while others drove wooden stakes deep into the earth to reinforce the growing haven on the nightmarish Pluoria.

Archer quickly realized the structure was rough but sturdy, a bulwark rising against the incoming tide of death. Shouts of command and the clanging of tools filled the air, proof of their resolve as the gap between the living and the dead narrowed.

His eyes flicked between the archer’s precision and the soldier’s construction. Maeve’s bow sang again, her arrow piercing the chest of a towering zombie clad in the tattered remains of a blacksmith’s apron.

The creature staggered but pressed forward, only to be killed by a second arrow from her left, this one finding its mark in the thing’s eye. Just then, the tower vibrated with the rhythm of their work, each shot a calculated strike to buy the soldiers below precious time.

”They’re getting closer,” Archer muttered, his voice low.

Maeve spared him a glance, her green eyes fierce but steady. ”Then we shoot faster,”’ she replied.

She drew her bow again, the string taut against her fingers, and released another arrow that found its mark. The other volleys were relentless, a storm of feathered death raining down on the encroaching horde.

Below, the wall grew higher, stone by stone, as the Legion raced against the tide, their labor and the archers’ skill the only things standing between the village and oblivion. After that, this went on for hours until the wall was finally completed.

That’s when a massive horde appeared on the horizon, worrying everyone. Archer was just about to get involved until out charged Ashoka, a beautiful vision of ferocity, her brown skin gleaming under the flickering light, her amber tiger eyes blazing.

Her dark brown hair whipped behind her like a banner of war as she gripped her curved sword, its blade glowed thanks to runes that pulsed faintly. She moved like a storm, her strikes a blur, carving through the undead.

Heads rolled, limbs flew, and the undead fell in droves, their decayed forms no match for her mastery. Each pivot and thrust was a dance of death, her blade singing through the air, splitting skulls and severing spines.

A zombie lunged, its jagged claws outstretched, only for Ashoka to spin low, her sword flashing upward to cleave it from groin to throat in a spray of dark blood that flew everywhere.

She fought just like a tiger, every motion fluid yet devastating, her eyes locked on her prey with predatory focus. Moments later, another figure burst from the fortress, her presence a thunderclap in the night.

Inara roared into the fray, her grey hair wild and tangled, a mane of silver catching the moonlight. Her red eyes burned like molten embers, radiating a primal fury that sent a shiver down even the undead.

Clad in leather, she needed no blade; her claws, long and razor-sharp, were weapons forged by nature itself. She tore into the horde with savage abandon, her movements a whirlwind of raw power.

Zombies crumpled under the combined attacks, their brittle bodies shredded as she raked through them. One undead staggered toward her, only for Inara to seize its throat, her claws punching through decayed flesh before she hurled it away.

Her guttural snarls echoed across the battlefield, a challenge to the horde, as she fought using the ferocity of a lioness defending her pride. Together, the two women were a storm of steel and claw, their contrasting styles weaving a scene of destruction.

Ashoka’s calculated strikes complemented Inara’s wild savagery, the two warriors cutting a swath through the zombie ranks, their silhouettes framed against the fortress’s looming shadow.

Archer watched, awestruck by their courage. The tide of undead faltered, their numbers thinning under the onslaught, yet the danger remained palpable, the fortress’s fate hanging by a thread.

The tiger beauty’s blade flashed once more, killing, towering zombie with a single, elegant stroke, while the lioness’s claws ripped through another. Just then, he sensed a powerful undead rushing toward the women.

It was fast and appeared in front of Inara and slapped the lioness away, sending her flying into the distance. Archer saw the shock, surprise, and pain cross the old woman’s face at that moment.

The enemy turned toward Ashoka, but with a single thought, he appeared between the women and the incoming enemy. He thrust his arm up to block, intercepting a bone-crushing punch, sending him skidding backward.

His boots carved jagged trenches through the earth. Archer’s gaze locked onto the abomination in front of him. An undead Pseudo God standing at nine feet tall, its grotesque form pulsating thanks to the vile Terravian magic.

A primal growl rumbled from his chest, his fury igniting the air itself. Like a bolt of lightning, he surged forward, weaving through a deadly strike with impossible speed before slamming his fist into the creature’s chest. Moments later, a thunderous boom echoed out.

The enemy hurtled backward, a ragdoll in the wake of his wrath. But Archer wasn’t done. He inhaled deeply, the ground trembling beneath him, and unleashed an earth-shattering roar that split the heavens.

Seconds later, a torrent of searing flames erupted from his mouth. A blazing inferno that crashed into the enemy with the fury of a thousand suns, scorching the battlefield in a glorious spectacle of destruction.

***

As Ashoka’s notice, Archer emerged, intercepting a strike meant for her. When seeing this, the tiger woman’s heart raced. She slashed through the relentless undead, heading for Inara, who was out cold and bleeding.

She skidded to a halt and noticed more zombies approached the downed lioness, prompting her anger to flare. The Tigress didn’t bother holding back and transformed into her Primal form.

Without waiting time, she scooped Inara into her mouth while swiping at the incoming creatures. Her massive paws destroyed anything that came close, but soon she had to run away.

Ashoka sprinted toward the walls as explosions erupted all around her, thanks to Archer’s fight with the Pseudo God.