The campfire had burned down to embers, casting a faint glow over the makeshift camp. The once lively crackling of the fire was now replaced by the soft, rhythmic breathing of the group as they settled into an uneasy sleep. Blank, ever vigilant, remained awake for a while longer, his grey eyes scanning the darkness, sensing the subtle movements of the world around them. Eventually, he, too, closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of rest.

Morning came with a muted light, the sun struggling to penetrate the overcast sky. The group stirred, weary but determined. Gazo was the first to rise, his broad frame casting a long shadow as he moved to wake the others. They broke camp quickly, speaking little as they prepared to move on.

As they walked, the dense forest began to thin out, revealing a broken road that stretched out before them like a scar across the landscape. The asphalt was cracked and crumbling, overtaken by nature in some places, yet it offered a clear direction—a path to follow in this shattered world.

Gazo led the way, his dark eyes scanning the horizon. Blank walked a few paces behind, his senses alert. Despite his malnourished and skinny appearance, Blank moved with a quiet intensity, his grey eyes constantly on the lookout. He could feel it—the subtle tremors in the ground, the faint echoes in the air. Something was coming.

"We're not alone," Blank said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

The group halted, turning to look at him. Gazo narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"

"People. And monsters," Blank replied, his grey eyes narrowing as he focused on the sensations. "Coming from up ahead."

Chris tightened his grip on his staff, his pale blue eyes scanning the road. "Refugees, maybe?"

"Or survivors," Jamila added, her voice tinged with hope. "We should check it out."

Gazo nodded, his hands flexing, feeling the weight of the reinforced gauntlets that covered them. "Stay sharp. We don't know what we'll find."

They moved cautiously, following the road as it wound through the desolate landscape. As they rounded a bend, they saw them—refugees, a small group of frightened, exhausted people, running from a pack of snarling, vicious monsters. The creatures were fast, their twisted forms moving with unnatural speed as they closed in on their prey.

Without hesitation, Gazo surged forward, his powerful frame barreling into the fray. Blank was right behind him, his movements fluid but lacking the strength one would expect. The rest of the group followed, each member falling into their roles with practiced precision.

Gazo reached the monsters first, his gauntlet-covered fists colliding with the nearest creature's skull. The impact was like a thunderclap, sending the monster crashing to the ground, its head caved in from the force of the blow. Gazo moved with the efficiency of a seasoned warrior, his strikes powerful and precise. Each punch he threw was calculated, aimed at the most vulnerable points of his enemies. The monsters' thick hides and unnatural speed meant nothing against Gazo's sheer power and experience.

Beside him, Blank fought with a different rhythm. His strikes were swift and well-placed, targeting joints and weak spots with an accuracy that seemed almost supernatural. However, his movements were jerky, as if his body was not used to the demands of combat. He stumbled slightly as he dodged a swipe from one of the monsters, barely recovering in time to drive his elbow into the creature's throat. The monster gagged and fell back, but the clumsiness of Blank's movements was evident. It was as if his body knew what to do, but his muscles had yet to learn the fluidity of execution.

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Flo and Bakir flanked the group, their coordinated attacks keeping the monsters from surrounding them. Flo's hands ignited with flames as he hurled fireballs at the advancing beasts, while Bakir summoned spectral creatures to harry the monsters, distracting them just long enough for Gazo or Blank to finish them off. Jamila stayed with the refugees, her hands glowing with healing energy as she tended to the injured, soothing their pain and giving them the strength to keep moving.

Chris moved to the rear, creating a barrier of crackling energy that held back the monsters, preventing them from overwhelming the group. He channeled lightning through his staff, striking down any creature that dared to get too close. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and burning flesh as Chris's lightning seared through the monsters.

Despite the group's coordinated efforts, the monsters were relentless, their numbers overwhelming. One of the creatures, larger and more vicious than the others, lunged at Gazo, its claws extended to tear him apart. Gazo met it head-on, his gauntleted fist smashing into its chest with a force that cracked bones. The monster roared in pain, but it wasn't done. It swung its massive arm at Gazo, aiming to crush him. Gazo ducked under the swing and drove his fist upward into the creature's jaw, snapping its head back with a sickening crunch.

Blank, meanwhile, was fending off two smaller monsters. His movements were erratic, but his strikes were unnervingly accurate. He sidestepped one creature's attack, his footwork awkward but effective, and slammed his knee into its ribs. The monster doubled over in pain, and Blank finished it off with a swift chop to the back of its neck. The second monster came at him, its claws raking the air. Blank's eyes narrowed, and he lashed out with a backhanded strike that caught the creature across the face, sending it stumbling back. Despite his lack of finesse, Blank's strikes were landing exactly where they needed to.

As the last of the monsters fell, the group paused to catch their breath. Flo glanced at Chris, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Did you notice something… odd about his fighting style?"

Chris nodded, his pale blue eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Yeah. It's like he knows exactly where to hit, like he's aware of every weakness. But at the same time, there's something… off. He's clumsy, like he doesn't have the proper experience. It's as if his body can't quite keep up with what he knows."

Flo frowned, glancing over at Blank, who was scanning the area for more threats. "It's strange. He moves like he's guided by some instinct, but he lacks the fluidity of someone who's trained for years."

Chris nodded again. "It's almost like he's learned everything in theory but hasn't had the chance to put it into practice until now."

Their conversation was cut short as Gazo called for them to regroup. They were battered and bruised, but they had made it through. The forest thinned out ahead of them, revealing the outskirts of a small town. Hospital Marindov was just beyond it, a beacon of hope in the desolate landscape.

But as they approached, Blank suddenly stopped, his grey eyes narrowing. He could feel it—a deep, unsettling presence, like a dark cloud hanging over the hospital.

"It's under attack," Blank said, his voice low and tense.

The group looked at him, their expressions grim. They knew what they had to do.

Gazo turned to Blank, his expression serious. "Can you lead the refugees to the hospital without fighting?"

Blank met his gaze and nodded.

Gazo didn't hesitate. "Good. Take them there safely. The rest of us will go ahead and defend the hospital."

With a final nod, Gazo ordered the cohort to move out. The group split, with Blank taking the lead of the refugees, guiding them through the safest paths while the others rushed ahead, prepared to face whatever awaited them at the hospital.