The wall was consumed by silence.

Thousands of soldiers waited, for death, for salvation, for survival.

They were broken but hardened, ready for more than they ever were.

Their city had been invaded by the dead; those they once knew were now the ones killing them, killing their friends and neighbors.

Many witnessed dead children slaughtering their siblings, parents, and loved ones, a horrifying sight that could drain the color from anyone's face.

These same loved ones emerged from the darkness of the silent, unlit streets. They were coming into view from the moonlight above.

Former loved ones had become the monsters these soldiers now face, inching closer to the gate.

The horde marched forth, flesh falling off. Unnerving growls emanated from their decaying throats. Fresh blood dripped from their mouths, their hunger not yet satiated.

As the monsters with familiar faces approached the gate, they were abruptly shot. Black-tipped arrows flew through the air, sinking into the rotten flesh.

Hundreds of arrows were shot as thousands of zombies began their charge to climb the wall.

Three of the five Elders were present defending the wall. Darius's grandfather, who was injured, and the 1st elder were still at the HQ. However, with three beings considered Gods among the defenders, the soldiers were ecstatic, the morale reaching its peak.

The battle began, with millions of the dead now flooding the streets, crashing against the sturdy black wall.

They were climbing over one another while being pelted with stones and arrows puncturing their flesh.

Pained screeches from these creatures echoed. But their pained yelps only seemed to boost morale even further.

'They can still feel pain…they must barely be a few hours old…' Cain continued to fire arrow after arrow, the stockpile dwindling in his hands, each arrow finding its mark.

Like the sea crashing against the walls of humanity, more and more corpses piled up, enabling the dead to reach higher and higher.

Suddenly, piles were pushed away by some unimaginable force, crashing against the rest and resetting the zombies' progress.

Everyone looked to one of the Elders, a man with a long face, and a thin white mustache curving upward. He wore rounded glasses, appearing humble yet commanding.

It was Grant, an elder who had lived since the last outbreak. He looked no older than 50, wearing priestly robes showing no correlation to any faith.

It was only a style, faith hadn't existed in Netherane for a long time.

Elder Grant became a banner for the soldiers to flock to as his powers reset the piles of the damned one after another. He finely controlled his power to use the corpses against the undead, creating obstacles and mazes using corpses as brick and their black blood as plaster.

All the while, Cain watched with the intent of understanding the bizarre abilities being used before him.

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'He can move things? What type of virus is he using? No, maybe it's a fungus disease?'

Unexpectedly, the zombies became more agitated, and frenzied. They ripped each other apart in their quest to reach the top.

The three Elders paused, looking past the zombies and into the darkness. From it, a single white figure walked out of the dark streets, white like a ghost.

Narrowing their eyes, the Elders prepared themselves. It was then, the 4th elder, Grant, charged.

His feet pushed off the wall, and an audible blast broke the air, it was similar to a crisp snapping sound.

The White One stood still, gazing at Grant as a human would an ant, full of contempt and superiority.

Grant reached the white zombie almost instantly, pulling out a spiked mace that looked like it was from a sewer, covered in some brown substance that flowed between the spikes.

He swung.

Bang!

Yet the White One raised his arm and blocked. The mace stopped, not able to move further.

The brown sewage-like gunk leaked out of the mace and seeped into the Zombie's skin, dying its arm dark.

In response to this new threat, the creature scoffed. Then…it simply cut off its arm.

But that was not all. As it grabbed its arm, the white chunk's entire structure began to melt. The arm became a sludge on the floor that moved about, going to fuse back with the White One's body.

The sludge that was in the arm stayed behind on the ground, its vessel gone, reabsorbed by the White One.

The undead's arm reappeared where it once was, reconstructed through means that could only be called inhuman. It then grinned at the proud elder.

"Damn zombie! You dare!" Grant raised his mace once more and charged, only this time the undead responded.

It reacted, blocking Grant's attacks ever so slightly, with the parts hit immediately melting from the sludge and being re-absorbed by the body, leaving behind the sludge to sink into the earth.

The two continued for a while. The other Elders did not intervene, Grant had it under control, he was pushing back the white zombie.

On the walls, the soldiers cheered, they were finally winning.

But that's what the White Undead wanted.

Grant also sensed something was wrong, but after a while, his pride got the best of him. He couldn't focus as his rage rose, the zombie repetitively taunting him between attacks.

Grant, who had lived for hundreds of years, fell for such provocation. It seemed that time didn't equal wisdom, or perhaps Grant let the idea he was a god get to his head.

No one knew what the word God meant, if they did they would understand the Elders were anything but. It was a word from a faraway land, it was doubtful anyone knew its true meaning anymore.

Eventually, Grant began to make mistakes, leaving openings in his rage that grew larger over time.

Finally, in one particular moment, the White One found the optimal opening and changed his attack, using his hand as his weapon.

The sound of splitting flesh and cracking bones drowned out all other noises. There was only silence.

Everyone stood in horror as Grant, seemed to levitate in the air. No, he was lifted from the ground, a giant white arm piercing through his chest.

Choking on his own blood, Grant tried to strike the undead one last time.

However, he found himself melting, his body becoming a bloody liquid that began to fuse with the White One.

It took only 5 seconds before Grant's entire being was devoured. He disappeared into the White One's mouth as the monster licked his lips and looked toward the others, a smile forming from their fear.

All the while, Cain was watching everything, even though he wanted to bash the monster's skull in and torture it in the most depraved way possible, he couldn't.

He didn't stand a chance against it, it was obvious that it was just as strong as the Elders; it had killed one of them.

'I'm so weak I can even kill a walking corpse! No…I can still kill it, I just need a plan'

Cain berated himself for being weak, scrutinizing himself for being useless, but that made him only more determined.

When Grant died, the other two Elders immediately attacked in full force. Teaming up on the White One, it just stood there and took the attacks as if its skin were made of steel.

Finally, it lifted its hand and grasped at the air. But it didn't grab at just air; when it closed its hand, a neck appeared in its grasp.

Everyone looked in horror as it crushed the caught elder's throat, the sound of a crushed spinal cord sweeping through the air. The elder's body was then absorbed almost instantly.

While the White One fought the Elders, his army had been secretly and slowly climbing the wall while all the attention was on their leader.

The last elder fought bitterly, but in the end, he too was killed like a fly, his skull stomped on as his body was absorbed like the others.

Then...despair.