"I heard this zombie was on a whole different level, at par with the Grand Marshalls," a worried soldier murmured to his friend, his voice trembling slightly. "I can't believe it. Just look at the devastation caused by the battle."

The desolate plain lay still, eerily quiet, bearing no trace of the horror that had swept through just a few hours earlier. The sun shone brightly, casting a harsh light on the green structures that now seemed out of place amidst the destruction. Soldiers moved in large groups, meticulously scanning the area for any remaining signs of zombies.

The first soldier continued, his voice low and anxious, "I can't imagine what would have happened if the fight had reached the mainland."

His friend, trying to sound reassuring, replied, "Good thing Marshall Pulkit was here. Only he can handle situations like this without breaking a sweat."

imageOver the dozens of soldiers, a young woman observed them from the roof of a nearby house. Ann, the General of Vanya's army, scanned the area with a keen eye, taking in the sight of her soldiers collecting samples of ashes and scouting for any remaining threats. Her face was a mask of determination, but her eyes held a glint of unease.

"All the zombies burned under the sunlight. Their ashes will soon be carried away by the wind or washed away by the rain," the group's knight said as he climbed up to join Ann on the roof. He looked confident, but his eyes betrayed a hint of fear.

Ann, her voice tinged with frustration, responded, "I didn't want to come to such a dangerous place, but Vanya pushed me into it." She glanced at the knight, her expression hardening. "I still feel someone, or something, is watching us."

The knight swallowed hard, his fear evident. "Marshall Pulkit left just after killing that zombie. If he felt something, he would have said so."

Ann's eyes remained vigilant, scanning the horizon. "Pulkit is strong, but he's not infallible. We can't let our guard down. Not now."

Inside the nearby tower, a presence moved with an unsettling combination of excitement and confidence, almost like a child who had discovered a new game. A pair of eyes glowed through a dusty window, captivating and otherworldly. They were impossibly beautiful, drawing anyone who gazed into them into an almost drowning trance. The eyes were a mesmerizing swirl of rainbow colours. Each hue blended seamlessly into the next, creating a kaleidoscope of emotions and mysteries within them. It was as if these eyes were a vortex, a gateway to the soul's deepest and most hidden feelings. The vibrant shades shimmered with a life of their own, catching the light and reflecting it in hypnotic patterns that could ensnare any heart. They were the embodiment of beauty, power, and enigma, holding a promise of secrets yet to be unveiled The creature's vampire-like teeth curled into a sinister smile. The voice that emerged was a silken caress dipped in venom. "Such a disappointment," it purred, the amusement laced with a hint of something older, something hungrier. "Why are these new arrivals so utterly...insignificant?"

The captivating eyes danced with malice, the kaleidoscope shifting in a mesmerizing display. This being, this creature of forgotten beauty, revelled in the chaos it had orchestrated. An echo of a predator toying with its prey. "Oh, the game has only just begun," it whispered, the vibrant hues in its eyes swirling with a chilling anticipation. It was a promise, a threat, a melody that would lure the unsuspecting into a web spun from moonlight and shadow.

Far from the chaos, in the terrain of unhindered snow, sparks of a battle raged fiercely. Among the trees heavy with snow and the ground buried beneath several feet of it, a section grew blazing hot. Lector's swords, engulfed in flames, moved in a musical rhythm against a long, bulky double-ended sword, from which a black liquid sprayed across the battlefield. Lector's opponent was a small and thin zombie, seemingly a teenager, adorned with traditional jewellery—chains, earrings, and bracelets made of precious stones.

The black, coal-tar-like material sprayed from his sword, sizzling as it hit the snow. Their swords clashed furiously, the sound echoing through the forest. "This black poison can kill any human in seconds. You will collapse soon," the zombie shouted, his voice dripping with malice. He grew more aggressive, his battle style becoming more erratic as he leapt from tree to tree, trying to deceive Lector.

Lector stood his ground, his eyes narrowing as he anticipated the zombie's next move. "They couldn't handle me," the zombie's voice echoed through the trees. "I was part of that royal family. People loved me. My own family grew jealous and kicked me out of the palace." His voice trembled with rage, "They called for their own death. They weren't as strong as me." He grinned, baring his teeth, and with a burst of speed, he launched himself from behind a tree, aiming to stab Lector with his poisoned sword.

As the blade neared Lector, the zombie's eyes widened in shock as he saw his sword begin to melt. "How?" he gasped, his voice breaking.

Lector smirked, a fire dancing in his eyes. "To put it simply," he said, his voice calm and confident, "you're too weak."

The zombie's face contorted in rage and disbelief. "You lie!" he screamed, lashing out wildly. "You are nothing compared to me! I will tear you apart!". His movements grew frantic, he dropped his sword and started launching punches. Each punch's shockwave made the trees in it's way shake. His hands grew red due to the heat emerging from Lector but they were still hard as rocks.

Lector's movements were fluid, almost graceful, as he deflected each attack with ease. "Your rage blinds you," he said, his tone almost pitying. "You have strength, but no control."

The zombie's attacks grew more frantic, desperation creeping into his eyes. "I will not be defeated by the likes of you!" he roared, swinging his hands with all his might.

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Lector decided to end it. With a swift and precise strike, Lector disarmed the zombie, sending his limbs flying through the air. The black liquid hissed and evaporated as it hit the snow. "It's over," Lector said softly.

The zombie fell to his knees, the fight leaving his body. "No," he whispered, his voice filled with despair. "This cannot be."

Lector sheathed his swords, the flames extinguishing. He looked down at the defeated zombie, a mixture of pity and resolve in his eyes. "Find peace," he said quietly, turning away as the snow began to fall again, covering the battlefield in a blanket of white.

In the vast plains of the old Punjab, dozens of soldiers fought against an army of zombies. The soldiers, though being slaughtered by the man-eating horrifying creatures were still emotionless. They showed no pain, no fear and no will to live. There eyes were hollow.

The undead were overpowering the soldiers, outnumbering them three to one.

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Vanya stood at the back of the army, her eyes scanning the battlefield for someone of interest. Her bright yellow and white battle armour gleamed under the moonlight, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. She held a long, glowing scythe in one hand and a unique shield in the other. Her gaze was sharp and calculating as she surveyed the carnage.image

Suddenly, a zombie broke away from the mass and rushed toward her. With a swift, practiced motion, Vanya beheaded it with a twist of her scythe. "They all seem to be the same," she mused aloud, her voice tinged with boredom. "Nothing different." She looked around, her eyes narrowing. "Let's finish this quickly then." With a powerful leap, she soared into the air and landed in the middle of the battlefield, surrounded by the undead. She spun her scythe in a deadly arc, slicing through the necks of several zombies in a single fluid motion.

Vanya marched forward, each step splattering blood as she cut down everything in her path. Her movements were precise and deadly, her scythe a blur of glowing light. But then, her scythe clashed against the neck of one zombie and failed to cut through. She whispered, "Found you."

The zombie turned to face her, revealing an old, bald head and a frail-looking body. Despite his appearance, her scythe had failed to pass through his wrinkled neck. He leapt into the air, shouting, "Shadow Art: Divine Scales!" His weak-looking body tore through its skin as it expanded in size, scales developing across his frame. His waist was adorned with several sharp knives of various shapes and sizes. He pulled out a long knife, blood dripping from the wound, and hurled it at Vanya.

Vanya blocked it effortlessly with her shield, her eyes never leaving his. He grinned, "You're one good bitch."

Vanya chuckled, her voice cold and amused. She jumped into the air, launching a barrage of slashes at him, her scythe singing through the night. He dodged some of her attacks but couldn't avoid them all. She closed the distance between them swiftly. "I didn't want it to go this way," she whispered before disappearing from his sight. He turned, bewildered, only to feel her presence behind him. Her arms slid under his, and he felt the warmth of her body as she hugged him from behind, a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time.

His mind froze, but he quickly snapped out of it and broke free from her grasp. "What are you trying to do?" he shouted, his voice filled with frustration. Vanya stood there, emotionless, her gaze unwavering. Enraged, he pulled out two curved knives from his waist and rushed at her, showcasing his knife-wielding skills with a flurry of attacks. Vanya blocked the strikes with her shield, but he soon overpowered her, slashing at her face. He roared, "That pretty face of yours. I'll carve it out and keep it as a collection."

Vanya struggled to defend herself, her expression grim. Some of the remaining soldiers attempted to aid her, but their throats were slit before they could reach her. Gathering her strength, Vanya pushed her shield forward, knocking him off balance. Seizing the opportunity, she rushed to his side as he stumbled. With a roar of anger, she swung her scythe upward, aiming to cut through him with all her might.

The scythe touched his neck but broke apart before it could cut through. Vanya's eyes widened in shock as she stumbled to the ground. He stood up, dusting himself off. "I am Gerda from the South.", he commented, "I wish my bitchy wife was as beautiful as you," he said, looking down in disappointment.

A cruel smile spread across his face as he lifted his gaze to Vanya. "I'll put your face on her dead body.". Vanya's face was a portrait of raw terror. Her skin, usually a warm and healthy hue, was now pale and ashen, her cheeks hollowed by fear. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, mingling with the stray strands of hair that had come loose from her braid. Her lips, slightly parted, quivered uncontrollably, unable to form the scream that was trapped in her throat.

He laughed and pulled out the biggest knife from his belly. Gerda stood over Vanya as she begged him to let her live, "Please let me go. I'll do whatever you say. I'll be your wife", she cried out. He twisted his neck, "Is that so?"

He raged out in anger and shouted, "I love my wife you shithead", he lifted his hand in air, "You can never be her", as he swung his knife across her neck, cutting her throat off.

Vanya's eyes, the most telling of all, were filled with a mix of disbelief and horror. They were wide and glassy, reflecting the dim light with an almost haunting clarity. Tears welled up, threatening to spill over, but she blinked them back, trying to stay focused. Her beautiful face became a portrait made of blood. The pupils were dilated, a primal response to the looming threat, and they flickered with a desperate plea for mercy.

Gerda roared in anger, tucking his fingers into her open neck and lifting her up. He ripped her head apart with a vicious pull, her blood cascading down his body as he smiled in perverse relief.

Looking over the battlefield, he saw all the remaining soldiers dead, their bodies lying in despair. He ran through the carnage, shouting with joy, "I won! I killed her!" Tears streamed down his face as he cried out, "Maybe they'll let me in the council now."

The vast plains lay silent under the moonlight, the echoes of battle fading into the night, leaving only the lifeless bodies and the haunting memories of the slaughter.

Meanwhile, deep in the forest, an old, large house stood in eerie silence. The once grand structure had succumbed to the ravages of time and neglect. Tall grass grew wild in the yard, swaying gently in the breeze, and vines snaked their way up the walls, entwining themselves around broken swings that hung desolately from ancient trees. The pool, long since drained, was now a breeding ground for algae, its corners slick with the green slime that had taken over.

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Inside, the house was a testament to decay. In a large, dimly lit room, Pulkit stood in front of a tarnished mirror, its once ornate frame now chipped and dull. The room was a graveyard of memories, with broken photo frames littering the floor, their glass shattered into countless tiny shards. The furniture, covered in a thick layer of dust, was broken and askew, as if abandoned in haste. Pulkit's haori lay draped over the old, dusty bed, a stark contrast to the ruin around it.

Pulkit unbuttoned his shirt with a firm, deliberate motion, revealing a large, deep scar that ran across his chest and abdomen. The wound had healed long ago, but the mark remained, a permanent reminder of a past filled with pain. His fingers traced the scar, rolling across the rough, uneven skin, and his eyes grew moist. Forbidden memories surfaced, unbidden, bringing with them a torrent of emotions.