Like a melancholy melody, the wind howled across the barren landscape.

With his cloak torn and his armor worn out, Edmund trekked through the ash and rubble.

Clanking noise of his armor weight heavely.

Edmund was constantly on guard as he navigated the perilous forest In the distance, startled he heard a lady cry, and he accelerated his steps.

He tightly grasped his sword hanging on his back and swiftly pulled out his enormous two-handed blade. 

The greatsword was nearly six feet tall, with thick depth, he swung it over with ease not feeling the weight.

On the crossguard was the symbol of his order, a white dragon standing out against a red backdrop, he received the sword as a gift from the king, his achievements alone were worthy of praise.

With tired eyes, he examined the woods, In front of him was a desolate scene of twisted, trees and shattered rubble. 

Within the forest a village was ruined, smoke rose in the houses. Edmund walked toward it, his jaws set firm, his armour clanking.

He cling to the hope that there might be some people alive, with a sudden terrifying outcry echoing across the destroyed village.

As he got closer at the entrance, he saw a dozen terrifying Creatures shambling in his direction, their ragged clothing.

When they saw Edmund, they sprang to him on all fours, clawed hands outstretched and drooling mouth with bared fangs like teeth covered in black liquid. 

Edmund set his feet firmly in anticipation of their onslaught and, in one smooth action, drew his sword.

In the faint light, the blade, which was massive, shone like quicksilver.

In a frenzied surge of rotting flesh and snarling jaws, they charged at him.

Edmund whirled like a tornado. Black ichor spattered his armor as he sliced the first beast in two, from crown to groin. 

A clean backhand slash to the throat sent the head spinning, killing the second he encountered. 

With his sword a flurry of sparkling steel, Edmund danced through the throng of rotting carcasses. 

He decapitated them with each decisive strike, then turned to slay another. 

His technique was perfect, and his steadfast focus was evident in every movement, which showcased the strength he had developed over years of rigorous training.

A swarm of bodies rushed in his direction, their faces were terrifying with rage of hunger for flesh, their mouths open in mindless hunger.

Edmund killed them without hesitation, breathing steadily and moving with efficiency. 

He had long since become numb to the smell and blood all around him. 

It was finished in a matter of seconds; he lost count of the number he had killed throughout the village, and they lay in trembling heaps at his feet. 

Edmund took a deep breath and pushed his sword into the ground. Exhausted he put his sword away at his back and pushed on and continued entering the village.

His attention was drawn to an unexpected movement. 

A woman was staggering out of the wreckage of a house as he turned around. 

She was dressed in the tattered clothes of a country woman.

Her sad eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and her face appeared tired and emaciated. 

Her attitude was one of urgency and desperation as she met his gaze. 

"Please," she whimpered, "I need...I need...help"

Edmund's heart twitched; with a harsh hiss, he withdrew his sword from its scabbard and stepped carefully toward her, assessing her condition. 

She had pale skin with unsightly splotches and lesions. 

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She had a foul odor that reminded him of the one of the foul creatures he had come to despise. 

He knew the warning signs-the vacant stare, the stumbling steps.

He was familiar with the meaning of such words, having heard them innumerable times from his own dying friends and family as the plague ravaged them one by one. 

A terrible and hideous experience, the transition from human to one of them was characterized by severe convulsions and an unquenchable need for flesh.

Just before they completely transformed, while they were still conscious enough to beg for forgiveness, they were at their most dangerous.

He could have saved them, but it was so hard to hit them down.

He whispered softly,

"I'm sorry,"

as she stumbled closer. 

"I can't."

He had seen it, his hands gripping his sword's hilt at his back. 

A small amount of black saliva escaped from her open mouth and fell onto the dry ground.

"Please..." she said again, her words garbled and half-formed. 

"I just want to...be...with you."

Her eyes widened, and the woman's once-desperate expression gave way to a wave of rage. 

Her nails were thin and discolored of red, and she sprang at Edmund before he could reply.

A guttural screech erupted from her throat as her head snapped forward in a growl, revealing her rotting black teeth.

There wasn't time to think. 

He roared, swung his sword, and sidestepped quickly, sending her flying face-first to the ground as the flat of his blade struck her back. 

He changed his hold on the hilt and struck her with a crushing blow before she could get her bearings.

feeling the bone crack beneath the force with the pommel.

Edmund closed his eyes. 

He looked around the village, scanning for more threats.

The woman had been alone, but that didn't mean there weren't others hiding nearby, and no other no more showed up.

Edmund stood over her, breathing heavily, he sighed of relief. 

Taking his blade from the floor, he slung it over his shoulder and held it behind him. 

He turned to face the houses, his shoulders squared.

He could not shake the picture of her face as he went-the despair in her voice, the desperation in her eyes. 

Long shadows were cast by the setting sun. Edmund knew that he had to find somewhere to spend the night. 

He didn't want to run across a horde in the middle of the night because they were more active after dark. 

He kept an eye out for any indications of buildings that might be used as temporary shelter or that had been abandoned. 

Edmund looked at the ruined settlement, trying to find a place to spend the night.

In order to recover his strength, he needed a place to relax.

He searched for a few minutes before finding a little shack. 

The windows were boarded up, and the wood was rotting and weathered. 

It was a little worn and uncomfortable, but it would do.

He sighed with exhaustion and took up residence in the small shelter, keeping a watchful eye out.

The cold morning came, Edmund woke up rising from the cold floor, and massaged his sore shoulder sleeping on the hard floor is not easy.

His stomach grumbling he tried to search some still edible food around the shack, he found some potatoes hanging around still not decayed, without second thoughts he devoured it instantly. 

Satisfied he reached out to the door and got out of the hut and looked cautiously at the ruins of the settlement. 

He was aware that he needed to be vigilant, even though nothing had happened the previous evening. 

He gripped the sword sheathed at his back tightly and started off, his footfall echoing in the strange calm. 

The streets were littered with artifacts and debris from the battle the day before.

Even though he had killed as many as he could, he knew that others were always out there, just waiting for the proper opportunity.

As he walked, he recalled how the plague had appeared only a week earlier, a terrible epidemic that was spreading like wildfire and suddenly transforming the living into ravenous monsters.

Prior to launching an unstoppable wave of drooling black liquid on their teeth and red bloodied claws across the countryside, the knight order was severely reduced by the horde of savage abomination attacking his order.

He was startled out of his gloomy look by a sharp terrifying scream that split the atmosphere. Edmund stiffened, clutching the hilt of his blade as three abomination creatures stumbled out of a neighboring alley, their hungry, blackened liquid pouring out their eyes staring at him. 

With startling quickness runs in all fours like a wild beast, the closest one, a tall figure dressed in the frayed remains of a blacksmith's apron, snarled mindlessly, its jaws wide open.

Edmund quickly drew his blade out of its sheath at his back, the sharp edge cutting through the air.

With a tremendous momentum of the monster, in a shower of black ichor, the greatsword cut off its head, causing it to drop away as the body fell apart

The two others sprung up and pounced quickly with its wide opened jaws, but Edmund's swordplay was too quick.

His sword sings with the sound of the flesh cutting, severing limbs and heads as they fall under his relentless assault, leaving pools of their foul fluid. Within moments, it was over; the last of them thudded lifelessly to the ground.

Edmund stood amid the carnage, breathing heavily as he gulped in air..

The adrenaline faded, leaving him feeling empty and exhausted.

"Too easy," he murmured, wiping the blood from his slick blade using a ragged strip of cloth. 

"Where are the rest of you?"

There were very few of them in the area, far too few to represent the entire population of the village. 

Edmund harbored a growing suspicion that something was wrong.

He continues to explore the village finding survivors who could be hiding in their houses. 

Edmund has the second thought shouting is not an option, he wanted to check if there's still someone left alive around, but he remembered through the countless times he encountered them, they will flock on to you when they hear a big noise, they dont have keen hearing but a sudden Screech of sound is what attracts them. 

Whilst continuing his exploration He spotted some figures of people they were trying to run away from the horde of undead monsters.

Edmund had a rush of dread at the terrible sight in front of him as the devastated square came into view. 

The few remaining survivors were running some stumbled and some gasp of air, the swarm of Undead that writhed together mouth watering with black liquid. 

As the Undead dash in all of their limbs, drew closer, the people, who were primarily women and children, huddled together in fear.

Edmund yelled, "Run!" as he dashed into the confusion, his greatsword tearing through the air. "I'll keep them at bay; get back to your homes!"

The survivors' eyes widened with a mix of fear and relief, with some trying to escape, yet most remained frozen in place, paralyzed by terror. 

Edmund felt a curse rise in his throat as he fought his way through the Undead, struggling to reach the villagers. 

But for every one he defeated, three more appeared to take its place.

The Undead overwhelmed him like a tide, their gnashing teeth and grasping claws closing in.

Edmund's blade moved in a deadly rhythm as he struggled to ward them, howling in frustration. 

He repelled them all despite the stink of rotting flesh filling the air as they approached, and their frenzied jaws snapped at his armor.

Edmund roared and swung his sword, cutting shoulders and necks, sending the Undead flying in splatters of black blood. 

He struggled free and stumbled to his feet, gasping for air and covered in dripping black blood of the Undead.

Only a handful of the villagers' disfigured remains were strewn about the area, indicating that the cost had been high.

Edmund felt a great sense of shame as he looked around the wreckage. 

He had been too sluggish and too late. The Undying were too quick and had already taken them; it was too late, and they were gone.

"No, no, no," he said to himself, fighting back tears as his fingers clenched and relaxed on the hilt of his sword. 

I was unable to save them. I should have taken action earlier.

He turned immediately as he heard a harsh rasping sound behind him, followed by an urgent moan.

Edmund was confronted by the blind eyes of a young woman who had only seconds before being alive.

Her mouth gaped out in a hideous display of hunger as she surged at him with sudden speed.

Edmund flung his blade down in a gleaming arc and let out a passionate cry of wrath. 

The young woman was almost cut in two when the greatsword slashed through her skull, splattering bone shards and

ich. She fell to the floor and lay there still.

He shuddered and dropped to his knees next to the young woman's broken body, his greatsword slipping out of his numb hand.

He said, "I'm sorry," his face was a mask of grief.

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