SWEN AND THE LIVING DEAD

The air was thick with a damp, clayey smell—evidence of rain-soaked earth mixed with the decaying flesh of wild animals. I ducked low behind a twisted tree trunk, my heart pounding in time with the quiet rumble of the surrounding jungle. Rainbow hues of mutated plants shimmered softly as pale shafts of sunlight filtered through the dense foliage above. My previously slow breath quickened as I peered around the gnarled branches to see my enemy. Radix Predatoria, a carnivorous plant named for its roots that writhed like snakes, ready to strike.

A soft hiss. She sensed me, and the air seemed to freeze with tension. She turned suddenly, her tentacle-like vine snapping toward me with a bang. I rolled away just in time, feeling a gust of wind as the tentacle flew past my face. The underbrush trembled with her aggressive movements, and I could feel every vibration transmitted through the earth and into my bones. “Oh you!” I cried, pulling out my old, battered knife. Its blade was coated in a layer of rust, as if long forgotten by the world, yet I kept it carefully sharpened. It was a primitive weapon, but I had learned long ago that survival depended more on speed and agility than on what I wielded.

I lunged forward, aiming for the leafy beast’s very center. With a quick thrust, I plunged my knife into the fleshy green center. I watched with pleasure as its sap clashed with the dull gray of the world I knew. “Eeeek!” A grotesque cry tore from the plant, a sound more befitting a living creature than a green monster. It convulsed, releasing a cloud of spores that filled the air with a sickly sweet scent. I staggered back, feeling a wave of nausea creep over me. Still, I pushed forward again, twisting the knife before stabbing again. “Freeze, you overgrown weed!” I shouted, determination driving my blows. With a final thrust, the blade dug deeper, the plant’s cries fading to a pitiful whine before it collapsed dead in the underbrush.

Panting, I pulled out my knife and wiped it on my already rather dirty trousers. My pulse began to calm down, the adrenaline slowly drained from my system, and as the world fell silent, I allowed myself a moment of respite. Victory was a small consolation in the chaos that had engulfed everything above and below the ground. Only now did I realize that I had been hearing footsteps for some time. I froze, the sound catching my attention. Footsteps? The air hummed with tension again, and instinct told me to do my thing. I hid behind the remains of a defeated plant. A moment later, a figure emerged from the thicket—a familiar silhouette.

A messenger from a distant bunker. One of the Pasewalk Scribes surrounded by armed guards. Their eyes wide with desperation surely remember better days than searching for me in the Romincka Forest.

“Sven!” cried the envoy, and in his voice one could hear the joy of this meeting.

“Brehm?” I asked, surprised, as I entered the more lighted area. “What are you doing in this swamp? Shouldn’t you be underground? It’s safer there!”

“Safer?” he snorted, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Do you think the walls of the bunker can protect us from everything? We’re in deep trouble!” He shifted uncomfortably, glancing quickly at the guards. Their gaze had stopped on a dead plant a moment ago. “We’re being attacked by some kind of creature. Human, but not really. More like corpses—empty shells, but with the fury of a living thing.”

Images of rotting, swaying corpses flashed through my mind, brought to life by some darker force. I had seen reports of such attacks long ago, heard the stories of those who had supposedly escaped them, but I hadn’t taken them too seriously. “They are attacking our people,” he continued. “People are disappearing from the fields, sometimes in droves, and then they come back changed.” My stomach twisted as he said it. “Death is spreading through the ranks of the Scribes, and you come here asking for help. Friend, I will help you, but I can’t do anything without more information.”

„Yes, yes! Like when you fixed the water pump?” I interrupted, a bitter smile spreading across my face. „I’d rather not think about that damned rusty machine right now.” Brehm’s expression became serious. „I know it’s not an easy task. But we can’t figure out what’s going on until we catch one of these… things. We need someone with your skills.” With those words, I felt the weight of their desperation.

My previous encounters with the Scribes had been relatively peaceful, full of mutual respect, but this time their problems were mixed with some dark fantasy. This wasn’t just another technical crisis. I could sense the danger in the air. “Okay,” I finally answered. “We need a plan.” As I spoke, the shadows thickened at the edge of the clearing, the remains of the plant dancing ominously under the now red sky. “Let’s gather what we can from this Predatoria,” I suggested, and we set off toward the distant bunker. My mind was racing with images of the threats lurking in the shadows ahead.

Our journey lasted ten days. The Scribe’s bunker was far from bustling. The building was squeezed under the remains of abandoned factories. Its concrete walls muffled the chaos outside, and the air was stale. It smelled of damp earth and old paper. Maps of the pre-explosion world hung on the walls alongside charts documenting mutations, and the scribbles in the margins revealed both hope and despair. I saw those once called scholars now overwhelmed by paranoia. Their eyes flicked toward me—half waiting for salvation, half fearing my arrival.

“Hunting?” one of them muttered, clutching a clear piece of parchment covered in lines of text. “You want to bring these corpses here? Just to understand the threat?”

“Understanding is key,” I replied, my tone calm. “But we must act quickly. Every wasted moment means more bodies and more chaos.” A man stepped out of the shadows. His eyes were sunken, as if he hadn’t slept since the day this had begun. “We’ve lost too many already,” he stated, almost quietly. “Too many of our scholars are now among them.”

As I prepared to devise a plan of attack – memories of old, pre-war hunting techniques appeared in my head. Suddenly, a piercing cry echoed through the corridors, “Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!” The bunker immediately erupted into chaos. Footsteps turned into a single sound as people rushed to their weapons. I gripped my knife tighter, adrenaline pumping through my veins again. “They found us!” Brehm shouted, drawing his sidearm and standing in front of me in a defensive gesture.

“Everyone, stay calm!” I struggled to be heard over the commotion, but my voice was barely audible. The sound of pounding feet grew louder, pressing against the walls we had long considered shelter. A deafening crack echoed through the corridors. The guards were preparing themselves, and I could feel them as tense as a string about to snap.

“Barricade the door!” I shouted, rushing toward the source of the sound. I had to know what we were dealing with. When I peeked through the crack in the door, my heart sank. Shadows rustled in the darkness outside, their shapes torn and dismembered, embodying everything that was both terrible and grotesque in our world. “Brehm,” I whispered, my voice barely a whisper. “This is worse than I thought.”

“Worse?” Brehm repeated incredulously, his eyes darting back and forth. The skeletal forms of these zombies bore familiar faces twisted in macabre expressions of hunger and pain. They clawed at the concrete, a horde ready to destroy anything in their path. “They’re trying to break in!” one of the guards shouted, throwing a heavy metal chair at the door. “We have to stop them!”

“Not just stop them,” I said, my mind racing, “We need to find a way to catch one and study it!” As soon as I had said it, the door creaked ominously under their relentless attacks. The tension grew like an invisible wave of fear and determination. I couldn’t believe that these creatures had once been human, but now I saw something undeniably captivating about them—the mystery of their existence and the threat they posed. The desire to know the answer was greater than the fear of my life.

„Let’s do it!” I shouted, a shiver of danger burning through my insides. „Stand together! We can’t let them in!” With those words we braced ourselves for the coming storm, the line between salvation and destruction narrowing like a shutter around a dying light. The battle was just beginning.

The blows fell at a steady pace, as if I had been fighting for hours, and the knife had become an extension of my arm. The corpses, despite the visible damage, moved without hesitation, pressing like a tidal wave. The blade cut through their rotten flesh, and the ground was covered with slippery remains of flesh. Their dead eyes seemed to see neither me nor the world around them – only the need for blood drove them.

The fight was gaining intensity. Every now and then, out of the corner of my eye, I would see one of my companions disappear before the horde, only for another to rush in his place, trying to hold the line. Blood and sweat mingled together, mingling with the stench of rotting flesh, and I could barely keep up with the blows. They were everywhere.

Suddenly… something changed. The zombies that had been pressing forward in disarray just a moment before began to retreat. Slowly, almost in sync, as if following an invisible signal. Not all of them, but most of them began to move in one direction, like a herd that had suddenly found its leader.

There were stragglers left. Their numbers were still significant, enough to keep the fight going. But this strange, mass withdrawal made me uneasy. Something, or someone, was guiding them, but why? And what was waiting where they were headed?

“These things… they’re everywhere!” Brehm gasped, his eyes darting wildly. “We thought they were just mindless zombies, but they’re organized! They know what they’re doing!” I sheathed my knife. The clang of bone on metal echoed ominously in the darkness. “So they’re not just the living dead? Are they being controlled by something?”

“We saw them feeding on the bodies of the fallen,” Brehm replied, his voice shaking with a mixture of terror and disorientation. “I think the bodies would get up afterward, like something took over their nervous system. It was like they were puppets. They would get up and follow the herd.”

The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. I looked at the bloody tracks left on the ground. “Maybe their master isn’t so invisible after all. Something is guiding them, and maybe he’s not far away.” Brehm’s eyes widened as he cautiously looked around the deserted bunker. “What do you mean?”

“These aren’t mutations. You’re a Scribe, you know that such things don’t happen.” I explained, feeling certainty within me. “Someone is controlling them, and I think it’s time we paid this terrifying person a visit.” Brehm pressed his lips together so tightly that he barely opened them later. “There are old, recorded legends that speak of a being who controls the undead, a queen who—” I interrupted him abruptly as the familiar, high-pitched hum of machinery reached my ears. “Pump—” I mumbled, a cold feeling in my stomach. “The water pump at the old subway station is working again! That’s where those corpses are headed!”

Without a word I broke into a run, my boots hitting the cobblestones with a dull thud. Brehm struggled to keep up, his lighter frame having trouble keeping up. We sped through the dark streets, the shadow of the bunker becoming a distant echo.

The subway station loomed ahead, its entrance a gaping maw of darkness. The humming grew louder, an ominous warning of what awaited within. My heart was pounding, but I was determined.

As we descended the stairs, the putrid stench of decay assaulted my nostrils. Torchlight bounced off the damp walls, and the humming vibrations of the pump seemed to permeate the air. Candles flickered in the darkness, their wax dripping to the ground in long, twisted strands. The air grew thicker, the stench more overwhelming. Finally I saw them—a sea of ​​writhing, mindless figures, their eyes and mouths twisted in eternal screams. The undead stretched out their rotting hands toward us.

Suddenly I spotted one who looked different from the rest—a new addition to the horde. His clothing was still partially intact. Brehm noticed him too. “It’s Samuel! He was a guard here.” My mind raced. If these creatures still had any sense of identity, maybe there was a chance. “Samuel! This is Swen! Listen to me!” I shouted, raising my knife to defend myself.

Samuel looked at me blankly, his body moving awkwardly toward me. I parried his blow, the sound of metal on bone echoing through the room. “Brehm, stop him!” I shouted, giving him time to lunge at the zombie with the rope. Together we tackled Samuel to the ground. “We have to get him back to the bunker, now!” Brehm could barely steady his shaking hands.

I looked back at the horde. The undead still ignored us, their attention focused on the pump on the far wall. And then I heard it—a low, vibrating groan. I looked into the chamber, where something huge was moving in the darkness. The undead parted, revealing a massive figure. The queen?

I tightened my grip on the knife. It was a true beast, taller and more massive than any human, covered in scales like armor. It stank of rot and feces. “You have trespassed on my territory, little ones,” it hissed. “The penalty for such audacity is death!”

I stood firm, my heart pounding in my chest. “We seek an explanation of what possesses these men? Why do you command them?” Her laughter filled the chamber. “Explanations? These poor souls serve me willingly. It’s a gift!”

“You lie!” Brehm’s cry echoed. “You control them!” The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “You cannot free them, wanderer. The consequences will be unpleasant.” I stepped forward, raising my knife. “We shall see!”

The Queen’s eyes widened, and her powerful hands clenched into fists. „Foolish mortal!” she screamed, and I reflexively glanced at Brehm. He looked as if he were about to faint—his face white as a sheet. Then I focused back on the monstrous Queen. „We’ll solve this problem, one way or another!” I blurted out, trying to hide my mounting fear.

The beast’s cry pierced the air. It was so piercing I felt my eardrums begin to pulse. I could feel something changing. The undead horde could sense their queen’s unease—their groans and growls grew louder, creating a cacophony that drowned out everything else. Samuel, our dead companion, thrashed wildly, clearly responding to the call. Brehm and I were barely able to hold him back.

“You are making a mistake,” the Queen hissed, glaring at me. Her gaze pierced through me, as if it wanted to rip out my soul. “Leave now, and I may spare your life.”

My lips curved into a defiant smile. “We’ve come too far. We won’t rest until we discover the truth!”

The truth. I knew the word would enrage her. Her roar tore through the air as she lunged at me, claws outstretched. Instinctively, I raised my knife to defend myself. The force of the blow was crushing—I was thrown backwards, hitting the ground with my back, intense heat spreading across my chest. The pain of my bruised ribs pierced my mind, and every breath was agony. But she didn’t let up. The blows rained down on me like a hammer, and I could barely resist.

Through blurred vision I saw Brehm still fighting Samuel. The zombie was growing weaker, his movements losing their power. Brehm had him under control, at least for the moment.

Blocking another blow from the queen, I felt sparks fly around me. Her scales were impenetrable. I took advantage of her body’s momentum and made a quick leap, throwing myself under her massive frame, trying to reach Brehm. Each step burned with pain, and air filled my lungs like lead.

The Queen’s gaze shifted to us. Her eyes narrowed with anger. „Fools! You have damned yourselves!” she roared in fury, raising her hands high above her head.

I knew we didn’t have much time. The horde was closing in, sensing their ruler’s desperation. The cries of the undead were growing louder. I knew they were about to attack us.

„We have to run!” Brehm was barely catching his breath, and his face was as white as chalk. He was right—we had to run. I tightened my grip on the ropes that bound Samuel. The dead bastard was thrashing, trying to free himself, but I had the impression that his strength was fading with each passing moment. Brehm, panting, held him from the other side. He didn’t look the best. I wasn’t in the best shape either. The pain in my ribs reminded me of itself with every step, as if someone was driving nails into my side.

“Faster!” I shouted as I heard the moans of the undead growing louder behind me. I didn’t have to look to know they were on us. I shoved Brehm toward the exit. He pulled Samuel behind him, and I covered the rear. I could feel the thick, musty breath of the undead beginning to surround us. Each of their steps echoed through the subway tunnel, and their claws scraped the ground as if they were already rubbing their hands together for a feast.

We reached the nearest stairs leading up. Brehm, exhausted as he was, started climbing first. Samuel struggled like a rabid animal, but the rope held. I tried to keep up, but every time I had to take a breath, my vision went black. Just get out, I repeated in my head, although I wasn’t sure if that would be enough to survive.

The sounds of pursuit faded. I glanced over my shoulder—the undead had stopped suddenly, as if on command. Most of them began to slowly move away in the opposite direction, obedient to the invisible command, like a herd.

„Don’t ask why, just go!” I shouted to Brehm. We were still far from safety, and those who remained were still able to catch up.

Using all our strength, Brehm and I half-carried, half-dragged the struggling Samuel back to the bunker. He struggled, trying to break free of his bonds, but we held him tight. Luckily, the living dead didn’t follow us—their attention was still on the queen. I had no idea why they’d suddenly retreated, but it didn’t matter at the moment.

Staggering down the stairs, we finally emerged onto the dimly lit street. The torches were already fading, and each step filled me with agony. I knew our fight was far from over. This monster wouldn’t give up its hold on the minions that easily, and that meant we’d have to face it once again. I wasn’t going to give up. Not now that we were so close to discovering the truth and restoring some semblance of order to this madness.

I headed towards the bunker, feeling the pain around my lungs grow with every step. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer in this state. I had to ask the Scribes to tend to my wounds – for now, that would have to do.

As the bunker doors slammed shut behind us, I allowed myself a small smile. The battle had been fierce, but we had not lost. We had met the queen, we had seen her power, and the people had been able to breathe a sigh of relief. But I knew that this was only a temporary peace. Sooner or later, we would face her terror again.

The next day I was invited to observe the research on Samuel, our captured zombie. We stood in one of the small rooms of the bunker, where the Scribes had spread out a body on a metal table. I watched with interest as they slowly removed the blood- and mud-soaked clothes and revealed a deformed body, full of rot and hardened muscles. His eyes were empty, dead, but his body still seemed to respond. Something was moving inside him.

“What could this be?” one of the Scribes said, glancing at me as if expecting me to answer his question. But what did I know? I was no expert.

One of the oldest in the group took a scalpel and made a precise incision along Samuel’s spine. When he cut away the tissue, we saw a long, thin, snake-like creature coiling tightly around the spine. It was a parasite that seemed to move delicately within Samuel’s dead body.

“Look, it’s wrapping itself around the nerve roots,” Brehm said, pointing out the creature’s delicate movements. “It’s the one controlling the body.” The parasite is like a rope that controls the corpse. Its movements are barely perceptible and terrifyingly precise.

“So this is him?” I asked, trying to understand what exactly this find meant.

“Yes, it controls the body. Without it, this man is just dead meat,” Brehm replied, removing his gloves. “We don’t know where these parasites come from, or why they are loyal to the Queen.”

The Eldest Scribe stood over Samuel’s dead body, his face a cold determination. In his hand he held something long and sharp—it looked like an old hunting knife. In one movement he plunged the blade straight into the undead’s skull. Blood and gray fluid sprayed everywhere, and I felt my stomach drop. The parasite that had wrapped itself around Samuel’s spine began to writhe violently, then suddenly froze.

“I see now,” the eldest said, wiping the blade. “That’s why we didn’t notice them before. They die from brain damage.”

I wanted to ask more questions, but the sight of what they were doing shook me to the core. The parasite had been removed, and Samuel’s body lay still. As it should have. I knew this was just the beginning of our problems, but one thing was clear – these creatures were not acting of their own free will. They were tools in the hands of someone far worse.

“Queen,” I whispered, and everyone turned to look at me.

“Yes,” said one of the Scribes, “She is the key.”

I looked down at the dead body. After everything I had seen here, I knew I had to find out more. There were too many questions waiting to be answered, and the answers could only be found in the one place that fit the bill—the Scribes’ library.

“Brehm,” I began as we left the lab, “I need access to your library. I need to learn more about this queen and the parasites. We can no longer proceed in the dark.”

He looked at me a bit confused, as if he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. „This place isn’t open to everyone, Swen, but after what you saw, I guess you’re an exception?” He nodded, and after a moment we were walking towards the library.

When we entered, I was immediately struck by the smell of old books and dust. Faint light streamed through the cracks, creating narrow beams that cut through the darkness of the room. The shelves stretched far into the depths, full of forgotten knowledge from before the explosion. There was something mysterious and slightly unsettling about this place.

“We need to find something about the queen, about the monster that controls corpses with parasites,” I said, starting to look through the first rows of books. Brehm nodded and headed in the other direction.

We immersed ourselves in the reading. The books were old and heavy, and some of the pages broke when touched. The descriptions of monsters, beasts, explosion mutations, and other terrible things seemed endless. Most were familiar—ancient demons and spirits, two-headed animals, and poisonous plants. Nothing that would fit our queen.

Hours passed. I was beginning to lose hope when suddenly I opened something interesting. It was an old volume, barely holding itself together. Its title didn’t say much, but after leafing through a few pages I came across something that stopped my heart for a moment.

“Lich,” I read quietly under my breath. “An undead who possesses a will of his own, immense strength, and often magical abilities that affect the mind and body. To achieve immortality, he must encase his soul in a special container—a phylactery.” I turned my gaze to Brehm. “That sounds like our queen!”

“The Lich?” he asked, stepping closer and peering over my shoulder. “The only way to kill him is to destroy the phylactery. So it’s not the Queen herself who’s the target, but her soul, locked away somewhere else. Do we have to find that phylactery?”

We sat for a moment longer, absorbing this new information. Everything was starting to make sense. If the Queen was a Lich, her control over the parasites could be a result of her powerful, ancient powers.

“That explains a lot,” I said, closing the book. “But it also means our mission becomes much more complicated. It’s not enough to just kill the queen—we have to destroy her phylactery.”

Brehm nodded, though I could see the weariness in his eyes. I felt the same way. After all, after hours of reading, we were both exhausted. “I think it’s time to rest,” I said, standing up and stretching my stiff and still sore muscles. “Tomorrow’s a big day. We have to be ready.”

Brehm didn’t protest. We left the library together, and I kept thinking about what we had found. The lich, immortality, and the phylactery. What lay ahead of us could be the hardest fight of my life. But I knew one thing: I wouldn’t let up.

We set out first thing in the morning, not waiting for a miracle. The ruins of the old city stretched out before us, swallowed by gnarled vines and creeping morning shadows. The air was heavy with decay, and the smell of damp earth mingled with a hint of something more sinister. I tightened my fingers around the hilt of my knife, my nerves tingling with tension.

“Are you ready for this, Brehm?” I asked, looking at the Scribe walking beside me.

Brehm adjusted his glasses and stared into the distance, his expression unreadable. “I could use a little more courage. This is no ordinary hunt. This is a mission to kill a queen.” His voice trembled slightly, but his determination was unquestionable. We both knew what was at stake—if we didn’t eliminate the undead queen who controlled the horde, the tide of the living dead would only grow.

Brehm smiled reluctantly. “You have centuries of experience, and I have spent my life recording history, not fighting atrocities.”

“The written histories contain valuable notes on the Liches,” I replied, my heart beating faster. The plan was risky. We had gathered a small force of Scribes and a few mercenaries accustomed to fighting who were present in the bunker and would be key to the attack.

The streets around us seemed to hum with unseen life. The crunch of dead leaves under our feet echoed ominously through the ruins. I could almost feel the dampness clinging to my skin, as if the air itself was aware of our destination.

“Gather!” I called as we approached the barricade. Grim faces emerged from the shadows—hardened mercenaries, Scribes with worry etched beneath their brows, all clad in various armor and metal plates they’d found along the way.

“Listen!” I raised my voice to break the silence. “We’re going to gather a horde at the subway exit. That should attract the queen.”

“Luring the horde? Are we bait?” The stocky mercenary, Garrik, crossed his arms, his tone dripping with skepticism.

“Exactly,” I replied. “If we can manage to orchestrate the chaos properly, the Queen won’t know what’s happening. Brehm and I have done a lot of preparation for this moment, learning about the enemy through the captured zombie, Samuel. We’ve also found a lot of information in the library.”

“Samuel is just a shell,” Brehm admitted, frowning. “We’ve put the pieces together, but a lot of it is still inconclusive. First, we need to get down there and find the phylactery.”

The group nodded uncertainly, but I could see the uncertainty in their eyes. “You’re asking us to wade in there to our deaths to try and kill the queen. What guarantee do we have that this monster won’t figure out our plan?” Garrik continued.

“The smart move is to exploit her arrogance,” Brehm quickly interjected. “She thinks the zombies are extensions of her will, absolute power. What if we take care of them?”

“Then he’ll lose control. I understand.” Garrik squared his shoulders, deciding, “Let’s kill this queen.” Hope flickered in the eyes of both Scribes and mercenaries. We stood united, ready to face the horrors that lay ahead. I could feel the adrenaline racing through my pulse. “Let’s go,” I commanded.

We set off into the city. The streets twisted like a maze, every shadow vibrating with terror. Soon we reached the entrance to the old metro. Suddenly, a quiet groan resounded in the alleys, freezing my blood.

“Zombie!” I whispered, gripping my weapon tighter. Moans mingled with the sound of rotting bodies hitting stone.

“They’re coming,” I warned Brehm, who was still leafing through his notebook. “Focus,” he said in a calm voice. The group tried to keep their cool, but I could see the panic growing in their eyes.

The smell of rotting flesh hit like a physical blow. I picked up the knife, its blade gleaming faintly in the gray light.

“Get them to the entrance!” Brehm shouted, using his knowledge of pack behavior. “On my mark!” I screamed as the first zombie charged toward us, its rotted, half-decomposed face twisted into a grotesque grimace.

„NOW!” I lunged forward, severing one of the zombie’s arms. Without a moment’s hesitation, I pushed him toward the subway stairs.

„Aim for the brains! We know their weaknesses!” Brehm shouted over and over. We fought wildly, the noise of bodies hitting and screams filling the air. With each zombie that fell, we could hear the strange sounds from underground more and more distinctly.

“Come on, let’s herd them closer to the stairs!” I shouted. With each zombie that fell, I could feel the tide of my own battle with the queen shifting. I wondered if her will had broken, if she felt helpless?

Suddenly Brehm called out, „Swen! The Queen is coming!” My stomach clenched with nerves.

“Retreat! Regroup!” I shouted, knowing that the real fight was just beginning and fear would soon begin to creep back into our hearts.

Chaos. Chaos bathed in an eerie light that enveloped the setting sun, torches flickering and casting long shadows over the dead bodies of zombies. A symbolic wound festering just beneath the ruins of humanity.

“Prepare a diversion!” I shouted, gathering the mercenaries. Everyone began to hastily pull out makeshift Molotov cocktails, ready to throw them at the horde of the living dead. Brehm’s hands scribbled notes feverishly, capturing the chaos unfolding before us.

I stared into the dark subway tunnel, fear tingling through my skin. “She’ll show up,” I thought as the night sky above us was a blanket of stars. A disturbing reminder of the vastness of the universe and the horrors that could lurk within it.

The first cry shattered the spell of twilight, an unearthly wail that stilled everyone. “Oh no,” I whispered, staring as a colossal shadow swept through the rubble. The Queen emerged, bathed in darkness, covered in rags of silk and leather. Her presence dominated the battlefield, her eyes glowing terrifyingly.

“Submit to my rule,” the voice crackled like thunder in the heavy air. “Your futile resistance only feeds me!” I clenched my fists, determination hardening my heart. “Not today!”

The Queen’s expression twisted into a psychotic smile as she pointed at me. Her fingers were incredibly slender and clubbed, a gesture full of power and menace. „You underestimate the bond I’ve forged with my army, wanderer!” Before she could finish speaking, the undead were rushing at us in waves. Our crude barricades barely held their ground. Brehm’s journal had highlighted their weaknesses, but now we needed every ounce of strength we could muster.

“Set them on fire!” I shouted to the mercenaries. Flames erupted as the makeshift Molotov cocktails hit their targets, lighting up the air and igniting the zombies in a spectacular blaze. Their roars echoed the crackling of fire, and amidst the chaos, the Queen’s laughter was barely audible.

“Brehm, this is our chance,” I whispered. We ducked, avoiding the barricades and the fighting Scribes. Their fate was uncertain, but we had a different task.

We entered the subway tunnel unnoticed, the silence broken only by the distant screams and grunts of zombies that roamed the remains of a once normal world. The air was heavy with humidity, and I felt darkness pressing down on my shoulders.

In the next room, the clatter of undead feet could be heard. Their bodies were rotten, covered in black, rotting tissue, skin hanging from the bones like wet paper. Lifeless eyes, they seemed to look at us as if we were victims. But there was something eerily calm about it all, as if existence without a soul was their only blessing.

“Avoid or fight?” I asked quietly, gripping my knife. The thought of facing them in such a confined space was terrifying. There were more of them than we had expected.

“Kill quickly,” Brehm replied, more to himself than to me.

We moved like shadows, our knives cutting silently through rotting flesh. With every step and every fallen zombie, the air became more suffocating. I wonder what the ancient philosophers would have said if they had seen this determinant of human fate. Maybe there is no great revelation after death, only endless wandering, without any purpose, with emptiness in our eyes?

We finally reached the old engine room, where the water pump dominated the entire room. The sight that greeted us filled us with almost existential horror—dozens of zombies gathered around the pump, like obedient sheep that couldn’t act independently. Amidst all this, in the water, small white eggs gleamed.

„Snakes,” I whispered. „They are responsible for taking control of humans. The Queen’s phylactery must be nearby!” I added quietly, unable to tear my eyes away from the eggs.

“We don’t have time,” Brehm replied, gripping his weapon. “Let’s destroy it all before they sense us.”

He was right.

I slowly approached the eggs that gleamed in the murky water. Their shells were trembling, as if something inside was eager to be released. I threw one of the bottles filled with flammable liquid, watching as the shells cracked and the burning contents poured into the water. I expected an attack, a quick reaction, but the zombies remained motionless. Instead of us, their dead eyes were directed at the water pump. Strange, even for these monsters.

“Something’s wrong here,” I said, and Brehm gave me a quick, confirming look. I frowned at the pump. It was the pump they were interested in, not the balls. “The pump must be a phylactery!” I whispered, a cold chill running down my neck. “It’s the most important thing to them!”

I began to close in, ready to destroy her. I knew that this could end things once and for all, but then something changed. The queen emerged from the darkness of the tunnel. Her face was barely visible in the dim light, but her eyes were gleaming dangerously. Her voice echoed: “Dare you, traveler?”

Before I could say anything, the fighting on the surface had spilled out here, into the depths of the subway. I could hear screams and the sound of weapons bouncing off the tunnel walls. Zombies rushed at us from every side, and the Queen stood in the midst of the madness, as if drawing strength from it. I tried to fight my way to the pump, but it blocked my every move.

“Do something, Brehm!” I shouted, trying to gain just a little advantage.

The weight of two centuries crushed me as I realized the scale of this duel. Each of the queen’s blows had the force of wild fury mixed with something older, unnatural. I ducked her claws, but she was fast—far faster than I could have expected. I barely parried each blow, and each time her claws sliced ​​the air, a cold shiver ran down my spine.

Brehm didn’t leave me alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him fighting the undead that came at us, trying to help his queen. His blade flashed in the dim light of the tunnel, every movement a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable. I heard the screams of the Scribes fighting in the narrow corridors, and despite the cacophony, something inside me knew that this wasn’t over yet.

The Queen lunged at me again, and I didn’t have time to move away. Her claws dug into my arm, crushing muscle and piercing bone. I fell to my knees, trying to catch my breath. It felt like all my strength was leaking out along with my blood. „Not today!” I thought, struggling to my feet. But she was already above me, ready to end this once and for all.

Brehm fought bravely, but the numbers were overwhelming. Zombies kept coming out from all sides, as if driven by some endless impulse. Something inside me screamed that this was the pump, that this phylactery must be connected to their lives. But before I could say it out loud, the queen’s blow sent me back to the ground. This time the pain was so overwhelming that I couldn’t move.

Suddenly I heard a whistling in the darkness. Burning arrows shattered the silence, and the water pump exploded in a shower of sparks. Water flooded the room, and all the zombies fell without a sound. Only corpses remained, from which life had been suddenly ripped away. The snakes that had guided them convulsed in their final convulsions. It was Garrik. All the while waiting in the darkness for the moment to deliver the final blow.

The Queen, seeing what was happening, tried to escape, but I couldn’t let that happen. I gathered the last of my strength and went after her, and Garrik joined me, emerging from the darkness. With the last of my strength, jumping down from the crude scaffolding, I drove my blade straight into her skull, while Garrik pushed his perfectly between the scales that lined her side. The Queen let out a terrifying howl before she fell dead, her eyes finally empty.

Finally, there was silence. The remaining Scribes and surviving mercenaries collapsed onto the wet, cold floor. In that silence, saturated with fatigue and fleeting relief, no one spoke a word.

A few weeks later, I felt my strength returning. The scribes surrounded me with care, and their shelter provided peace and quiet. My wounds, although slowly, were healing. Weeks passed in the bunker, but I knew that this was not the place for me. The journey east could not wait.

As I packed, I could hear the faint whispers and sounds of the Scribes working on rebuilding the bunker. As I stood at the exit, Brehm called out, “Serpensin Cerebro!”

“What?” I stopped mid-step.

„Serpensin Cerebro. Snakes created by the lich to control the dead. They will be included in one of the more important bestiaries,” he replied, a hint of a smile appearing on his face.

“Thank you,” I replied with the utmost sincerity.

As we exchanged last glances, Garrik stood to one side, as always a little in the shadows, but ready. He nodded to me, and I returned the gesture. I knew him, briefly, but already too well to say anything more.

Heading east, the cold wind on my face, I turned around once more. The Pasewalk bunker was far behind me, and the Scribes and mercenaries were beginning to rebuild what was left of their haven. But to me, this was just another battle, another stop. My place was on the road.

With each step I felt the weight of past struggles slowly lift, though probably not for long.