Damien, Mira, and Elara pushed deeper into enemy territory, each step heavier with the knowledge that the Zombie King was tightening his grip on the world. The chill of the early morning wrapped around them as they entered the infamous “Deadwood Crossing,” a dense forest of ancient trees twisted into ominous shapes, each branch seeming to reach out like skeletal fingers. Rumor held that this place was cursed—a breeding ground for the undead and a nexus of dark power.
The three exchanged wary glances, unspoken words passing between them. Mira’s fingers tightened on her dagger, her gaze steely. Elara kept her hand on her crossbow, eyes scanning every shadow. For Damien, every sound, every flicker of movement, felt like the calm before a storm.