Chapter 10: Claws in the Dark

More undead were pushing through the crematorium's doorway. After cutting down the first wave, Vaste fell back with Glaze and the three young adventurers—she'd learned they were rookies, barely out of their first month—and began a controlled withdrawal toward the west. Not running. Pulling the enemy toward the lines where adventurer teams and city guards had already set up defensive positions.

During the retreat, one of the rookies—a young man with a battle-axe—nearly got taken down by a Husk that burst from a side alley. He stumbled backward over an overturned cart, landing flat on his back, his axe skidding three paces away. A zombie's rotting fingers were already reaching for his throat.

Ice spread from the zombie's feet upward.

A layer about two fingers thick, perfectly sealed between the zombie's soles and the ground beneath. The thing's weight had already shifted forward for the kill—but suddenly its traction vanished. It slid forward, missed the rookie entirely, and crashed face-first onto the cobblestones, its jaw grinding against the stone with a dull crack.

Before the Husk could fully turn, Vaste was already there. Her boot came down on its desiccated skull, crushing it flat.

The rookie scrambled for his axe and split the zombie's head in two. He gasped for air, looked up—and saw the white-haired girl crouched by the roadside, her hand still extended toward where the ice had been. She glanced at him, pointed at the frozen film on the ground, and said: "That's ice."

"...I know it's ice."

"You can still slide on it."

He opened his mouth—to say thanks, maybe—but the girl was already on her feet, already falling back into step behind the scar-faced woman.

---

Vaste pushed forward with Glaze, past the crematorium's outer perimeter—now largely contained—and into a narrower side street. Signs of recent fighting here. Scorch marks on the walls. The smell of blood thick in the air.

An adventurer's body sat slumped against the wall, his chest torn open by deep claw marks, his head lolled to one side.

Vaste crouched and pressed her fingers to his neck. The skin was still faintly warm. Dead less than fifteen minutes.

Glaze stopped behind her.

"He's dead."

"Mm."

Glaze was quiet for a few seconds.

"It's gone."

Vaste, about to stand, paused at the word. She tilted her head.

Glaze reached out, holding her palm over the corpse's chest. Her expression was not sad, not afraid—just calm. Observant.

"When you're alive, there's something inside you." She lowered her hand and looked at Vaste. "Now it's empty."

Vaste was silent for a moment. Then she stood, reached down, and gently straightened the dead man's lolled head.

"Let's go," she said.

Glaze looked at the head, now righted, and thought whatever she thought.

---

They crossed two more streets and found a larger group of adventurers already clearing a knot of undead. A five-person team was engaged with zombies—slow, mindless, not much threat to Norvic's locals who regularly worked the Death City perimeter. Mostly low-tier undead in the streets tonight.

Then a Wight caught the team's attention.

A Wight in polished chainmail, a bronze ID badge still hanging from its neck. It had been an adventurer. Dead less than an hour. Now it was fighting its former colleagues.

The team leader—a woman in her thirties, steady with a sword—hesitated. She recognized that face. Maybe they'd taken a job together once. Maybe she'd just seen him in the Guild hall a few weeks ago. Her blade slowed for half a beat. The Wight's sword drove toward her chest—

Vaste was already behind it. Her blade punched through the back of its neck, the tip emerging from its throat. She twisted the hilt, pulverized the cervical spine, and pulled clean. The Wight collapsed, its weapon clattering on the stone.

The team leader blinked at her, nodded once, and turned back to the fight.

Vaste crouched to examine the adventurer-turned-Wight. Deep claw marks on his arm—but nothing that should have killed him so quickly.

She thought back to the body in the side street. Same wounds.

She stood and scanned the area. The fighting around the crematorium was dying down. Adventurer teams were sweeping the side streets in overlapping patterns. Guards had finished evacuating civilians and were setting up barricades at the main intersections. Officers conferred with Guild staff over casualty lists—Norvic, as a frontier garrison town, knew how to handle undead.

But the unease didn't fade.

This wasn't coincidence.

Undead took time and conditions to rise. Fresh corpses shouldn't turn this fast. And not in these numbers, across the whole town.

"What are you thinking?" Glaze's voice came from behind.

Vaste didn't answer. She slid her blade back into its sheath.

"Stay close."

---

They were heading back toward the Guild when a military runner burst from a side street. He saw Vaste's gear, recognized her—the lone wolf everyone knew—and grabbed her sleeve.

"East side—several of them," his helmet was askew, fresh claw marks on his face, breathing hard, words coming out like stones skipping across water. "Fast—killed—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

Because the bells stopped.

The alarm that had been ringing for nearly an hour fell silent. Everyone froze for a beat. A guard looked up toward the tower, his lips moving soundlessly.

Then the bells started again—but different now. Three slow, evenly spaced knells. The military assembly signal. Every armed hand in the city was being called to a single point.

A sound drew Vaste's attention.

Above the rooftops—something was moving. Climbing. It paused on a roof peak for a second, then dropped into an alley.

Too far to make out details. Just a shape—flat torso, long limbs, joints bent at unnatural angles. Like a giant spider.

Glaze saw it too. She tilted her head, her lips moving slightly, mouthing a word only she could hear. Her fingers twitched—like she was reaching for something not there.

Vaste took a slow breath. Her hand settled on her hilt.

"Something worse," she said.

"Worse than the riders?"

"Don't know."

"What if it is?"

Vaste was silent for a second.

"Then we deal with it."