Elite Zombie
JP with Jaxx, Redsword, Trustno1 and Cindy
The Elite Zombie surged forward with unnatural speed, clawed fists lashing out with the force of a battering ram. Its rotting companions followed close behind, their eyes empty but their intent clear—a relentless tide of death pressing the team toward the abyss.
With lightning speed, Sung is briefly surrounded by silvery mist. He teleports up just in front of the group. He moves his sword, showing the broadside, and speaks words that make the blade glow. Many walls of ice materialize down the hallway, creating barriers.
The monsters caught by the wall slowly start to ice, taking a lot of damage, their limbs breaking from the ice. The others that bake the walls freeze in a mist of frozen air, taking a lot of damage as their bodies break from the freezing cold.
The team barely had time to react before the Elite Zombie surged forward, its hulking form lumbering through the dim corridor. The atmosphere seemed to quiver with its guttural growl, a sound that resonated deep in their chests, as though the creature were dragging the weight of a hundred deaths with it. The stench of rot grew unbearable, an oily miasma that clung to their throats and burned their eyes.
A sudden cry from Sung snapped them from their paralysis—a hurried incantation rising over the suffocating dread. His voice was strained but resolute, each word slicing through the air like the swing of a sharpened blade. With a final utterance, the spell completed, and the ground beneath them trembled as if the building itself had awoken in anger.
A groaning, wrenching sound erupted from the floor. Out of the warped wood, an unyielding wall of stone burst forth, jagged and ancient, its surface etched with arcane sigils that flickered with a pale, otherworldly light. The less powerful zombies, little more than shambling remnants of humanity, hurled themselves against it with mindless fury. Their decayed bodies crumpled upon impact, bones splintering and skulls shattering like brittle clay. The wall did not waver, its magical defenses consuming the horde with a cold, unfeeling efficiency.
For a moment, it seemed the spell had bought them safety. The room fell still save for the muted crackle of dissipating energy and the wet, organic sounds of bodies collapsing. Relief washed over the group like a tide, only to be shattered as a shadow shifted beyond the wall.
The Elite Zombie rose. It was bloodied and battered, chunks of necrotic flesh sheared from its massive frame, but its glowing eyes burned brighter now, as though fury itself sustained it. With a terrible roar, it hurled its bulk against the stone. Cracks spiderwebbed across the wall, dust and pebbles raining down as the ancient structure strained under the monster’s wrath.
"Move!" yelled Sartre, his voice tight with adrenaline. The FBI profiler grabbed Alyssa and shoved her down the hallway, away from the trembling barrier.
The beast slammed again, and this time the wall buckled. With an ear-splitting crash, it crumbled, sending shards of rock flying. The creature stepped through the wreckage, dragging itself into the open space with a deliberate, monstrous confidence. Its claws flexed, each movement accompanied by the sickening wet sound of sinew sliding over bone.
A wall of ice from Sung was thrown at the creature The blast struck the Elite Zombie squarely, freezing its grotesque form mid-lunge. Frost climbed its body, turning the wet sheen of decay into a gleaming coat of ice. For a heartbeat, it stood frozen, a macabre statue glistening in the dim light. Then, with an ear-splitting crack, the ice splintered, and the creature roared, its fury undiminished. It charged again, slower this time, but no less deadly.
Alyssa felt useless, in this situation, if she could just touch the zombie she could, likely disintegrate the thing, but as it was all she could really do was keep moving. "Anyone that can slow it down do so, but don't stop for long." If her instincts were correct, once they were out of the building they'd be safe.
"Alyssa, would you be willing to try that knife again?" asked Sartre?
Oh right, the knife that Peter had only recently told her not to touch again, maybe he meant in that moment. "Sure," Alyssa stopped long enough to get ready and then threw the knife at the Elite Zombie.
The hallway stretched like a suffocating artery of darkness, its faded wallpaper peeling back in jagged strips, revealing cracked plaster beneath. The air was thick with the stench of decay, mingled with the electric tension of the battle. The Elite Zombie swayed, its monstrous claws dragging against the walls, leaving deep, splintered gouges. Necrotic energy coiled around its frame like a blackened aura, feeding its unnatural endurance.
The blade spun through the air, slicing a brilliant arc of light in the oppressive gloom. It struck true, embedding itself in the Elite Zombie’s chest. For a moment, the creature shuddered violently, its grotesque maw opening in a silent scream as necrotic energy burst outward in a dark wave. It stumbled, its clawed hand swiping wildly at empty air, before collapsing in a heap.
Then the knife pulsed. A resonant thrum that vibrated through the room—and through Alyssa’s very soul. The world around her seemed to fall away, the dim hallway fading into a cold, suffocating blackness.
She stood alone in the void. Tendrils of shadow moved like living things, their edges twisting into forms that flickered in and out of existence—cities consumed by fire, seas boiling under alien skies, and humanity swallowed in a cacophony of screams. A cold wind swept past her, carrying whispers in languages she couldn’t understand.
Then came a voice, sharp and commanding, cutting through the abyss.