The North End Industrial District loomed ahead.
Once a hub of commerce, it was now a maze of death.
Warehouse loading docks sat eerily silent, their metal doors rusted and dented.
Semi-trucks lined the streets—some overturned, some burned out, their cargo long looted or spilled across the asphalt.
Graffiti covered the walls—some desperate messages for help, others warnings.
DON'T GO NORTH. THEY'RE FAST.
DEAD INSIDE. DON'T OPEN.
GOD HELP US.
And yet, this was where the food was most likely to be in the city.
Carter stood tall in his chariot, scanning the ruins ahead, rifle in one hand, khopesh at his side.
His warriors moved in formation—ten chariots leading the way, their archers scanning rooftops and broken windows, while the convoy of trucks and labourers followed close behind.
Atem, riding beside Carter, narrowed his eyes.
"We are being watched."
Carter already knew.
The streets were too quiet.
No shambling walkers in sight.
No Stalkers lunging from the rooftops.
Only the feeling—a terrible, gut-wrenching feeling—that something was waiting for them.
The System had already warned of higher tier variants in the region, and they had already seen what those liked to do from their encounters downtown.
"They're setting a trap for us."
Carter raised a fist.
The convoy halted instantly.
The Medjay dismounted, shields raised, bows drawn.
The volunteer survivors gripped their scavenged weapons, nervously scanning the streets.
Then—
A low, guttural growl echoed from between some of the warehouses.
Followed by another.
And another.
Then the ground began to shake.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
From the ruins ahead, hundreds of Walkers emerged, staggering into the street, their rotting bodies spilling from alleyways and warehouse doors.
But they weren't alone.
From the rooftops, Stalkers crawled over the edge, their milky eyes locked onto the living.
And at the center of the horde…
A Devourer.
Towering over the Walkers, its mutated form was even worse than the last one Carter had faced.
Its skin was thicker, almost like stone.
Its claws longer, serrated, dripping black ichor.
Its chest pulsed—like something was still alive inside it.
It threw back its head and let out a horrific roar, shaking the very air around them.
And the horde charged.
"ARCHERS—FIRE AT WILL!"
Carter's roar of command cut through the chaos.
Bows twanged.
Spears flew.
The first volley hit the Walkers like a storm, bronze-tipped arrows piercing skulls, spears impaling torsos.
Many fell instantly—but not enough.
The horde didn't stop.
And while the Mejay were unleashing their arrow volleys the survivors along with Carter started to unleash modern terror upon the undead legion, as the sounds of gunfire started to sound off.
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta
Even though the survivors themselves were not exactly the best when it came to accuracy they were trained enough in the last week to know roughly how to properly hold the weapons and while each shot was not a kill they were at least hitting their targets.
But the undead numbers were still to great.
They crashed against the front lines like a tidal wave, moaning, clawing, snapping.
"HOLD THE LINE!"
Atem bellowed, slashing his khopesh through the skull of a Walker.
The Medjay warriors locked shields, fighting shoulder to shoulder.
Every strike was lethal.
Every spear thrust was precise.
But the Stalkers were far deadlier.
Leaping from rooftops, they descended upon the warriors, who were now locked in combat against the walker horde.
One tackled a Medjay archer atop the semi trailer, ripping into his throat before being impaled by a spear from behind by another Medjay.
Another landed atop a chariot, slashing at the rider—only to be met with a point-blank arrow to the eye, that save the warriors life by a fraction of a second.
The battle was chaos.
And then—
The Devourer charged having seen enough it's lumbering form began jogging and then running.
It plowed through its own horde, trampling Walkers underfoot, its massive claws swinging like scythes.
Two Medjay warriors were caught in its path, their shields torn apart like they were tissue paper, their bodies hurled through the air.
Carter spun his rifle around, taking aim at its skull.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
The bullets hit, but they barely slowed it down, this one it was almost like it was bullet proof.
The creature roared, its attention locking onto him.
Shit.
The only good thing that came of this was that be pulled the creatures aggro, and it left his forces alone.
Carter leapt from his chariot, rolling onto the pavement just as the Devourer's claw slammed down where he had stood.
It missed him by inches.
The sheer force of the impact cracked the asphalt.
Carter came up on one knee, rifle raised—
BANG!
A clean headshot—right between the creature's eyes.
It didn't die.
It barely even flinched.
"BACK OF THE NECK!"
Carter bellowed, remembering their previous fight, his shout was a bit involuntary but as long as the beast was focused on him, the others would be the only ones able to target the beasts weakness.
The Medjay warriors adjusted instantly, a few broke off from targeting the stalkers, and walkers.
Spears aimed higher.
Blades found their mark.
The Devourer staggered, gurgling as its thick blood began to leak from new wounds on its neck.
But it wasn't done yet.
It swung a massive claw, sending the two Medjay flying into a nearby truck, their armour crumpling like paper.
Carter gritted his teeth.
They needed to end this now.
Atem and another moved as one.
As the Devourer lunged forward, Atem leapt onto its back, driving his khopesh into the base of its skull.
The creature howled, thrashing violently—but then the second Medjay was already there.
In a single, perfect motion, he threw his spear.
The tip found its mark—piercing the brainstem.
The Devourer froze.
Its body shuddered.
Then—
It collapsed.
Dead.
For good.
As the Devourer fell, the remaining Walkers became easy prey, their agressiveness had lessened and the shieldwall held.
The Medjay cut them down one by one, while the archers finished off the remaining Stalkers.
Finally—
After dozens of minutes of fighting for their lives
Silence.
The battle was won.
Carter exhaled, his hands shaking slightly as he wiped the blood from his face.
They had survived.
But at again a cost.
Seven Medjay warriors lay dead.
Two volunteer scavengers had been dragged away.
One truck was totalled, crushed under the Devourer's final rampage.
And this was only the beginning.
Carter turned to the remaining forces, voice firm.
"We keep moving. We reach the warehouses. We take everything, if we need to we look new trucks along the way, and worst case get new survivors to join the convoy if we lose to many in further fights."
The warriors nodded, exhaustion in their eyes—but also determination.
This wasn't over.
Not yet.
The fight for food had only just begun.