The church grew louder by the minute.
June didn't move from his position near the wall, sword held low, blood crusted along the blade's edge, dirt and sweat drying on his arms. His eyes locked forward, fixed on the pulsing, broken altar. The corpse of the man still lay flat atop it—arms at his sides, charred, cracked, unmoving.
But the bodies in the pews didn't stop.
More had entered. A steady stream.
First, they came from the street—burnt villagers, fighters, some still wrapped in ruined bits of armor, others in melted cloth robes. Then the doors opened again and another wave arrived. Larger. Heavier. The floor trembled beneath them.
Monsters.
Not beasts. Not mindless.
