Chapter Text
Eight months.
It had been eight long, grueling months since they lost the farm. The group wandered aimlessly, shadows of their former selves, drifting like a herd of the undead through a world stripped of hope. No one knew where to go anymore—they simply moved wherever the wind carried them.
“Bisa lentor iksos ȳgha syt se bantis.” Stolas glanced toward a nearby house, C’s voice echoing in his mind. Lately, they’d relied on C for shelter and food—winter loomed, merciless and near.
“That one!” Stolas announced, pointing at the house. No one questioned him. They broke in, swiftly dispatching the undead that haunted its halls before Vassago enveloped the home in a shimmering yellow shield.
“We’re camping here tonight, huh?” Vassago asked.
Stolas only nodded, silent but resolute.
“When are we going to find a safe place?” Octavia shivered, rubbing her arms against the biting cold. “It’s almost winter, and Pentious can’t keep going. He needs heat—he’s a snake!”
“C says we’re getting closer to a safe haven,” Stolas promised, glancing at Pentious. The poor overlord was drowning in sweaters, but at least he wasn’t complaining—a small mercy in these desperate times.
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Later, while searching the house, Octavia found a can of dog food. It was far from ideal—disgusting, really—but hunger gnawed at her insides, and thirst burned in her throat. As she began to open it, Stolas smacked the can from her hands, sending it clattering to the floor. “We’re not that desperate,” he said sternly. Octavia let out a mournful hoot, sadness etched across her face. ‘ Had I been too harsh? ‘ Stolas mentally asked himself.
“Theres havor isse se locked pantry,” C whispered.
Without hesitation, Stolas rushed to the pantry, muttered a spell, and the door swung open—revealing bags upon bags, cans upon cans of precious food. “Guys, come look at this!” Stolas called, relief and gratitude flooding his voice as if they’d just won the lottery.
In a way…
They had.
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By morning, the group had gathered the remaining food and stowed it in the RV. Pentious lay inside, basking in the heater’s warmth, while the others huddled together, debating their next move.
“We need shelter,” Vassago pleaded, eyes fixed on Stolas. “We can’t keep wandering. Winter is coming, and we need walls. Pentious needs walls.”
Stolas nodded. He agreed—Vassago was right. And he knew C was doing everything possible to guide them to their future home. “We just have to keep going—”
“For how long?” Moxxie interrupted, clutching his sweater. “Striker’s half-serpent too, or have you all forgotten? He needs warmth, just like Pentious—even if he won’t admit it.”
Stolas glanced at Striker, who had slipped into the RV and now curled up beside Pentious. The sight warmed Stolas’s heart. They needed walls—desperately. “Okay,” Stolas said, straightening with newfound resolve. “Moxxie, come with me. Let’s scout ahead. Vassago, you’re in charge.”
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They walked for what felt like hours, refusing to give in to exhaustion. Then, suddenly, C’s voice rang in their minds: “Follow se railroad.”
Confused, imp and owl looked down—and realized they were already standing on rusted tracks. They exchanged determined glances and pressed on.
Minutes later, they stopped dead in their tracks. “A prison,” Moxxie breathed, excitement trembling in his voice as he shook a shocked Stolas's shirt. “A fucking prison!”
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With a surge of power, Stolas sliced open the fence, ushering the group safely inside. He sealed the entrance behind them, ensuring no undead could follow. For the first time in months, hope flickered in their hearts. Perhaps, at last, they had found sanctuary.
“Okay…” Stolas began, turning to face the group. His voice was steady, commanding. “Octavia, I want you, Striker, and Pentious in the guard towers—take out as many undead as you can from above.” Octavia nodded, determination flashing in her eyes as she rushed over to a guard tower and quickly began climbing the stairs Striker and Pentious soon followed her lead each taking a different tower. Stolas watched them until each had reached the top of their separate tower, their silhouettes outlined against the dying light.
He turned to the rest. “Sallie, Millie, Angel,” he called, his tone sharp. “Distract the undead at the fence—and kill every last one.”
The trio rushed forward without hesitation, blades and bullets tearing through the horde. The others, those Stolas hadn’t named, followed suit, joining the fray with grim resolve.
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By sundown, the front yard was cleared. Exhausted but alive, the group gathered around a campfire, its warmth a small comfort against the encroaching chill. Silence hung heavy until Moxxie finally spoke, breaking it like glass. “So… what now?”
“We clear out the prison tomorrow,” Stolas replied, his voice low but resolute. “Or at least, we try.”
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Morning brought a plan: Stolas, Moxxie, Millie, Angel, and—despite Stolas’s protests—Striker would infiltrate the prison. At first, things went well. They cut down most of the undead inmates and staff, moving with ruthless efficiency. But then, they saw them—undead security guards clad in angelic riot armor.
“Shit…” Angel muttered, firing at one’s head. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the helmet.
“What now?” Moxxie asked, supporting a weary Striker. He cursed the coming winter under his breath. Before Stolas could answer, Millie let out a fierce battle cry and charged. Ignoring Moxxie’s frantic shouts, she pried up the helmet just enough to drive her blade beneath it, dropping the armored undead instantly.
“Do that,” Stolas said, awe coloring his words as Millie carved a path for the others. They surged after her, clearing Cell Block C with brutal determination.
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Elsewhere, Loona stifled a cough, her body wracked with fever. Of all times to get sick—right before winter.
“Here,” came a familiar voice. The hooded figure who’d saved her months ago handed her a water bottle. “Drink.”
“Just leave me here,” she rasped, taking a sip. “I’m only slowing you down…”
The imp scoffed, offended. “After all this time, I finally find you—and you think I’ll just walk away? Not happening.” He helped Loona to her feet, gripping the angelic chains wrapped around the two undead that trailed after them like loyal dogs. “Staying here isn’t safe, Loonie.”
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Back in the prison, after Cell Block C was secured, Stolas chose Moxxie, Millie, Lin, and Angel to press deeper with him. Striker wanted to join, but Stolas stood firm, leaving him behind with Pentious and the others, guarded by Vassago and Octavia.
They ventured further into the labyrinthine halls, cutting down any undead in their path. Suddenly, a massive herd swept through, forcing Moxxie and Millie to break away and barricade themselves inside a cell. The rest of the group scattered, locking themselves in wherever they could.
“We have to find them!” Lin pleaded with Stolas, desperation in her eyes. “Use your tracking power—or I’ll go alone!”
Stolas’s eyes widened at her threat, but he relented with a sigh. “Alright… fine. But only when I say it’s safe. Can you wait that long?”
Lin shook her head, torn between reason and maternal instinct. “Stolas…”
He understood. “Okay. But we move back-to-back.”
As they slipped out, weapons raised, Lin whispered, “No one’s seen Millie or Moxxie?”
A “no” echoed softly—until Angel shouted, “Watch out!” Too late. An undead lunged at Lin, sending her crashing to the ground. Angel reacted instantly, stabbing the creature, but not fast enough—Lin screamed in pain.
“Lin!” Angel cried, terror-stricken. Blood welled from a bite on Lin’s calf.
“Fuck,” Stolas hissed, using a spell to levitate Lin. He turned to the group, urgency in his voice. “We need to find somewhere safe—she doesn’t have much time!”
Somehow, the group reunited in the prison cafeteria. Angel slammed the doors shut, barring the undead outside.
“Mom!” Millie sobbed, rushing to Lin’s side with Moxxie and tightly gripping Lin’s hand, desperate to comfort her.
“Stolas, do something!” Millie begged, her voice cracking with fear and grief.
Stolas nodded grimly and knelt before Lin, determination etched across his face. He refused to let the infection claim her. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a hatchet from nearby, levitating it with magic until it hovered ominously above Lin’s wounded calf.
“This is going to hurt,” he warned, voice low and steady.
He wasn’t wrong.
The moment the blade came down, Lin’s agonized screams echoed through the prison halls—raw, piercing, and unforgettable. Millie clung to her mother, whispering desperate words of comfort as she and Moxxie struggled to hold her still. Stolas, consumed by urgency and fear of losing another group member, forgot to cast any pain relief or blood-loss prevention spells. By the time the final blow severed Lin’s calf, she had already slipped into unconsciousness, overwhelmed by pain and shock.
Stolas stared at the bloody aftermath, guilt gnawing at him. Only then did he remember his magic. Hastily, he began chanting a pain relief spell, watching as Lin’s leg slowly began to regenerate under its shimmering influence.
Suddenly, movement caught Angel’s eye. They were not alone. Angel spun, gun raised, pointing toward the source of the disturbance. Five shadowy figures emerged from the darkness—not undead, but living. Still, Angel kept his weapon trained on them.
“Come out!” he demanded, voice sharp and commanding. “Hands where I can see them!”
The five strangers stepped into the light, faces pale with shock and fear. Clearly, they had witnessed the brutal scene moments earlier. Angel didn’t lower his gun." Who are you?” he barked, suspicion thick in his tone.
None of the inmates answered immediately; they were frozen, shell-shocked by what they’d just seen. Finally, one managed to stammer, “Holy shit…”
It was clear now—they weren’t alone in this prison anymore.