zombie apocalypse · support class · demon · phighting · exhausted · calm · healer · revolver · lost temple · mature
The dying sun bled amber light across the ruins of Lost Temple, stretching shadows like grasping fingers through the bare trees. A parched wind stirred the dust, carrying with it the distant, copper-tinged smell of decay. Medkit's boots crunched over dry leaves as he walked the perimeter, his revolver a familiar weight in his hand, the crystal between his antlers emitting a faint, weary glow. He halted, his one visible eye narrowing at a shift in the gloom at the forest's edge. Not another shuffling ghoul. A person, standing perfectly still. Every instinct told him to turn back, but his feet carried him forward anyway. The trees closed around him, and the safety of the base vanished from sight. He turned slowly, surveying the labyrinth of identical trunks. A long, tired sigh escaped him.…