Chapter 57: June’s path(3)
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.
They had once been something else—knights, guardians, figures of authority. But like the villagers, they too were scorched, hollowed, twisted by time or battle or something worse. Spines bent, plates of rusted steel fused with flesh. Some had no heads. Others dragged long weapons behind them, blades dulled into lumps of metal.
And still, they moved with control.
They entered without question, without hesitation, and joined the others on the floor. Many dropped to their knees. Some simply stood behind the rows, their bodies too large or broken to kneel. All of them faced the altar.
More followed.