Steampunk Era: Mad Abield

"So dying once is easy, but dying again isn’t so easy," Malin said as he and Eleven climbed over the hill ahead of them. Zombies slowed down on the incline, reaching speeds slow enough even a sixty-year-old could escape.

"There are some more ahead and further on, but they’re too far for clear sight. I can only see a few large targets, not like humans."

"Trust me, they’ll still turn out to be human... they seem to be Nagoth’s corrupted corpses, thankful that it’s winter now." Malin spoke while charging down the hill with Eleven, who had been slaughtering quite a few decayed bodies along the way. The increasing number of ’weapons’ in their hands made Malin more certain of his judgment—the local townsfolk and villagers had fought against the Chaos decayed, but ultimately failed.

But Malin witnessed their indomitable spirit.

Advancing further, Malin saw the large entities Eleven had mentioned—figures in black medieval armor. They were called figures because their heads had transformed into a paradise of decay and blisters, yet their long-dead eyes could still rotate, those cold-glowing visual systems locking onto Malin and Eleven.

Their weapons, tarnished with rust, along with their twisted and enlarged arms, revealed their identity.

The warriors of Chaos Nagoth, whether from this world or another, at least, were medieval warriors, which made Malin feel a strange kinship seeing their exposed gut—better than facing Powered Swords, Blaster Bolt Guns, or some other messy 40K Nagoth warrior weapons.

Eleven had probably never witnessed such a scene: "My circuit boards, what is all this mess, I’ve never seen anyone with their whole abdominal cavity exposed and still able to move."

"Trust me, you’ll see a lot more from now on." Malin sighed as he raised his assault rifle and took out three Nagoth warriors on the left with headshots—blessed bullets were deadly stings to the Nagoth warriors.