Prologue
The door shook. The windows were broken. Rotting hands dug into the walls and emerged on the other side, fingernails coated with blood. Frightened voices echoed in the chapel, as their owners feared that their end is near. People huddled together shuttered like leaves in autumn, aware that their time has come but still clinging to their lives, hoping they could make it through the cold darkness ahead. Smoke slowly came through the windows, colored bright red by the flames of burning houses. It was hard to breathe, the oxygen slowly sapped by the four braziers that kept the men from freezing. If the undead wouldn't kill them, the lack of air would, and they'd all be food, or worse, more soldiers for the forsaken army quickly advancing upon their lands.
The people were too frightened to speak, but their faces spoke for them. The men stepped forward, faced the busted-up door and drew their swords while the women cradled their babies in their arms to stop them from crying. At least this was a chapel, the men thought, and the holy light shall give them strength to fight. At the very least, they would be a diversion to allow their wives and children to flee.
The door shook once more, and the supports cracked. They would not hold for long.
Another strike, and then another, and the support beam broke. The door swung inward in a wide arc to make way for the flood of hideous hunchbacked creatures that thirsted for blood. The first line of defenders thrust their swords forward, impaling several creatures, but more came, climbing over their dead comrades' corpses. Long-fingered arms grasped necks and broke them with ease; wicked fangs tore flesh off bones. Armor would have made no difference, and the valiant defenders had none. The beasts fell at even greater speed, but their sheer numbers made it seem like none had died. The women, shocked by this vast onrush of nightmarish creatures, ran toward the side door, hoping, and at the same time fearing, that their husbands took the brunt of the attack.
Outside the door were many gravestones, split by a stone path on which stood a cloaked man. He just stood there, gazing at the red sky.
A dark cloud moved away, and the graveyard was bathed in white moonlight. The man's cloak spread into two batlike wings, his eyes glowed red and he charged, headfirst, into the nearest woman. She made a feeble attempt to dodge, and felt two sharp horns impaling her. He rose; the woman still upon his horns, and started clawing and tearing at the nearby women. One young mother dropped to her knees, crawled hidden behind gravestones, and placed her son into an open grave.
"Stay here and you'll be safe," she told him, then crawled off to hide again as the monster turned his head.
The last he heard were screams of agony and a blood spatter on the blank gravestone above him. Then his eyes closed and all faded to black.