Megan arrived at the marketplace just as the stunned survivors of the explosion realized that those killed by shrapnel and falling debris were already rising from death. Initially, fighting had been limited to the streets leading to and from the market, making it a relatively safe base-camp to stage escape attempts.

The attack of the sorcerer had changed this.

The undead looked not much different from the wounded - bloody, blackened and stumbling as they were. Only when they began turning on their former fellow men, tearing into them to rip out entrails and steaming gobbets of flesh, the danger of their situation sank in. With the enemy in their midst, it was but a matter of time until this last post was overrun.

Megan did not hesitate, slipping directly into the masses and heading for the corpse mountain, dodging past groups of men and monsters locked in mortal combat. Tugging away her bow—useless in such confined spaces—she readied her magic and pulled forth a pair of twin daggers from hidden sheaths inside her boots, dealing with every opposition swiftly and efficiently. Repeatedly she felt blows absorbed by the magical field that surrounded and protected her, the two blades in her hands darting forth like striking snakes time and time again.

Yet whenever she could, she avoided combat altogether, dodging under attacks or simply taking a route that kept other survivors between herself and an enemy. A tactic that became harder the closer she got to the corpse mountain.

Time stretched to an endless array of terrified faces, eyes filled with crimson and gore-stained maws. She pushed the horror of it all aside, steadily working towards her destination, little more than an automaton. A detached part of her mind wondered how she actually managed to remain sane admits all this—then another part, dark and sarcastic, asked if she was sure she still was.

The thought faded as she found her way blocked by the broad back of a man in front of her. She was about to shoulder past him, as his head was soundly split by an axe that ate its way down to his collarbone.

Blood splashed on Megan's face, temporarily blinding her. She wiped the sticky liquid from her eyes just in time to see a huge warrior in dented plate armor rip his axe free in a spray of blood, his victim crumbling to the ground. Eyes shielded by a faceless full helmet that covered his skull down to his neck, the warrior focused on her and the bloody weapon began rising again, this time to cleave Megan down to her core.

"No!" she screamed, mostly to buy her some time while simultaneously strengthening her magical armor and preparing to strike at the warriors only visible weakness—the slits of his helmet.

To her surprise, the warrior halted, then shouted, "Move!" while stepping aside. Only then did Megan realize that the fighter and several others at his side merely held back the undead and infected. Behind him loomed the beginning of the corpse mountain, groups of refugees gathering at its base.

"I've made it," Megan muttered surprised. She stumbled past him.

The sudden absence of fighting around her was strangely confusing and she struggled to get her bearings. Looking around, she saw she was now protected by a half-circle of guards, warriors, or simple men and women that had taken up arms. At least a hundred survivors stood huddled closely together, preparing to ascend the mountain. More refugees were arriving by the second, ushered through like Megan.

Feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her and realizing it was the drain of her spell, she let go of it. She regretted it instantly, the stench of death saturating the air hitting her like a hammer. Retching, she went down on all fours, bile rising to her mouth as she realized the cobblestones were slick with blood and corpse juices seeping from the countless bodies that made up the mountain. She quickly cast her protection spell once more, the vile stench fading almost instantly. Others did not have that luxury and were either vomiting or trying to fend off the worst of the smell by tying strips of cloth around their faces.

Forcing herself to calm down, her gaze wandered around, yet her blood froze as she saw the battlefield behind her.

"Dear gods!"

The barricades blocking off streets leading to the marketplace had been overrun, hordes of infected and undead streaming onto the marketplace to join the melee. Megan was no soldier, but even she could see that the battle was as good as lost, would be over within the hour, maybe sooner.

She knew she had to get out. Now.

Turning from the combat, her gaze wandered up the mountain and to the unrelenting carnage on its top. Her knees trembled at the thought of what awaited her there, but she did not come this far to give in to her fear now.

"I shall not die here...," she told herself, her mind already coming up with a plan that might increase her chances of survival.

Not far away, a dozen warriors were preparing another charge up the mountain; women and children huddled together behind them so they could follow in their wake. None of the warriors looked like they had any hope of actually killing the butchers. The resignation in their faces, and the love with which they regarded some child or woman, telling Megan that the best they hoped for was to throw themselves on the weapons of their enemy. So that their kin might survive. Heroes in the making...

Groups like these were constantly climbing the mountain, clashing against the butchers like the tide against a cliff, their blood wafting back down the mountain as a fine mist. Fighting these monsters was madness and Megan had no inclination to become just another dead hero, her wish to survive being stronger than her pride.

She took the clockwork bow from her back and pressed a button on it. Gears began spinning and the weapon folded onto itself until it was no bigger than a brick. Tugging it away into the safety of her satchel, she then sheathed her two daggers. Unarmed now, she joined a group of women and children accompanied by a group of formidable-looking warriors, just one more survivor that could not fend for herself.

Less than a minute later, a towering knight in bloodstained armor stepped forward, lifting a spear over his head, shouting words of encouragement.

Megan did not even listen, her eyes mapping out the best route up the hill.

"Onwards, to freedom," the knight yelled eventually, pointing his spear towards the top of the mountain.

Andjust like that, they were on their way.