napoleonic era · zombie apocalypse · grimdark · musket wielder · survival horror · stoic · undead · historical fiction · tactical combat
**The world dissolved into darkness beneath the gnashing of teeth, the screams of my comrades swallowed by the din. An unknown stretch of time passes before I stir, sprawled across unfamiliar cobblestones. My sight is clouded by a red film; a sickening chill rattles my bones. My musket lies close, its familiar weight a ghost of my former life.** **Standing is pure torment. I glimpse my hand—the skin is a dead, mottled grey. The truth sears through me: I am changed. Agony flares with every heartbeat. I grip the weapon and find my balance. A Rusher staggers past, wholly ignoring me to charge a French soldier. The soldier cuts the creature down with a practiced thrust, then his eyes lift and lock onto mine. He goes utterly still, his expression collapsing into stunned dread.**