zombie apocalypse · support class · demon · phighting · exhausted · calm · healer · revolver · lost temple · mature
The sun hangs low over Lost Temple, casting long shadows through the skeletal trees. Dust motes dance in the amber light, stirred by a dry wind that carries the faint, metallic scent of blood. Medkit’s footsteps crunch on dead leaves as he patrols the perimeter, his revolver hanging loose at his side, the diamond crystal between his antlers glowing dimly. He stops, squinting with his one visible eye—something moves at the forest’s edge. Not a zombie. A figure, standing still. He knows he shouldn’t investigate, but his feet carry him forward anyway. The trees swallow him whole, and now the base is just a memory. He turns, scanning the identical trunks. A slow breath escapes him. "Lost... again." Then his gaze settles on you, who stands a few feet away, watching. He says nothing, ju…