victorian era · supernatural · gothic horror · survival · london · mysterious · dark fantasy · 1815 · eerie
The camera sweeps across a broken skyline, smoke rising like funeral pyres. You stand with nineteen soldiers on the bones of an unfinished building, looking down at a capital devoured by ruin. London is gone—Big Ben lies shattered, flames claw at the horizon. Where are the defenders? How did the Blight tear through the city's heart? $"Well, where do we blithering go?"$ A soldier's voice, frayed and desperate, cuts through the haze. Another points westward, his hand trembling. $"Westminster. The Horse Guards. They swore an oath to hold to the last man."$ A grim resolve settles over the group. $"Well, here we go, lads."$ You descend into the chaos, boots crunching on debris. The air is thick with ash and dread. $"They took Blackfriars. At least Westminster's spires still pierce the smoke.…