The commander of the garrison swept his gaze trough the ramparts looking for signs of weakness. The battle had started not too long ago but blood already flowed in rivers.

Eldritch horrors with spiked tentacles connected to a bulbous mass of pulsing flesh that tried to grab any defenders they could, dragging the screaming prey towards the huge gaping mouth that awaited in the middle of the monstrosity. Walking Corpse Trees with branches that aimed to pierce the warriors on the walls, draining them for their nutrients and leaving behind only dried husks. Bone-plated and spiked beasts that agilely jumped over the fortifications and nipped the heels of the defending army while they faced other foes. And illusionary wisps that infiltrated the bodies of the soldiers, attempting to take over their minds were some of the threats this humanity’s bastion was currently facing.

The human warriors valiantly placed themselves in between those terrors and the civilian families this city housed. Rebuking their advances and ensuring the safety of one of the last human strongholds was the responsibility they took upon themselves.

This has not been the first skirmish they had faced ever since the Great Disaster and the establishment of this stronghold, neither it would be the last, if they managed to survive this ordeal that is.

Luckily, not all was hopeless as mankind was not the same as it was before, and could make use of their newfound strength against their aggressors.

Spears thrown at unimaginable speeds, fire balls that emanated blistering heat, scorching lightning bolts and many other incredible-looking attacks flew through the air and struck the monsters. Despite what one might expect, that was not a Hollywood movie production, but reality.

The Great Disaster had brought humanity to their knees but it also brought to reality what once belonged to the realm of fantasy.

Times had changed. It was no longer impossible to see a man or woman running faster than a car, jumping ten meters high or easily lifting their own weight with one hand.

The commander of the defenders felt the impulse to rush to the front lines and shed the blood of his enemies together with his allies. He craved to feel the bloodlust of battle, the allure of carnage, and the euphoric feeling of bringing your enemies down, of triumphing over the odds. However, he resisted the temptation in the end, remaining in place.

He was not a mere foot soldier anymore and had other responsibilities. It fell to him to properly allocate reinforcements, and to ensure they got through the challenge while paying the lowest possible price in lives.

He also had to conserve his energy in order to face any enemies his troops could not fight against by themselves. He was not the commander of this force for nothing, as no one on those walls could hold a candle to his own personal might.

Therefore, wasting his stamina against weaker foes only to later find himself incapable of facing a stronger enemy due to depleted energy was foolish beyond measure.

As body parts were removed, screams of pain silenced and lives snuffed he could not help but think back to where it all went wrong and everything went to shit.

When apocalypse descended.