The atmosphere inside the chapel grew heavier, thick with dread. The moment the prisoners witnessed the towering figure of the Bounded Shroud emerge, fear silenced them completely. Some spilled silent tears, others clasped their hands in desperate prayer, begging whatever gods might still listen that they would survive this night.
Outside, the noise of battle intensified. Loud thuds shook the walls, gruesome bone-crunching sounds mixed with savage growls and dying shrieks echoed through the darkness.
Kael gathered his courage and crept toward the broken section of the wall. He moved with extreme caution, careful not to make a sound that might draw attention. Reaching the gap, he peeked out.
The battle was still raging. The Bounded Shroud fought with brutal, overwhelming strength. Its massive frame moved with terrifying efficiency — a single swing of its powerful arm shattered a Whitemane warrior's ribcage, sending the lion-like beast flying into the dirt. Another strike crushed a skull with a sickening wet crack. The skeletal mask remained expressionless as it tore through its enemies, white shroud stained with fresh sprays of blood.
But the Whitemane Warriors — humanoid lions with powerful manes and razor-sharp claws — had their own advantage. They fought as a pack. More of them poured in from the darkness with every passing minute, surrounding the lone undead. They attacked from all sides, leaping onto its back, slashing at its legs, trying to drag it down with sheer numbers. Their coordinated roars and claw strikes created a whirlwind of violence.
Yet the Bounded Shroud did not seem overwhelmed. Its centuries of experience against overwhelming odds showed clearly. It grabbed one warrior by the throat, slammed it into the ground hard enough to crack the earth, then used the body as a weapon to sweep away two more attackers. Every movement was precise and devastating, as if it had fought this exact battle a thousand times before.
As the fight continued, the remaining prisoners slowly gathered behind Kael, drawn by morbid curiosity. They peeked out one by one, eyes wide with a mix of horror and awe.
Some were astonished by the Bounded Shroud's efficiency. Despite being heavily outnumbered, it moved like a force of nature — relentless, unstoppable. One prisoner whispered in disbelief, "It's… it's like watching an action movie… but real."
The battle was brutal and one-sided. The Whitemane Warriors' numbers kept growing, but the Bounded Shroud's raw power and cold precision continued to cut them down. Blood soaked the wasteland ground as dying roars faded into the night.
The night seemed to stretch on endlessly, as if the Fallen Dream itself refused to let dawn come. The battle outside the chapel showed no signs of slowing.
The prisoners watched in stunned silence, unable to tear their eyes away from the brutal clash between the Bounded Shroud and the pack of Whitemane Warriors. The towering undead moved with terrifying efficiency. It grabbed one lion-like warrior by the arm, tore the limb clean off with a sickening wet rip, and used the severed limb like a club to crush another's skull in a spray of blood and bone fragments.
Shattering cracks of broken bones, the wet tearing of shredded flesh, and the constant splatter of blood filled the night air. The scene was nightmarishly visceral — like a thrill-horror movie come to life, the kind of savage violence that humans both feared and secretly craved in stories.
None of the prisoners dared speak or even move a muscle. They stood frozen against the walls and behind the broken windows, too terrified to breathe too loudly. This was a story they might one day whisper to Ishy… or to their loved ones back in the real world… if they survived.
The Bounded Shroud continued its relentless assault. It lifted another Whitemane warrior high into the air and slammed it down onto the jagged ground with bone-shattering force. The pack tried to overwhelm it with numbers, leaping onto its back and slashing with razor claws, but the undead shrugged them off like insects, its white shroud now drenched in dark blood.
The fight was savage, one-sided, and hypnotic in its brutality.
The battle grew more savage with every passing second.
The Bounded Shroud seized one of the Whitemane Warriors by its hind leg. With a slow, deliberate motion, it swung the massive lion-like beast like a living hammer and smashed it into the chapel wall. The impact was devastating — stone cracked loudly, and the warrior's body burst open on contact. Blood and gore splattered across the broken window, painting the inside of the chapel in dark crimson streaks.
The prisoners recoiled in horror. Several gasped and stumbled backward, their momentary awe shattered by the brutal reality. One girl turned away and vomited onto the floor. Another boy pressed himself against the wall, trembling uncontrollably, whispering under his breath.
"No… no…"
Kael's stomach churned. He thought, his hands shaking. He felt sick watching the sheer power of the undead figure.
'This isn't a fight, This is a slaughter. If that thing decides to come for us next… we're finished.'
Lina's eyes widened in terror, her hand instinctively covering her mouth.
' How can something like that exist?' she thought, her heart hammering.
'It's not just strong… it's enjoying the violence'.
Yet beneath the fear, a tiny, irrational spark of hope flickered — if the Shroud was this powerful, maybe it really wouldn't bother with them.
Outside, the Bounded Shroud didn't stop.
It let out a high, piercing scream that cut through the night like shattered glass. The soundwave slammed into the remaining Whitemane Warriors, causing them to stagger and clutch their heads in agony. Their coordinated pack formation broke apart as they roared in pain.
The undead didn't give them a chance to recover.
It moved with cold, methodical brutality. One warrior lunged at its back — the Shroud reached behind, grabbed the beast by the mane, and slowly tore its head from its shoulders in a gruesome spray of blood and spinal fluid. Another tried to slash at its legs — the Shroud stomped down, crushing the attacker's skull beneath its boot with a wet, crunching sound that echoed inside the chapel.
Blood soaked the wasteland ground. Limbs were ripped off and discarded like broken toys. The once-fierce pack was reduced to dying whimpers and twitching corpses in a matter of minutes.
The prisoners could only watch in stunned silence. Some cried quietly. Others stared with wide, unblinking eyes, unable to look away from the carnage. The metallic stench of fresh blood began to seep into the chapel through the broken windows.
Kael felt bile rise in his throat.
'We're nothing to it, he realized. Just insects hiding in the walls.'
Lina's hands trembled as she clutched the edge of a dusty bench.
'Please… don't turn around..'
she silently begged the towering figure.
'Just leave us alone.'
The Bounded Shroud stood motionless amid the pile of broken bodies, its white shroud now drenched in dark red. It slowly turned its skeletal mask toward the chapel.
The night fell deathly quiet. Then heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from just outside the chapel.
The prisoners inside froze, their hearts hammering in their chests. The sound was unmistakable — the Bounded Shroud was coming.
And just as they feared, the towering figure stepped through the broken wall it had shattered earlier by throwing one of the Whitemane Warriors. Stone and debris crumbled around its massive frame as it entered the chapel, its 8-foot height forcing it to duck slightly under the doorway.
An overwhelming soul pressure radiated from the undead being, pressing down on everyone like an invisible weight. The air grew thick and cold. Breathing suddenly felt difficult.
The prisoners could do nothing but remain perfectly still. Some cupped their hands tightly over their mouths to stifle gasps. Others stood rigid, too terrified to even tremble. A few could only stare wide-eyed at the skeletal mask and blood-soaked white shroud, their minds blank with primal fear.
The Bounded Shroud stopped in the center of the chapel, its presence dominating the small space. It did not face them directly at first. Then, in a deep, coarse voice that carried the weight of centuries, it spoke in ancient English:
"I am well aware of thy presence, yet be not afraid; I seek not to harry thy kind, for it ill becomes me to spill the blood of base vermin such as thou."
Its skeletal mask slowly turned, and its gaze swept across the cowering prisoners huddled against the corner walls. The prisoners were utterly terrified — some whimpered softly, others pressed themselves harder against the stone as if trying to disappear into it.
The Bounded Shroud's words offered no comfort. They only confirmed one chilling truth: to this ancient being, they were nothing more than insignificant insects.
The Bounded Shroud stood motionless for a moment longer, then turned away from the terrified prisoners. It walked slowly toward the pile of fresh corpses left by the Whitemane Warriors.
With a heavy thud, it knelt beside one of the massive lion-like bodies. Without hesitation, it plunged its bare hands into the beast's chest and tore the ribcage open with raw, brutal strength. Bones snapped and cracked loudly as dark blood gushed out in thick streams, splattering across the white shroud and the chapel floor.
The undead was clearly starving. It buried its skeletal face into the gaping wound and began to devour the warm flesh with savage hunger. Wet, sickening munching sounds filled the chapel — the sound of tearing meat, crunching cartilage, and slurping organs. Blood sprayed violently with every bite, soaking the already stained shroud until it dripped steadily onto the ground in heavy droplets.
It ate like a starving dog, ripping out chunks of heart and lung, chewing noisily without any semblance of restraint. Gore coated its skeletal mask and ran down its chin in rivulets. The metallic stench of fresh blood grew so thick that several prisoners gagged and covered their mouths, fighting the urge to vomit.
The Bounded Shroud paid them no mind. It simply continued feasting on the fallen foes, its hunger far greater than any interest it had in the "lowly pests" hiding in the corner.
The prisoners stared at the undead with pure horror etched on their faces. The grotesque scenery unfolding before them left everyone in overwhelming shock and dread. Some couldn't stomach it — they turned away, retching violently. Others could only stare, wide-eyed and frozen, as the Bounded Shroud continued munching loudly on the fresh corpse, blood dripping from its skeletal mask.
Kael's mind spiraled into chaos. He stood paralyzed, torn between two terrible choices.
"'How am I supposed to do this? Stay here and watch this fucker eat a corpse right in front of us? But if we flee now… we'll die out there in the cold night. Damnit! I have no clue what to do!!'"
Staying meant enduring the stench and the vile sight of the undead feasting. Leaving meant risking being hunted down by more Unholy Beings without the Shroud's unintended protection. Both options felt like death sentences. For a terrifying moment, Kael even considered ending his own life to escape the burden — but the thought of his family back home, and the dreadful fate of being trapped forever in this realm, stopped him.
Meanwhile, Lina moved quietly among the weaker prisoners who were crying silently. She knelt beside them, whispering gentle words of comfort despite her own fear.
"Everything will be alright… Nothing bad is going to happen," she murmured, though her voice trembled.
A memory flashed in her mind — the decision to hide in the undead's cave earlier. If they hadn't taken that risk, they would have died during the day. And if they had stayed outside at night, they would have been slaughtered. It was a high-stakes gamble, taking advantage of a neutral Dire Undead that didn't bother hunting the weak. Right now, that same gamble was the only thing keeping them alive.
***
Kael couldn't stop thinking about Ishmael. The grotesque and vile scenery unfolding before him — the Bounded Shroud tearing into the corpses with wet, crunching sounds — made his stomach churn. He gritted his teeth, the weight of leadership pressing down on him like never before.
"'Ishmael… Where are you? I can't handle this alone… I need your help…'"
he thought desperately.
The thought of waiting for Ishy felt both hopeful and terrifying. Kael was left with the remaining prisoners, surrounded by death and uncertainty. Too many dreadful events had already unfolded before his eyes — the boy being eaten, the brutal battle, and now this undead feasting just meters away. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold the group together.