For every step Megan took, she felt her sanity slip away.

The corpse mountain shifted and heaved like the body of an amorphous creature, indicating that a fair amount of the corpses it contained had turned undead and were trying to wriggle free. Thankfully, however, none of the trapped zombies was able to pose a threat. The climbers that had come before had made sure of that by bashing in every skull they could see or chop off any wriggling, searching hand from the undead inside.

Twitching stumps, resembling giant worms trying to bury their way into freedom seemed everywhere... It was an appalling sight. Arms, legs, and the occasional chest gave way beneath Megan, making her fall forward into blood-slick bodies and broken faces on several occasions. Each time she struggled back on her feet in a frenzy. Disgust and the knowledge that the tide of refugees in her wake would just roll over her, stomping her into the rotting flesh until she was but a part of it, jarring her up.

Sticky sweat poured down her face, her exertion made worse by the moist heat emanating from the rotting corpses. She got sick twice as clouds of gas exploded in foul puffs from the bodies, not even her spell able to protect her entirely.

Then the torso of the knight who had been leading the charge up the mountain flew past her. Severed by the midriff, his guts trailing behind him.

She realized she would reach the top in a few moments.

Fear froze her. Megan slowed her ascent, letting several refugees crawl past. They all died within moments, cleft to pieces by the monster in silver armor and the two demons at his side. Up close, the giant warrior looked even more terrifying, as big and imposing as the ramparts themselves, the silver Flamberge in his hands seemingly too big and heavy for a mortal to wield. Yet he swung the weapon effortlessly and without pause, slicing through refugees as if he was but cutting wheat, severing legs, arms, and heads, splitting whole bodies down the middle. The two warriors at his side were equally efficient in their killing, although their work was one of precision rather than the mass destruction their leader wrought.

Unable to move, the blood and body parts rained down on her. It was then that Megan realized she would die here. Not even her magic would be able to protect her from creatures like this. She would have to retreat, find another way...

It never came to that. The ascending refugees behind her pushed her forward, using her like a shield, just as she had used the others before her.

She fought back, and then a fleeting thought of hope occurred. If she could just cross the distance faster than the ones in her wake, she might make it.

Hoping that the monster would not waste a strike on just one unarmed woman, she stormed forward, her eyes fixed on the head of the giant. His face and eyes concealed behind the helmet, she could not tell of his intent as he raised his sword to his side, ready for the next cleaving strike. Would it tear her apart or the ones in her wake? The tension was unbearable, her heart pounding so loud it drowned out every other noise.

She stepped into the radius of the Flamberge.

Then she was past him.

A wild grin stretched over her terrified features, her eyes looking past the seemingly disinterested mage of the butchers, and fixing on the shadowy forms of other escapees storming through the tunnel.

"I made it," she yelped in disbelieve.

Then, a giant hand grabbed hold of her tunic.