"Get ready!" Thorne screamed, his voice slicing through the suffocating darkness as he circled the small island, his eyes darting from one tunnel to another, searching the shadows for movement. His heart hammered in his chest, the icy grip of fear tightening around him.

Devon and Cassandra looked at him in confusion, their faces pale in the dim light. "What's going on?" Devon asked, his voice trembling.

"They're coming," Thorne said, his words clipped and urgent. "We're surrounded."

The color drained from Cassandra's face as the reality of the situation set in. She froze for a moment, her eyes wide with terror, before she began to murmur prayers to the dead gods, her voice quivering with desperation. Devon, his whole body shaking, gripped his scimitar with both hands, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to steady himself.

They waited in agonizing silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Cassandra's whispered prayers were the only sound, barely audible over the pounding of Thorne's heart in his ears. The rhythmic tapping of water began to grow louder, more pronounced, as the creatures crept closer, their shambling footsteps echoing through the tunnels.

As the sound reached Devon and Cassandra, they both went rigid with fear. Cassandra's prayers grew more fervent, her words coming faster as she clutched her spear like a lifeline. Devon swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the island as the dreadful realization sank in.

Then Thorne saw it—the first of the creatures emerging from the darkness, and his blood ran cold. The faint light of the crystal illuminated the figure, revealing its ghastly form in sickening detail. It was a zombie, but not just any zombie—it was the reanimated corpse of a recruit. The once-pristine uniform now hung in tattered strips from its body, its flesh desiccated and rotting. What Thorne had first mistaken for claws in the darkness were actually fingers, stripped of flesh, leaving only bone and sinew behind.

"Is that a… a zombie?" Devon's voice broke the silence, his words filled with disbelief and horror.

Thorne's mouth tightened into a grim line as more of the creatures emerged from the tunnels, their grotesque forms closing in from all sides. "Not just zombies," Thorne muttered, his voice hard. "They're the recruits."

Cassandra screamed, her voice raw with fear, as she realized the same horrific truth. The undead recruits advanced slowly but steadily, their soulless eyes locked on the trio, drawn by some dark hunger.

Thorne's mind raced as he assessed the situation. They were surrounded on all sides, with only the small island and the glowing crystal to protect. He knew they had to act fast or be overwhelmed.

"Pull yourselves together!" Thorne barked, snapping Devon and Cassandra out of their stunned stupor. "Each of us will defend a part of the island. We can't let them overwhelm us."

Devon and Cassandra hesitated for a moment, their fear holding them back. But when Thorne's voice rang out again, more forcefully, they quickly moved into position. Devon took one side, gripping his scimitar tightly, while Cassandra faced another, her spear at the ready.

"Remember," Thorne said, his voice steadying as he took charge, "we have the advantage with your long weapons. Keep them at a distance. I'll have to get close, but you two should aim for their heads—that seems to be the fastest way to kill them."

The two recruits nodded, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. Thorne could see the terror in their eyes, but there was also a flicker of resolve. They knew what was at stake, and they knew they had no choice but to fight.

The creatures were almost upon them now, their footsteps heavy and unrelenting. Thorne tightened his grip on his daggers, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. "Here they come!" he shouted, the words echoing in the cavernous space as the first of the zombies reached the edge of the island.

The first of the zombies lunged forward, its movements jerky and unnatural. Thorne met it head-on, his daggers flashing as he slashed at the creature's head. His blade connected with a sickening crunch, and the zombie staggered back, black ichor oozing from the wound. But even as it faltered, more of the undead recruits surged forward, their hollow eyes fixed on the living.

Thorne quickly noticed something strange—the zombies seemed hesitant as they neared the glowing crystal. They slowed, their shambling steps faltering as if the light itself caused them pain. But the sheer number of them was overwhelming, and soon they began to press forward again, driven by some dark force, their fear of the light outweighed by their relentless hunger.

"Keep them back!" Thorne shouted, his voice strained as he blocked a swipe from a skeletal hand. He ducked under another lunge, slicing his dagger across the zombie's neck. The head lolled to the side, but the creature kept coming, its remaining hand clawing at him with desperate ferocity.

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Cassandra and Devon fought valiantly, their weapons striking out at the advancing horde. Cassandra's spear thrust forward again and again, the sharp tip piercing through rotting flesh and brittle bone. Devon swung his scimitar in wide arcs, cleaving through the zombies that pressed too close. But despite their efforts, the undead continued to close in from all sides, their numbers seemingly endless.

The air was filled with the sounds of battle—grunts of exertion, the crunch of bone, and the sickening squelch of flesh being torn apart. The foul stench of decay was overpowering, and the water around them churned with the movement of the zombies.

Thorne's arm ached from the relentless strikes, but he pushed through the pain, his focus razor-sharp. He dispatched one zombie only to have two more take its place, their grotesque forms closing in with deadly intent. He could feel the pressure mounting, the undead closing in tighter, pushing them back toward the center of the small island.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Thorne saw Cassandra falter. She had been holding her ground, her spear keeping the zombies at bay, but now they were overwhelming her. Several zombies grabbed her, their skeletal hands digging into her flesh, dragging her down toward the water.

Cassandra screamed, her voice raw with fear as she struggled against the relentless pull of the undead. Her spear clattered to the ground, knocked from her grasp as she tried to free herself from their grasping hands.

Thorne's heart leapt into his throat. "Cassandra!" he shouted, disengaging from his own battle. He grabbed the glowing crystal with one hand and rushed to her side, slashing at the creatures that were dragging her down. The light from the crystal seemed to give the zombies pause—they recoiled from it, their movements faltering as if the light burned them.

With a fierce yell, Thorne hacked at the zombies holding Cassandra, the glowing crystal in one hand, his dagger in the other. The creatures shrank back from the light, and Thorne used the opportunity to free Cassandra from their grasp. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, his muscles straining with the effort.

"Get up!" he shouted, his voice urgent. Cassandra, pale and trembling, managed to stand, but Thorne could see the terror in her eyes. She was shaken, her usual bravado shattered by the sheer horror of the situation.

But there was no time to comfort her. Thorne's own section of the island was being flooded with undead, and Devon was starting to get overwhelmed. The zombies pressed in closer, their gnarled fingers grasping at the air as they moved in for the kill.

"I'll hold them off," Thorne said, shoving the crystal into Cassandra's hands. "Stay close to the light, and keep fighting!"

Without waiting for a response, Thorne dashed back to his position, where the zombies had broken through the defenses. He could see Devon struggling to hold his ground, his scimitar slicing through the air with desperate swings. But the fear in Devon's eyes was unmistakable—he was losing hope, and the weight of the battle was bearing down on him.

Thorne launched himself into the fray, his daggers flashing as he cut down the nearest zombies. But the onslaught was relentless, and soon he found himself surrounded. The zombies closed in, their rotting faces twisted into grotesque masks of hunger. Thorne's heart pounded in his chest as he realized he was dangerously close to being overwhelmed.

Desperation drove him to tap into his inner reserves. He focused on the skills he had honed over countless battles, his mind sharpening as he activated Backstab. With a sudden burst of speed, he slipped behind one of the zombies, his dagger plunging into the back of its neck. The creature crumpled, collapsing to the ground in a heap.

But there was no time to celebrate. Another zombie lunged at him, and Thorne's movements became a blur as he activated Lethal Flurry. His daggers whirled through the air, striking out in a rapid succession of precise, deadly blows. Each strike found its mark, severing heads, slicing through tendons, and reducing the zombies to motionless corpses.

Skill level up: Daggers!

Skill level up: Combat Reflexes!

But even as he fought with everything he had, the horde pressed on, driven by some unholy force. Thorne's arms burned with the effort, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he couldn't afford to slow down. His only chance of survival was to keep moving, to keep striking, and to hope that they could hold out long enough for the attack to end.

The fight continued to intensify. Despite the rush of newfound power, the unending tide of undead began to press in on all sides. Devon, his energy flagging, faltered, his scimitar barely making a dent in the advancing horde. Thorne could see it in Devon's eyes—the creeping despair, the realization that they were seconds away from catastrophe. If one of them fell, they all would.

Thorne's mind raced. His every instinct screamed at him to hold back, to avoid drawing on the power that could reveal his true strength. But there was no other choice. Gritting his teeth, he activated his aether surge skill, the energy flooding his body in a rush of raw, primal force. Power surged through his muscles, amplifying his strength and speed to levels he had never dared to reach.

With newfound speed and ferocity, Thorne plunged back into the fray. His daggers became blurs of steel, slashing wildly as he tore through the undead with savage precision. Each strike sent heads flying, caved in skulls, and severed limbs. The zombies fell before him, their twisted forms crumpling under the onslaught.

Skill level up: Thick Skin!

Thorne's skin toughened, absorbing the glancing blows from the zombies with barely a flinch. His body moved with a grace and power that defied the exhaustion that had been gnawing at him moments before. He was a whirlwind of destruction, cutting down everything in his path with relentless efficiency.

Devon, who had been on the verge of collapse, looked up in stunned disbelief as Thorne mowed down the zombies with a fury that seemed almost inhuman. The undead that had nearly overwhelmed him were now nothing more than a pile of dismembered corpses at Thorne's feet.

But there was no time to celebrate. The battle raged on, the island awash in blood and ichor as Thorne, Cassandra, and Devon fought with every last ounce of strength they had. The glowing crystal in Cassandra's hand continued to pulse, its light the only thing holding the darkness at bay. Thorne knew that if they faltered for even a moment, the consequences would be dire.

They fought on, a desperate struggle for survival, their only hope that they could hold out long enough to see the light of day once more.

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