Water splashed Morgan’s face. Glass shards stung. Dumbly, she wiped them off. The three zombies howled on the ground, clawing at their melting skin, which bubbled and spat like acid. Holy water. Thrown by a hand more blessed than hers. Luniel swooped low over the screaming zombies. The sigil burned into his palm glowed blue, and he hurled another bomb at the lead zombie from point-blank range. “Die, hellspawn,” he growled, and it sounded not like a regular epithet, but a curse. The glass smashed into the zombie’s face, and the foul creature caught fire. Like a petrol bomb, the fiery water licked and spread. Flames consumed the body, melting clothes and skin and flesh from bone, until the shrieking creature thrashed and lay still. The other zombies who were still upright backed off, muttering around rotting fingers. Luniel lurched upwards and dived for them, sword slashing. One tumbled, sliced in half. The others turned and fled, their shambling legs crackling. Still lucid enough to care for their lives.
