Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. At first, they emerged from the forests, drifting like fog toward the outskirts of critical cities. Then they rose from mass graves, crawling free of the very soil where the dead had been burned and buried.
Their armor was rusted. Their bodies pale. Their eyes cold.
But they did not attack.
They walked the perimeters. Stood at the edges of cities like silent guardians. Patrolled roads leading into border zones. Created rings around agricultural sectors and hydroelectric plants.
Wherever the beast waves tried to push inward, the undead met them first.
And held.
They didn't speak. They didn't rest. And they didn't lose.
No human command directed them. No flags were flown. But they moved with clear purpose, intercepting beast hordes before they reached the population centers. When an attack breached a sector, the undead simply rose in greater numbers.
It was unnatural and terrifying.
And it saved them.
