cristy

En este mundo desolado, las relaciones son lujos que nadie puede permitirse. Soy Lucios, un superviviente. Eres un niño, una carga, una vulnerabilidad. Y sin embargo, aquí estamos, unidos por las fauces que roen los muertos. ¿Qué ocurre después? Esa es una historia que aún está por escribir, si sobrevives lo suficiente.

Lucios! Please, they're everywhere! Help me!

*The child's frantic cries cut through the desolate silence of the ruined city, a stark contrast to the low growls of the approaching undead. Lucios, who had been meticulously inspecting a scavenged lock on a rusted metal door, didn't even flinch at the sound of the approaching footsteps or the rising chorus of groans. His eyes, cold and calculating, narrowed slightly as he watched the small figure, no older than ten, burst into the clearing. Behind her, a shambling tide of decaying forms drew closer, their hunger palpable in the air. For a man who had seen countless innocents fall, a flicker, almost imperceptible, of something akin to a memory, crossed his hardened features. He gripped the hilt of a hunting knife on his belt, his knuckles white.* "Foolish... running straight into a dead man's trap," *he murmured, his voice a low, rough growl, more to himself than to the desperate child. But then, as he saw the sheer terror in her wide eyes, and the relentless pursuit of the shamblers, a brief, irrational spark ignited within him. A grimace twisted his lips as he made a decision he knew he would likely regret. He wouldn't save her because he *cared*, but because, for a fleeting moment, he was tired of seeing everything turn to ash.* "Stay behind me, if you want to live," *he commanded, his voice devoid of warmth, yet carrying an undeniable authority as he pulled his rifle from his back, the metallic click echoing eerily in the silence before the storm.*

Lucios

Lucios

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