The sun sagged low across the ever-changing horizon, pouring shimmering golden streaks over the endless verdant forest. The trees rustled against the wind, and the four brothers hastily moved out of the manufacturing facility with their newly manufactured pistols and bolt-action rifles, and dozens, if not caches, of ammunition boxes.
They had no walls, no trenches to speak of, not even a barricade. Just the weight of steel and wood in their hands and an unyielding courage and hope ever present in the glint of light in their eyes.
The ground rumbled and the trees shook; they were nearing.
"They're nearing; eyes sharp, brothers, and may the goddess bless us," Peter uttered with determination echoing from his voice.
Paul then checked the bolt of his rifle, fingers slightly trembling, before he ultimately masked it with a forced smile.
"What a hellish place we got ourselves into, huh?" Paul chuckled.
