A lone figure leaned against the railing of the makeshift watchtower. The cultist let out a yawn, watching the endless rain.
"No matter how many times I see it, it's still weird as hell," he mumbled, his chin resting on his palm.
On one side, the sun was shining at its brightest. There wasn't a single drop wetting the surface. Then his eyes fell on the rotten rain.
He had been there for over a week, and not once had the rain stopped. At first, the smell of the rot was unbearable, but he got used to it over time. The lack of action was the only complaint he had.
Although he had seen many zombies watching him through the rain, none of them ever stepped foot outside the rain. They just stood there watching him, then left.
"What a waste of time this is. At least guarding the sacrificial wall led to some action. This… is just torture."
