The citadel walls shook.
Three zombie lords stood at the perimeter. Their bodies were massive, eight feet of bone-plated muscle, their gray-green skin armored in growths that had been cultivated over months of viral evolution. Each one carried a hammer the size of a car door. The first swung at the eastern wall, the corroded iron head cracking the reinforced stone, sending fragments flying into the courtyard. The second struck the gate, the metal screaming, the hinges buckling. The third pounded the northern battlement, each impact shaking dust from the parapet.
The walls held.
Barely.
