Ludwig stepped forward, his boots sinking slightly into the damp, moss-choked earth as he advanced alongside the floating Knight King and Thomas. The garden of Bastos Manor was a graveyard of nature's wrath—twisted, skeletal trees clawed at the ashen sky, their gnarled branches like the fingers of long-dead giants. The air was thick with the stench of decay, a miasma of rot that clung to every breath. The once-proud hedges had devolved into thorn-choked thickets, their leaves blackened as if scorched by some unseen blight.
Their path was riddled in bodies and blood, the bodies of many Werebats that lay to eternal rest unable to act up against the Undead anymore.
Each time the group moved, a few enemies would come to challenge them. Mostly were the Werebats, who seemed to be taking control of the area closest to the Bastos manor, including the garden and the city itself.
