Story 140: The Hounds of Hell

The night was pitch black, the only light coming from the flickering flames of scattered fires, remnants of a once-thriving city now in ruins. The air was thick with the smell of rot and decay, the scent of the dead that wandered aimlessly through the streets. But not even the zombies dared to enter this part of town—this cursed ground was the domain of something far worse.

Rick stood on the edge of the abandoned district, gripping his makeshift machete tightly. He had heard the stories—the whispers among the survivors of *Cerberus*, a pack of hellhounds that roamed the outskirts of the dead city, preying on anyone foolish enough to stray too far. At first, Rick had dismissed the tales as just another urban legend, a ghost story to keep the survivors in check.

But now, hearing the distant howls that echoed through the deserted streets, he wasn’t so sure.