The Storm Before the War

Leon stood on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, overlooking the devastated cityscape. The distant howls of mutated beasts echoed through the night, mingling with the flickering flames that devoured once-proud buildings. His eyes, glowing with an eerie silver hue, scanned the horizon. Something was coming.

"We don't have much time," Iris said, stepping beside him. Her blade, still dripping with dark blood, reflected the dim moonlight. "The horde is regrouping. They're not mindless. Something is controlling them."

Leon clenched his fists. "Then we take the fight to them before they strike first."

Below, the survivors prepared for war. Makeshift barricades were reinforced, weapons were checked, and grim faces steeled themselves for the battle ahead. They had seen too much death. Tonight, they would fight not just to survive, but to reclaim what was theirs.

A gust of wind carried the scent of decay. Leon inhaled deeply, feeling the surge of power in his veins. He had been holding back. No more.

"Tomorrow at dawn," he said, his voice calm yet commanding. "We end this."

The flames burned brighter in the distance, and the storm of war loomed ever closer.