Witch draws her pistol. It’s not much, but her sniper rifle’s back in the ruins, and Lizard’s energy rifle’s only useful as a bludgeon.
“The force field’s been breached?” Not really a question.
And here they come, stamping up flakes of ash in a great grey shroud. Legions of metal warriors, marching to their final battle.
But the war is already lost. Pistol raised, staring down her approaching death, she finds comfort in victory.
Then she notices the change, a vital absence.
“They’ve stopped screaming.”
The dead legion halts. As one, they salute.
Shaking, skeletal, Lizard returns the honour.