Silesia, March 1813
The village of Grodzisko died in silence.
There were no screams. Only the whisper of snow falling on straw roofs, the creak of weathered doors blown ajar by wind. Chickens pecked at frozen mud, oblivious to the blood crusted in the wells. A church bell swung once, then stilled—struck by a breeze heavy with ash.
The Prussian scouting party arrived at dawn. By midday, only two men remained sane.
"Burn it," the surviving lieutenant stammered. "Burn all of it. Even the children. They walk too."
His captain wept as the torches were thrown.
The plague had crossed the Warta River.
And the dead were marching west.
Kingdom of Saxony – Fortress of Torgau
Colonel Jakob Menzel never imagined he'd prepare for a siege led by corpses.
"Three hundred men, two thousand rounds of musket shot, and only sixty sabers that can decapitate cleanly," he muttered as he scrawled notes by candlelight. "Not enough."
His adjutant, Sergeant Weber, stood silently by the frozen window.
"Colonel… they breached Görlitz."
Jakob dropped his quill. "How?"
"They tunneled under the wall. Or… through it. Witnesses claim they melted through the stone."
Jakob stood slowly. "Send word to Leipzig. Tell them the wall is not enough."
"Shall I use the regular cipher?"
Jakob shook his head. "No. Just write: 'They walk. They do not die. And they are coming.'"
Bohemia – Road to Prague
A caravan of refugees clogged the trade road, stretching for miles. Farmers, noblemen, priests, all in one grim procession. No one spoke. The sky had gone an unnatural gray, and even the birds had fled.
At the tail of the column, Lucien Bonaparte and Zoya rode weary horses through the mud.
"They've crossed the Oder," Zoya muttered. "Prague will be surrounded in days."
Lucien squinted ahead. "The Habsburgs won't flee. Pride will hold them until the rot gets in."
"And what will you do?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Warn who will listen. Shoot who doesn't."
Behind them, a riderless horse emerged from the woods, hooves soundless on the road.
Zoya drew her pistol without a word.
Vienna – Schönbrunn Palace
The Imperial Council met again in secrecy, lit by a hundred candles and two hundred fears.
"Marshal Radetzky confirms: Brno has fallen. No survivors."
The room exploded in shouting.
"Deploy the reserves!"
"Order general conscription!"
"Burn the eastern provinces!"
Amid the chaos, Prince Metternich stood.
"This is not a war," he said. "This is a reckoning."
The shouting quieted.
"We stand at the edge of a grave into which all empires may fall," he continued. "Unless we unify. Catholic and Protestant. French and Prussian. Even Republican and Royalist."
"You propose an alliance with Napoleon?" someone sneered.
"I propose an alliance with the living."
Bavaria – Fortress of Regensburg
The walls of Regensburg had stood for centuries.
They fell in under five hours.
The defenders were brave, well-armed, and well-trained. But bravery did not halt jaws that could tear through steel. Muskets cracked skulls, but even headless, the damned crawled. The river turned black with ash.
When General von Holtz rode out at nightfall to seek aid, he was the last man left.
Behind him, Regensburg burned. The screams had stopped.
In his saddlebag, he carried a letter:
"This is no longer war. It is infection. Seal your gates, burn your dead, and trust no flesh. For God has abandoned us."
Paris – Napoleon's War Room
Maps littered the floor. Whole regions had been marked with crimson ink—ink that had soaked through parchment into the mahogany below.
Napoleon stood alone, hands behind his back, as Dr. Letour and Marshal Ney approached.
"They are halfway to Vienna," Ney said. "The Habsburgs beg for an accord."
Napoleon's lips curled.
"Did the Russians stop them?"
"No, Sire."
"Did the Austrians?"
"No, Sire."
"Then they come to me now, not as equals—but as kneeling men."
Letour coughed lightly. "The experiments, Sire… the captured revenant—we believe it was an officer in life. It still salutes. And it responds to orders… sometimes."
Napoleon's eyes glittered.
"Then there is still discipline in death."
He turned to Ney.
"Prepare a new division."
"Sire?"
"A special force. Men who do not fear the dead. And perhaps… men who are dead."
Letour paled. "You mean to… command them?"
Napoleon looked down at the burning map of Europe.
"If death has chosen to rise," he said quietly, "then I shall rise above it."
Rome – Vatican Archives
By candlelight, an archivist unearthed a forbidden codex: The Testament of Lazarus.
Beside him, a cardinal trembled as he read the passage aloud:
"And in the final days, the veil shall thin. The dead shall rise not by God's hand, but man's hubris. And from fire, the old kings shall walk again."
He looked up.
"This… speaks of now."
The archivist whispered, "Then we must summon the one weapon man has left."
The cardinal raised an eyebrow.
"Faith?"
The archivist shook his head.
"Fear."