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In any event, Loren understood how lucky he was, as a mutant, to have as normal of an appearance as he did. Few others of their kind had been able to maintain such visually subtle mutations. Perhaps that would change for him in the future, but for now at least, he was more or less content.

These eyes of his were enough.

They saw, before anyone else, how the horizon was shifting. How those distant shapes were appearing. Seemingly from nothing, as mirages might.

But these were no mirages.

They were figures. On horseback. And they were not small in number, either.

Right away, he became both wary and confused.

That group was certainly large enough to be considered an army, but not one from this century. Or even the last one, perhaps. Horseback? If it was the Vanguard coming to attack, they would not be riding horses.

The patrols were beginning to take notice now, too. They could probably see the abnormal movement, at least.

Loren strained for more, trying to further sharpen his vision. He wanted to see these figures in greater detail. Who the hell were they? If it was just a bunch of local villagers, aiming to make a sort of show out of their collective strength, then they were going to be in for a rude awakening. The men in this encampment were already restless as is, and even on good days, they were not known for their mercy or restraint.

Whoever these poor bastards riding this way were, they were going to be massacred if they didn't turn around soon. Loren could already imagine--

What?

What the fuck?

The detail of the riders' faces came into focus, but Loren couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Those weren't normal people at all.

They were rotting corpses. He could see flesh peeling off their bones, dried blood all over their pale and torn skin, barely any hair on their bald heads. Some even looked like they were more skeleton than flesh.

And that armor. Not all of them were wearing it, but it didn't belong in this century, either.

An army of undead. But not like any Loren had ever seen.