The Undead Horde had turned away from the rooftop slaughter machines since they couldn't reach them, leaving only a few to bang and thud against the buildings doors in vain with no way to get to the top. The rest now had taken notice of the large tasty morsels that were congregating outside the Gomorrah. The painted one had returned and was pleading for help to the others, even one of those others were bitten. The horde en masse using their hive mind knew that she would join them soon.<br/><br/>They made a new push. The little pale but strong slaughterer was getting weaker. They were making a difference. If only they could throw more tendrils at the little one, maybe, just maybe they can feast on new flesh...<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>